Bormes les Mimosas

Bormes les Mimosa, a hill village, is always a lovely place to visit, very picturesque, narrow winding streets, and with small shops to browse in or purchase locally made items.  Plus a beautiful old church and two chapels, one of which is high up on the hilltop above the village, and accessible via steep rocky steps.  Not for the fainthearted.

It was made all the more special last Sunday when it held a flower festival.  A  village that abounds with flowers all year round, especially purple bougainvillea and jasmine climbing up the walls of houses, now sported more flowers, and leaves, in vases and on shop fronts.  A competition for the best display also appeared to be taking place.

Donna stopped to look at the displays in the main street.  No small cars, being driven by crazy drivers, Brian.  'No entry' signs were placed at each end of the road.  So one could relax.

Flowers in baskets, in front of a shop selling lights.

An amass of flowers and items for sale.  Very colourful.  Gladiolus made a significant appearance in the displays.   The people here obviously have not heard of the Australian, Barry Humphries, and his character, Dame Edna Everage.   He made gladiolus a very unpopular choice of flower in Australia.

Another view of the main shopping street.

Walter, Patrick and Poppy making their way down a side street, which is always full of interesting little shops.

A hidden garden.

The bougainvillea growing up the wall, towers over me.   We used to grow a purple bougainvillea over our outside toilet in Henley Beach, SA, always in flower, and a great show for the people who braved the huntsman spiders, that came with the creeper, in order to use this toilet.

What a brilliant colour to frame one side of this narrow walkway.

We also ate an early breakfast at a cafe/restaurant, nearly the first people there.  And what a breakfast. Two baskets full of a variety of breads and cakes. Delicious.  Of course two much to eat, so a few cakes went into our bags for morning coffee.  As you do.

Activities

At camping Manjastre life is not just about sitting around, reading, eating, drinking and socialising.   Plus a few dips in the pool.  The temptation to do nothing much at all is very strong.

One activity, which we adhere to strictly, is our fitness routine.   This involves getting up early, 6.30 am in June, before it becomes too hot.  Such a beautiful time of the day.  All the other campers are still sound asleep, so all is quiet and peaceful.  Then we walk down to the road at the back and onto one of the tracks in the bush.  A purposeful walk, or in Donna's case, a run, takes place.   

Sometimes we venture further afield or take the circular route up and along the ridge behind the camping ground, and then back along the fire track.  This takes about 2 hours.

A view from the ridge.  Now how did the owners of this house manage to get a permit to build their house in the bush.  

The track in the photograph below was actually quite steep.  Quite a few rest stops were required, even in the coolness of the early morning.

There are many walks in the area of the campsite, as it is mostly national parks or forestry land.   All very picturesque.   Scrubby and dry, mostly corkoaks or mimosa, with plenty of wild lavender.  There are numerous wild pigs in the bush, and it is important to check that there is no pig shooting taking place, otherwise one could find oneself with a few unwanted bullet holes.

But onto other activities.   An evening walk in Le Lavendou is always very pleasant,

with the main purpose of buying an ice cream.

Poppy had already eaten her ice cream, with one gulp, and was looking longingly at Patrick's ice cream when the photograph was taken.

We always make a visit to our favourite village, Collobrieres, which is the centre for the chestnut industry, and also for cork oak production too, although that has decreased due to screw tops and plastic corks.  Chestnut ice cream is made and exported from here.

Mind you the trip over the top is fraught with danger.  A very narrow road, with a long drop on one side, and favoured by mad cyclists who come pelting down, with a view that the road is theirs.  I would hate to think how many near misses we have had with cyclists.   The less stressful, but much longer, journey is around the range of hills, and along the valley.

But once there, it is all worth the journey.

Lunch at our favourite restaurant.

Poppy looking out from under the tablecloth, hoping for a few crumbs to fall on her.  Dogs are allowed in restaurants here, and always get treated to a bowl of water.

Blue is definitely a popular colour. And it certainly looks great in the bright sunshine.

A quiet backstreet, in Collobrieres.  Such a beautiful village.

A lovely cat, snoozing in the sunshine.

A view of Camping Manjastre, from high up on the ridge.

And I must not forget our favourite cafe, Cafe du Centre, the pronunciation of which we always turn into English. They now have even more chairs facing the front.  A great pastime, drinking coffee and watching the passing parade of people.  And they always provide a little dog biscuit for the pooch or rather le chien. Poppy loves it there.

