Pevensey and its bay

We are actually between Norman's Bay and Pevensey Bay, even though the camping ground is called Norman's Bay Caravaning and Camping Ground.  And the area certainly has its charm, marshy, with shingle barriers between the land and the sea, but quiet at the moment, and bathed in sunshine. So peaceful.

About five minutes drive west is Pevensey Bay, which boasts some significant historical events.

In 1066, William the Conqueror landed here, when he invaded England, with his army of course. He then made his way inland and defeated King Harold and his army. One has to be careful to include their armies, otherwise it sounds as if there were only two men involved, William and Harold. 

In the 18th and 19th centuries, Pevensey Bay, became involved in the south sea smuggling trade.  Plenty of character building there.

Now it is a holiday destination for British people, plus some permanent residents living in low budget homes.   No tacky amusement arcades, thank goodness.  Just a very pleasant area, with a shingle beach.   

Lunch today was at Bateman's House, inland, but more about that in my next blog.  Great lunch, packed in our National Trust cooler bag, very appropriate for visiting a National Trust property.  

Pevensey, the village, is perhaps a little more upmarket than the bay.  Beautiful old buildings, and well preserved.

In Roman times Pevensey was a peninsula surrounded by a tidal lagoon and marshes, but the lagoon has now silted up, although much of the marshland is now a protected wildlife area.

Pevensey High Street, with the castle wall on the left.  We drove around the castle a couple of times yesterday, with the caravan, trying to find the camping ground.

Pevensey Castle, is now run by English Heritage.  It started out as a medieval castle and former Roman and Saxon fort.   It then fell into ruins but was rebuilt by the Normans after 1066.   During WWII it was occuped by the Home Guard, the British and Canadian armies and by the United States Army Air Corps.

Tonight we visited a pub in Pevensey, called the Smugglers Arms.   Great food, all freshly cooked.  Walter ordered lamb shanks, mash and vegetables and I ordered grilled plaice, new potatoes and salad.  Delicious.

Walter looking very happy.

It was great to see dogs in the bar, two beautiful black labradors and two fluffy highland terriers.  

We were also entertained by a large music group, as it was their practise night.  What more could one want.

But before I finish this blog I must comment on the friendliness of people here.  Makes such a difference to one's impressions of an area.  

Camping Norman's Bay

Camping Norman's Bay.  Not quite Camping Manjastre, in the Cote d'Azur, with its blue sea, and glitzy lifestyle, but more south coast rural England. Definitely more subdued.

But where are we?  Good question.  We had difficulty finding the camping ground today, as we did last time we were here, when we collected Jackson and Isabel from Emma and Steve when they were camping here.  As then, we made a few trips around Pevensey, and Pevensey Bay, trying to find the correct road, only this time we were towing a caravan, which made navigating the narrow roads all that much trickier.

And for those people who do not know this area, Norman's Bay is between Hastings and Eastbourne, on the south coast of England.  A flat, and seemingly isolated area, the road past the camping ground does not appear on our satnav.  The houses here are probably not at the high end of the housing market, an insight gained from reading the 'for sale' notices in the real estate office.

However, here we are, for a few days away, to ensure that we do not forget how to tow a caravan, and to make sure everything works after we had it serviced last month. 

And the sun is shining.  Makes such a difference.

The caravan and car nestled cosily together on the small gravel hardstanding, in amongst the lush green grass, still hard enough to drive on.

 Norman's Bay Camping Ground nestled among a few outlying low hedges.  A very exposed spot on a cold and windy day.

 No sandhills here, just stones and more stones.  A view towards the town of Bexhill, and Hastings further behind it.

 A Martello tower.  They were built after the French Revolutionary Wars as coastal forts.  And there were plenty still standing on the south coast, some were made into historic monuments while others have been sold, and converted into very solid homes, with marvellous glassed in viewing areas at the top.

 I know I have a coat on, but in fact it was not really cold, just very windy.

 The sunset tonight was a fantastic show of yellow and orange, and made a great discussion point as we drank our evening apertifs, inside the caravan.  We are in England, after all.

Tomorrow we explore the local area plus a visit to Batemans, Rudyard Kiplings home.  Looking forward to it.

Gardening or not!

Gardening or not!   Well I think it will be, not, except for a bit of weeding and cutting out of the old branches of the cultivated blackberries, plus getting rid of the rogue prickly blackberries that tend to spring up in the most inaccessible parts of the garden.   And I must not forget to level the side hedge, using our new electric hedgetrimmer, but I will need Walter's help with the job, as the trimmer is heavy.  Walter will hopefully be keen, due to machinery being involved in the task.  But any massive cutting back of shrubs, trees and hedges will have to wait until we return at the end of January, as the leaves will have barely fallen when we leave in three weeks time.  And I need the branches to be bare of leaves, so that I can see what I am chopping back.

