We crossed the Channel
with Seafrance,
and I was back in
familiar territory...Calais docks on the right side of the
road. This was a 'pinch-yourself moment', we were actually doing
this!
We headed straight down the west side of France, sticking with
the motorways for now, and detoured at the end of the day to find a
campsite near Le Havre for the night. We really just wanted to hit
the coast. Well, what a joke. There ARE no campsites in or near Le
Havre, apparently. We had driven into the town to the tourist office,
which was closed, so went to the shop across the road, we still
needed to get metho. Undercover parking, cool. Not so cool when your
vehicle misses the ramp roof by a centimetre! Mike's opinion of this?
“Sa-weet!” Pffft! :) (I did get a photo of this, but it's mysteriously disappeared)
Next, hit the free wifi
at Mcdonald's to look for accomodation. In the middle of a series of
hits-and-misses while searching for a hotel suggested by a Mcd's
staff member, we found ourselves in a town looking quite cute from
the outside, until we hit the main street. Whoa... There was a
cafe-looking place open ahead, which I quickly pointed out as a
possible food stop. Then we went past it, and it reminded me of some
of the scariest-looking dero pubs in country towns back home. Uh-uh.
We kept driving. We couldn't find said hotel, but turned up at
another one in the same chain. It was reasonable, we had a
forgettable dinner in a travel restaurant and that was our first
night.
The next day we had the
feeling of “let's just get out of France!”. A last minute
decision, made with the we-should-while-we're-here philosophy saw us
leaving the motorway to put our map-pin in at Cognac.
We're glad we
went, Cognac is a beautiful town, very quaint.
It was in Cognac,
while standing on the picturesque main bridge, that I told Mike his
van needed a name.
He was open to it (or maybe I should say
tolerant!) but balked a bit when I said it would be a middle-aged
name. I pointed out that she felt female, but her age precluded a lot
of trendier options.
However, I added that she was quite plush, and the 'Royal
Lounge' badge added a distinguished air. I needed a bit more time to
come up with the perfect name.
We tried a glass of
Cognac in nearby Pons...a glass of good and a glass of bad, according
to the bartender. Well, we didn't like either of them. Ugh. So on we
went.
A fuel stop...was this where things would start going wrong? Mike slid out of the van and dropped something out of his lap. His iphone. OK? No, it's cracked the screen. Oh no. But, hey, the touch screen still works. Getting back into the van...tick-tick-tick...ha, starter motor. I tell you what...if Mike wasn't a mechanic, there is no WAY I'd be doing a trip like this! But a few more ticks and she fired into life. Hmmmm...
It took a little while to get back to the motorway, but I have
to say that while slower, the drive is a lot nicer on the minor
roads. The motorways bypass all the little towns, which are the
essence of a foreigner experiencing a different culture. But
currently, time was our essence, so that night saw us sleeping in the
back of the van for the first time of many. At a services near
Toulouse.
This wasn't as bad as
it might sound. French motorway services have picnic areas away from
the fuel station, a cafe/restaurant/shop, and you have access to
inside, (relatively) clean toilets all night. This was cool, a few
other people were doing the same thing, and had even pitched tents!
An earlier services
stop gave us the opportunity to christen (attempt cooking with?)
our
new stove. This turned out all right. Our first home-cooked meal was
chicken with tortellini and pasta sauce.
Easy-peasy. But we learnt we would need
to allow a little bit more daylight for the washing up.
The decision had
already been made that we would hit Spain via Andorra. Who wouldn't
take the opportunity to cross another country off their list, if it's
right there? And we're glad
we did. Leaving the motorway again in France broadened our cultural
experience a little more as we visited another tiny French village,
Tarascon-sur-Ariage
(and went past a campsite we catalogued for
possible future use), then climbed the Pyrenees mountains to Andorra.
Just before crossing the border we stopped for a beautiful photo op of the
valley we had just left behind. A lovely older couple offered to take
a photo of us, but didn't seem to want one of themselves together. I
can only assume that's what happens after 40 years of marriage.
Still, they were very nice. It was here, in this beautiful place,
that Ruby got her name. Mike tried it out once, twice, then decided
he could handle it.
(Now he calls her by name more than I do!) I
later told him at our lunch stop in Andorra that it could have been
something like 'Blanche'. We're laughing about this now...he's just
informed me he nearly fell off his seat when I told him that. Haha.
So,
Ruby she became.