And so life goes on, day after day.

Camping but not roughing it.

Camping, not really roughing it, not like camping as I remember it in Australia and New Zealand, in times past.   In tents, and no services as such.   Now it is a caravan, with fridges and plenty of electical appliances, even our own coffee machine, most necessary of course.  And milk frother, second version, due to immersing our last one in water, and then causing an electrical short on our side of the camping ground.

Mind you setting up the annex each time is nearly grounds for divorce.  This really tests a couple's ability to work co-operatively and pleasantly when both people are hot and tired, and the annex keeps collapsing.

But once the caravan and annex is set up,  life is pretty good at Camping Manjastre, with its beautiful big swimming pool, and large pitches set into the hill side.  People are very friendly and the social life is great.   Plus plenty of good food and wine.  Not to forget the mostly sunny weather.   What more can one wish for.

Donna and Patrick's caravan with Lucy's Quechua tent in front. A lovely shady spot. Perfect looking annex too.  Well done.

Of course camping these days comes with wifi facilities.  Lucy sitting comfortably inside our caravan, and busy with tablet and pbone.

Donna relaxing in the shade.  Too hot in the sun.  Great to be able to say that.

Walter also relaxing with his book.

Our favourite June spot, close to the tap, and plenty of people walking past.  Too busy in August though. And not so shady in the middle of the day.

And it does rain here too.  Torrential rain, which we experienced last week.  Tests the effectiveness of the caravan and annex.  Will they leak?  It has happened but not this time thank goodness.

Poppy in relaxation mode in the caravan.  She loves to stretch out on the seat, for an afternoon nap.

Patrick bought Poppy a little paddling pool, as dogs are not allowed on the beach during summer months.  But Poppy did not appreciate the gesture.  She thought she was having a bath.

So Patrick sat in the pool but Poppy was still not impressed.  Patrick got a very cold bottom.   Very funny.

Looking down from our pitch. All very quiet.  Not many campers here.  Very peaceful.

Of course the football has been quite a distraction here.  On the night in the photograph below it was Netherlands playing Australia.   And the bar was full of Dutchies wearing orange.  We decided to support Australia, and amazingly they put up a good fight too.  A close game.  Very exciting.

Poppy looking very French, with her pink neck scarf.  Such a funny dog.  She has settled into camping life very well.

And I forgot to mention fitness activities.  We are surrounded by national parks so there are plenty of opportunities for walking, which we do, very early in the morning, followed by a swim in the pool, swimming laps of course.  Serious stuff.  We need to work off all the good food and wine, and justify spending the rest of the day doing very little at all.

Camping is a great life.  No roughing it here.  Definitely not.

Travelling down, highways and byways

We travelled down to the south of France.  Not in the motorhome, of course, which was the intended mode of transport.  Before the 'accident'.

So after delivering our damaged motorhome to the repair shop, we set off in our trusty little car, direction Dover.

Our meal on the P & O ferry to Calais was as planned, a glass of wine each, and mushroom risotto for me, and a steak for Walter.  Very pleasant. 

The beautiful town hall in Calais, one of the very few remaining old buildings left standing after terrible bombings and fighting in the town during WW2.

Our accommodation, of course, was not the planned overnight stay in the motorhome in the aire overlooking the entrance to the port of Calais.   Instead it was in a run down budget hotel, Hotel Premiere Classe, opposite the railway station. Lots of dodgy looking men around the area.

Calais is also the home of desperate middle eastern men trying to get into the UK, where they will try and obtain refugee status. They live on the streets, under sheets of plastic or hastily erected small tents. Very sad.

The next morning after a surprisingly comfortable night, and still with all our belongings, we set off to meet Patrick, Donna and Poppy, the dog, at the appointed spot, a motorway rest area just before Boulogne.  Then we set forth to travel down to the south of France via some motorways, some dual lane highways, and some single lane roads.  The slow way down.
After travelling past Rouen, and on narrow roads alongside the Seine, we stopped in a village, name unknown, which had a lovely park by a small river.  A perfect place for a picnic.  And a run around for Poppy.

Bumper to bumper traffic, mostly trucks, around Orleans, and Chartres.  Not to forget all the motorbikes and sports cars heading for the 24 hour (or was it 48 hour) race at Le Mans.   They certainly cluttered up the road and services.  It took a long time before we saw the last sign for Le Mans.