So I will ignore the overgrown garden,

and the mole activity.   It would appear that Mr Fox has been trying to dig down to find Mr Mole.

When Walter scooped the dirt off the next mole hill he found the entrance to the tunnel open.   Perhaps Mr Mole had been trying to escape Mr Fox.   The nightly activity in our top garden.

The garden looks much better when the sun is shining, so one can ignore the weeds,

and get out the sunlounger.   Why waste such beautiful sunshine.

However I did trim the bushes, ivy, prickly plants and spider webs back from the side of the steps.  Just so that I can get up to the garden without getting wet, scratched or caught in a myriad of webs.

But I am just a little envious of the immaculate garden behind us, viewed through the trellis.

Travelling does not always go according to plan.

Our trip home should have been a smooth, and uneventful trip, in our very comfortable car.   The 1,252 kms, plus a ferry journey from Calais to Dover, took us two full days, rather longer than expected.   We kept to the speed limit of 130 kmh, no point in getting caught by the police for speeding, but had to drop back to 110 kmh at times, due to the heavy rain, which we encountered on sections of the road.    The road was also busy, with trucks, caravans and motorhomes plus fully loaded cars.   One forgets that many people were still on holiday.  But there were no hold ups, no traffic jams.

Our trip did not go smoothly, nothing serious, just small problems which took the edge of the trip somewhat.

Garlic Fumes

Our car was perfumed by the aroma of garlic, very strong garlic, even though the bunch was wrapped in a cloth, plus two plastic bags, and hidden under luggage in the boot.   We should have thrown them out, I know, but they were expensive.  They ponged, badly.

Rubbish Food

I am not sure why we ate so much rubbish food; sweets, pastries at every stop, baguettes, a rich piece of quiche, and pizza for dinner.   Indigestion and more indigestion.

Getting lost

It took two satnavs, the one in the car and the one on Walter's telephone, to find our favourite chain hotel, Ibis Budget, in Dijon.  But we should have known, that we would have problems the next morning, due to the size of Dijon, and the many motorways which head off in different directions.  We were not disappointed.   

I drove, and Walter navigated, together with the satnav.   The satnav took us through the centre of Dijon in peak hour traffic, and onto a minor road, direction Troyes.  A slow road.  Walter could not find the road on the map at first, and when he did, he insisted we turn around and follow a sign we had passed earlier, Autres Directions, with Troyes written underneath, amongst many other names.   Words were exchanged.  The satnav was turned off.  An hour later we passed the turnoff to our hotel.  We had travelled a full circle.  And Troyes was no longer mentioned on any sign.

We were now heading for either Lyon, Beaune, Geneve or Bresancon, south and south west.  So we headed for Lyon, at least we would find the A31, the correct motorway, just in the wrong direction.  Once on the A31 we found an exit, went through two tolls, and then back onto the A 31, heading north.  

Coffee was now desperately needed, plus a pastry, so we stopped at the next services, having not made any progress north, since the previous night.   We quickly drank our coffee and ate a pastry, and continued on our way, two hours behind schedule.

But the sun was shining.

                                                                          Calais
Calais turned out to be less problematic than we expected, due to the double fences along the road leading to the port.   It was also heavily guarded as well, but the sight of the refugee camp in the dunes was very unsettling, especially as it was raining heavily.   Those poor refugees.

Security at the border control was also very strong, but the queue of cars not too long.   I felt sorry for the people on the coaches, as they were being checked thoroughly, with long queues in the rain and cold.

                                                                        Ferry Crossing
The ferry crossing was not smooth, not rough either, more of a rolling motion, just enough to give me a headache.   Luckily we were able to get the front seats.

The motorhome aire beside the entrance to the port, very empty these days.    Obviously people do not want to stop there now, due to the huge numbers of refugees roaming around Calais.

                                                                          Dover
The white cliffs of Dover, in the distance.   I know the water looks very calm, but the ferry was pitching around at this point.

When we arrived in Dover, we drove around long queues of trucks being searched, and out onto the motorway.  It then started to rain.   Torrential rain.   Plus heavy traffic, with drivers darting between lanes, often passing on the inside lanes.   A nightmare trip back up the M2/A2.

But we arrived home, safely, and quickly unpacked the car.    I then succumbed and drank a large glass of red wine, which relaxed me temporarily before the indigestion and headache returned in earnest,

That night we thankfully collapsed into our lovely, big and comfortable bed.  Home again.

