Migration route

18.2.12

HAVING sworn to avoid motorways as much as possible, we’ve travelled on them almost all the way down through France. The traffic is, for the most part, so light that it doesn’t feel stressful at all.

 I’ve even driven the Hymer myself for all of 20 kilometres. My husband said the autoroute might be the easiest place to get used to it because there’s not much manoeuvring involved, and he was right. I’m still not at ease with it, but it will get better with time.

My advice for pitstops – take a short detour off the motorway, it’s so much nicer. We found another lovely little aire in the town of Vivonne where we parked up under the plane trees in the square to enjoy our French bread and some very un-French strong Cheddar that had been presented to us by our friends Alison and Harry in a bagful of goodies they thought we might miss while abroad.  

Surprising things we saw along the way … wide, frozen rivers, though little trace of the recent heavy snowfalls; what looked like a huge corrugated iron warehouse on the roadside in the middle of nowhere advertising tea dances inside; 28 buzzards perched on fence posts.

Now we are at Les Granges, our friends’ home, where we’ve been sitting on the patio outside their converted barn, eating lunch in 27-degree sunshine! It may still be icy at night, but by day it’s like an English summer.

On a long walk across the fields to visit another English couple we’ve met before, our attention is caught by the calling of common cranes circling overhead. We look up and there must be a hundred of them, getting into V formation, migrating northward. By the end of the afternoon at least a thousand have passed over the house, in wave after wave, an unforgettable sight. 

We're off at last!

February 17, 2012

I can’t think of a worse way to start a holiday than a jaunt round the rush-hour M25. But with last-minute panic packing taking longer than anticipated it was mid-afternoon before we set off for Dover, waved off by our friend Fi, who photographed our departing rear end and then chased us up the road to hand over the camera.

At the port we followed the online advice of seasoned motorhomers and parked up in Marine Parade, two minutes from the ferry terminal, ready for an early start.

At last, we were really on our way. It was time to unwind over a drink, listening to the sounds of the rain pattering on the roof, the dog gnawing contentedly on a bone – and the sudden, shocking shrieking of the fire alarm as my husband fried some onions to add to our instant pasta sauce. Clearly, it would have to be disconnected every time we cooked.

Drama over, we drew the blinds and curtains, cutting off the outside world, and it was like closing a door on an old life. In this little studio flat on wheels I felt as though we were in a time capsule, and I wouldn’t have been amazed to wake up next morning, peer outside and find that aliens had taken over while we slept.

We still managed to miss our ferry, because I’d failed to realise we had to check in 35 minutes ahead of departure. But there was another one along 40 minutes later, and buoyed up by a full English breakfast on board, it seemed like no time before we were setting off from Calais for the Dordogne.

Our first overnight stop in France was at a municipal aire in the little town of Marboue, just off the motorway below Chartres. It had everything we needed – a grassy riverside walk for the dog, a bakery on the street corner, facilities for emptying dirty water  – and it didn’t cost a bean. What a brilliant system! We tucked into spag bol and drank a toast to absent colleagues who had kindly sent us on our way with a great bottle of red and two glasses. There was just room for a slab of our friend Julie’s home-made fruit cake – another thoughtful farewell present. A time to count our blessings.

Last-minute panic

Sunday Feb 12

UPON mature consideration, otherwise known as last-minute panic, further (expensive) improvements have been made to the Hymer.

It now boasts two new electric sockets, invisibly wired in, which will save us tripping over the lead to the oil filled radiator on chilly nights, and a Tyron system which will make it much easier to control in the event of blowouts or punctures. Don’t even think about it.

Packing is now proceeding apace. Some forethought is required to work out where to stow everything we might possibly require to sustain us for six weeks, and luckily forethought is my husband’s strong point, since it isn’t mine. A massive Tesco shop this morning must surely have provided enough food to get us to the Dordogne and quite possibly to the South Pole, where we’d doubtless feel quite at home in the sub–zero temperatures

Wasp stings dog

February 8, 2012

THE first night we spent in the van was Tuesday, January 31. I remember it seemed a really significant occasion.

We set off as soon as we could after I finished work and I was quickly struck, as we headed down the A303 to Taunton, by how being in the front passenger seat of a Hymer, with the huge windows that give it such fantastic visibility, was like riding a roller-coaster.

Every time we went down one of the lengthy hills on the westward route, it was like pitching over the edge on one of those scary rides, with nothing between me and the fate lurking below but a sheet of glass. I felt stressed out, constantly pleading: “Slow down!”

It was dark, and after closing time when we arrived at Cornish Farm, the site adjacent to Vanbitz, where our alarm was to be fitted next day. But there was a notice directing us to our pitch, and once we hooked up to the electricity supply, with the lights and the shiny new red kettle on, I cheered up.

The facilities on-site were immaculate (although it was rather spooky to hear a Radio 2 DJ chirping away through loudspeakers to the otherwise empty washrooms whenever one opened the door).