And was it our imagination but the drivers in France seemed to be worse than normal.  Or maybe they have suddenly developed a strong dislike for British cars, travelling in convoy.

Donna and Poppy looking happy at one of the rest stops.

Finally we saw the signs for Nevers.  Great, time to stop.  But at that point the sat nav took us off the motorway and we headed out into the country. Why we did not know.  What a detour.  Narrow roads, small villages and lots of green farm land.  Just when we wanted to get to our hotel room and relax.  And eventually this happened, but not before we turned a few more corners, and had more consultations with the map.

Once we took Poppy for a walk, we headed into town and found the perfect restaurant, not expensive, where we all ate well.  Very happy people.

The next day we were off early, after a quick strong coffee at a bakery.  And just as we left Nevers we were directed off the motorway, onto a detour through more narrow roads and farmland.   What is it about Nevers.   Of course we managed to get lost due to one of the roads on the detour being closed.

In order to make up for lost time we took the motorway around Clermont Ferrand, thank goodness, as I remembered getting lost there last time.

A stop for coffee at a picturesque little town, with very friendly people, and a run around in the park for Poppy, and a lie down for Patrick.  The joys of travelling on the slow route.

After many stiff climbs into the mountains without peaks, we finally arrived at rhe Millau Viaduct.  Such a perfect sight, made even better with Patrick, Donna and Poppy posing in front.

We drove down to Millau, and up again the next morning, on a beautiful road, on the other side of the bridge.  Such a find. And marvellous views of the bridge and valley, if you were not driving.

Millau, the town, and entrance to the Tarn valley, now a stopping place for people visiting the area, but once famous for its glove making business.

We stopped here with  Brian and Susanne two years ago.  At the campsite in the photograph below. Such a beautiful area, but it rained heavily the whole time we were there.

Poppy had a little swim in the river, wbich she enjoyed very much.

We then set out for the final part of our trip south, trying not to lose each other in the heavy traffic.  Even in June, Saturday means changeover day, with people either leaving or arriving at their holiday destinations.

Finally Camping Manjastre came into view.  Hurray. The pool looked beautiful as ever.

And we were greeted warmly by all the people we know there.  Great to be here.

Garden clean up - again

The problem with travelling, is that everytime you come home the garden is a mess.   Again.  Especially with so much rain, and some spells of warm sunshine.   Three weeks away and it was as if we had done nothing in the garden before we left for the Netherlands.

It was hard to tell where the ornamental grasses ended the ordinary grass began.

Walter had to spend some time mowing and remowing this part of the lawn.  Good for the compost bin I suppose.

The rhubarb was looking a bit spindly.  It obviously was sick of being waterlogged.

So after we cleaned up it was time to put the summer bulbs into the garden.   They had lain in the shed for four weeks, where the snails and slugs had eaten away all the words.  Come to think of it.  Why would they eat the paper when there was so much lush growth outside in the garden.   I bet there are mice in the shed . Desperate mice. Oh dear.

Then it was time to put weed mat down in the worst areas and place bark chips on top.  That should stop the weeds.

And New Zealanders will be pleased to know that I bought some face masks to wear when I am handling compost or bark.  But my glasses kept fogging up.  I also kept looking around to make sure the neighbours were not looking at me.  They would have thought I was mad.  But I have checked the problem out with a few people, and no one  has ever heard of anyone contracting Legionnaires Disease here through handling compost.  Whatever do they put in commercial compost in New Zealand, to make it so lethal?

While at the Pound shop, purchasing my vast array of bulbs, I noticed small packets of compacted soil. Just what I need in order to avoid Walter having to carry heavy bags of potting soil up two flights of steps.

All that I had to do was add water to the plastic bag and hey presto, well five minutes the instructions said,  I would have 10 litres of lovely potting soil.  Well it did not work out that way as it took ages for the water to soak into the compacted soil, and I certainly did not end up with 10 litres.  I know I am hopeless at estimating but there was no way I achieved 10 litres.  Not such a good deal afterall.  Oh well back to smiling nicely at Walter again.

And now the garden is spick and span again, the front garden looking trim and green,

and the back garden also lovely and tidy and colourful.

But of course we are off again, for another four weeks, and no doubt the garden will look just as bedraggled again when we return.   All ready for us to tidy it again.