Camping Manjastre - now a lovely memory

We are back home again, and our three weeks at Camping Manjastre is now a lovely memory.   It was a great holiday, a few trips out, a good look at Fort Bregancon,  harvesting grapes, a celebratory dinner in the bar, and plenty of time to laze around in the sunshine and socialise with our friends.

Walter stretched out on two chairs, in the shade, happily reading his book.

The view from my chair.   So peaceful.

An empty swimming pool.   As much as we enjoy being there during school holidays, it was great not to have to compete for pool space, with excited children.   And to have a choice of sun loungers, and to be able to lie comfortably in the sun, in cooler weather.

The is me, in the distance, enjoying the luxuty of a very large swimming pool, all to myself.

It was great spending time with friends, drinking coffee, plus plenty of wine, of course   And for Walter, plenty of non alcoholic beer.   Plenty of laughts too.   Such a great time.

Allison and Sue, looking very relaxed.

June and Yvonne, also looking very relaxed.

Sorry, no photo of David, Stewart and Tom, who were sitting on the other side of Yvonne.  It was too blurred, the photograph, that is, due to Walter moving the camera. 

We also ate a few meals at the bar, excellent food, cooked by an accomplished chef.   A few shared meals too, with our neighbours. Very enjoyable.   

And on the last evening, a really delightful meal to finish off our trip, organised by our friends Dawn and Richard.

Great memories.

Out and about - very little!

Usually we are out and about a lot, but on this holiday it has been 'a little'.  Except for the necessary visits to the supermarket, plus a visit to the garage to get a new tyre for the caravan, we have mostly stayed at the campsite.  After a busy year, and more to come, it has been lovely to stay in one place, and not move too far afield.

We have only been into Le Lavandou once, without even going to our favourite bar, Le Centre, either.   That must be a first for us.  We also went to the market once.  No early morning walks along the sea front either.

The beach of Le Lavandou, looking spectacular in the early afternoon.

A game of boules.

We have visited our favourite shopping centre, Geant, three times though, and had lunch on one of those days.  Our favourite Moules but this time in a crayfish based sauce.  Delicious.

Half of the carpark at Geant has been covered with solar panels, so not only does it provide power for the shopping centre and the grid, but also provides shade for the cars.   Very practical.

Of course we could not come here without a trip to our favourite village, Bormes les Mimosa, high up on the hillside.

It always looks so pretty, against the blue sky.

An arts and crafts market was busy, as were all the shops, due to a number of tourist buses stopping for a few hours.   Australian and American accents were very noticeable.

And what could be more pleasant than a Cafe Creme and our favourite water, Perrier.

We also went on a short trip to our favourite port, Port de Miramar, on a rainy day, for an ice cream, plus a walk along the beach at l'Argentiere.  And of course we visited to Fort de Bregancon.

But on the whole we have not travelled around much.   However we have enjoyed spending our time in Camping Manjastre, and more about this in my next blog.

Fort de Bregancon

A visit to Fort de Bregancon, in order to have a look at the holiday home of the Presidents of France.   We can thank President Francois Hollande, a socialist president, for this opportunity to see inside the fort, as he made a decision in 2013 to open up the fort to the public.  However, being realistic, we thought we should grab the opportunity to visit it this year as the next president may change his or her mind.

There has always been a fortress on Bregancon since 128 BC, as the rocky outcrop protected the ports of Hyeres and Toulon, plus the surrounding land.   It has been state property since the French Revolution, and housed an artillary unit and a garrison.   It was rented out to private people from 1924 to 1963.   In 1968 General de Gaulle visited it, and made it an "official residence of the President of the Republic".  It was then refurbished and made into a holiday home. 

It was now managed by the Centre des monuments nationaux, who opened the site to visitors in the summer of 2014.   The two hour conducted tour, at €10 per person, was in French, but we were given a pamphlet in English, which helped a little.   A very challenging visit, language wise, unless you were fluent in French, which we were not, of course.

Fort de Bregancon, with one entrance via a causeway.    Even a helicopter would have difficulty landing on this outcrop.   A heavily guarded fort, with mini submarines patrolling from the sea.   

The beach of Cabasson, virtually next to the fort, always very busy in August, with hardly any sitting room on the sand, but quite deserted in September.    Sadly the little restaurant and sun loungers at the far end of the beach have gone.   We spent many a holiday, with family and friends, hiring the loungers, and eating our lunch in the restaurant.   Great beach.  

