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.