The van felt cosy and safe once we’d drawn the  blinds – though not for the dog, who squeaked in protest as he was stung by a sleepy wasp we must have dislodged from their folds.

We’d cheated, and cooked a Thai curry before we set out, so heated this up and ate it. It’s a sign of how exhausted I was that when my husband, draining the rice, complained that the colander leaked, I fell for it!

A couple of glasses of wine later, and with the gas heating proving effective, we were feeling very relaxed. From my point of view there was only one drawback. “Bonus,” said my husband as he switched on the radio to find live commentary on the Spurs match. “Who could ask for more?”

The dog soon settled happily on his bed (no.3, in case you're counting) and our own drop-down mattress proved amazingly comfortable.

Next morning we were given a lift in to town to while away the day. We’d been seduced, while waiting for the ride, into buying a TV, and that was to be fitted as well.

Taunton, even on an icy day, proved a pretty good place to hang about. We decided to look for fleeces and sweatshirts for our trip, and the dog made us instant friends in every clothing shop we entered, being particularly successful with females under the age of 30.

One of these, a lovely assistant at Crew, directed us to The Scrumper, a café where we could sit outside with Glen in relative shelter and even catch a few rays of wintry sun. We had brunch there and were so pleased by it that we returned for a late lunch.

The town has a truly fascinating museum, its only drawback being that we were only allowed to look round it one at a time, while the other sat outside with the dog – though if you asked me what kind of hazard a border collie posed to relics safely ensconced behind plate glass I’d have to say I’m not sure. 

Shopping proved productive and we returned to a demonstration of the full bells-and-whistles alarm system at such volume that the dog had to be removed to a safe distance to shield his delicate ears. We arrived home quite worn out, but comprehensively equipped for whatever Europe could throw at us …..?

Role reversal

30.1.12

ANOTHER piece of good news, though. No. 1 Son, currently in India with girlfriend and judging by the pictures on his Facebook page, partying like there’s no tomorrow, will be back by the end of February.

That means the house will be occupied most of the time we’re away. I’ll be sad to miss their homecoming after 18 months apart, but I suppose a few weeks more won’t really matter.

So while we’re off jaunting about the place in young and carefree mode, they’ll be starting to look for proper jobs (fingers crossed) and working out how to afford a first real home of their own. Poor things, I don’t envy them.

Dog eats bed

January 29, 2012

WE’RE fairly whizzing along now, and we haven’t even left home. My husband has concocted a fitted carpet for the Hymer from offcuts lying around in the garage, and a smaller table, just wide enough for a bottle of wine, a couple of glasses and a book or two, which will slide into place to give us and the dog a little more legroom.

In fact, the more he thinks about it the more ideas he comes up with to make life on the road more comfortable, and he’s been haunting the local caravanning supplier over the past three or four weeks, coming home with handy gadgets at regular intervals – such as a bargain plastic holder for mugs, to stop them rattling around, reduced to a few pence because it’s got a crack in it which he’s promptly mended.

I really do appreciate his efforts, it’s just that I can’t understand why he finds this kind of thing fun. All I can say is, thank goodness he does.

Meanwhile parcels have been turning up containing yet more essentials. The latest yesterday was a big box of melamine crockery.

 What is about caravanning and camping that encourages designers to throw taste out of the window and indulge in some of the most revolting patterns known to man? We couldn’t find a plate or bowl that we could live with. Plain white was what we settled on, and it took some tracking down because shops only seem to stock up in the summer. Anyway, the internet came to our rescue and it’s here now.

And the new table will be holding a celebratory bottle or two on Tuesday when we spend our first night in the Hymer.

As soon as I finish work we’re off to Taunton to get an alarm system fitted. Not just any old alarm system, you understand, but the top-of-the-range, specially-designed-for-motorhomes kind, as recommended by guru James Brown in his invaluable Motorhome & Caravan Security Handbook.

Auntie B, who lives for part of the year in Spain, has been reinforcing my fears about tyre-slashing robbers lurking at traffic lights to leap on unsuspecting tourists, and I’m up for taking every precaution, regarding the ever-mounting cost as a sensible investment.

I’m also hoping that the dog is an effective burglar-deterrent. I’ve told him he  needs to earn his keep, since he’s just munched his way through the fluffy new bed we bought him for travelling.

The charitable view of this misdeed is that he mistook it for a cuddly toy. I suspect, however, that he was showing off because we’d had to leave him unattended for a few hours and he was bored.

Either way, a shredded mass of kapok stuffing greeted us on our return home, and after a certain amount of bad language (not on my part, you understand) it was off to the pet shop to acquire a bean bag instead. So far he seems markedly disinclined to lie on it, preferring the floor.

Mayday!

January 11,2012

SUDDENLY our departure date is hurtling towards me like the ground rushing up to meet a novice parachutist and while I’ve never jumped out of an aeroplane and have no intention of ever doing so, I imagine it’s a similarly panic-inducing moment.