The tour started with a short trip across the causeway in an electric bus, and then a slow walk up the narrow driveway, while listening to complicated explanations from the guide about the history of the fort.

Finally we arrived at the heavy fortified front entrance.        

The views of the coastline were amazing.   On the day we visited, the brilliant blue water certainly lived up to its name, the Cote d'Azur.

A glimpse of the coast through a gate, just outside the main entrance of the fort.

The holiday home of the President of France.  The top level on the left was the presidential suite, and the  bottom level contained the living rooms and dining areas.   Directly in front was the entrance hall, and above it the President's office.   Unfortunately no photographs were allowed to be taken inside the building.

The interior was no Palace of Versaille.  Simplicity abounded.   However, all furniture had been specifically designed, and no doubt cost plenty of money.   It was very much a south of France holiday villa.  

The good news for me, was that I could understand the guide, as French lessons, at some point, always focused on rooms in a house.

The guest wing of the house.

The top view of the guest wing.   Some villa.

The garden was small, and also simply designed and planted with tough plants that would withstand the lack of water, and winds coming from the sea.   There were plenty of small seated areas, with fantastic views.

A view of the coast, with the causeway linking the fort to the mainlaind.   The area around the fort was a mixture of top class vineyards and woodland, with some chateaux and other large houses mixed in amongst it.  What a view.

Finally we had had an opportunity to see the inside of that mysterious and well guarded fort.   We enjoyed the visit immensely.

Harvesting the grapes - Camping Manjastre

Harvesting the grapes at Camping Manjastre.  What an interesting week. Brutal on the hands.  Not particular good for people suffering from back problems. Great for strengthening the arm muscles.  Excellent activity for meeting people.  And the camaraderie, wonderful.  Plus the sense of achievement, all those grapes picked and on the way to producing a decent wine.

How does it work?  

Ronald, the keen manager of the small vineyards that belong to Camping Manjastre, together with members of his family and friends, plus any willing but inexperienced and enthusiastic campers, set out to pick the grapes in the vineyards surrounding the campsite.  

We were all equiped with very sharp secateurs, and buckets.  But one very important point, keep the fingers out of the way of the secateurs.  I now have a plaster on the end of one finger.  Quite a deep cut, blood mingled with the grapes.  

My apologies to the wine connoisseurs who read this blog.  I have no idea about the grape varieties.  All I know is that the grapes are taken to a co-operative who turn out red wine or rose wine.  And they are getting better at producung a very drinkable wine.

I must not forget the wild pigs who love to eat grapes, green or ripe.   They will burrow under fences, and even between the strands in the electric fence, in order to get to the tasty grapes.   I wonder if they ever suffer from an upset stomach.  So many grapes.  It is quite a problem for vineyard owners, who have to continually check their vines, and get rid of the feasting pigs.

And to Australian readers, no redback spiders or snakes to deter people from grape picking.

Grape picking in the area in front of the swimming pool, vines a little sparse due to being very old, but still a reasonable haul.

Morning coffee in the bar, perfectly made, which tasted wonderful after an hour of grape picking.  At the end of the morning there were also pastis, and rose, plus plenty of nibbles, to set the mood for an afternoon siesta.  But not for me.  Too early in the day.

Not so many people picking grapes on the day the photograph below was taken, however there were about 25 people on each of the last two mornings.

The lower vineyard, lush and green and loaded with tight bunches of red grapes.  As this vineyard is down the hill, in a valley, we clambered onto an open truck, for the ride down and back.  Very bumpy.  Lots of laughs and no health and safety restrictions.

A grape picking pose.  No fear of cut fingers, anymore.  I had learnt to put my hand underneath the bunch of grapes, well away from the secateurs.  Mind you there was always a slight danger of being cut by the person on the other side of the row.

More posing, and smiles. It was a great opportunity to perfect the suntan.

The tractor with wagon, being filled with the grapes.

A very large bunch of luscious dark red grapes.

The very fit men lifted buckets and tipped the grapes into the wagon.  The full  buckets were very heavy.

And finally the celebrations, where we drank plenty of wine, and ate delicious food prepared by the chef.

Ronald made a speech and gave a toast.

This photograph was taken early in the evening, before we consumed many, many bottles of wine.

Toasting the successful harvest.

Everyone feeling very relaxed and happy.

Before we knew it, many hours had passed by, during which we ate the delicious food and drank numerous glasses of wine.   We also chatted and laughed and altogether had a really good time.

Thank you, Ronald, for organising a wonderful evening.   I just hope we did not drink all your profits.

After a holiday week that was quiet different, we now continue on with our holiday of rest and relaxation.

As well as let the fingers and hands recover.