A New Day

Hello everyone

A new day dawned and off we went.

At last blog, we had indicated our intention to head to Montpellier and beyond. Well, we packed up the motor home in Dardilly and headed south. This was predominately motorway driving so there wasn't really much to report on regarding this aspect of the trip other than the usual (now benign) experiences of subsonic speeds by cars overtaking us and beautiful scenery as far as the eye could see.

The land in this part of France (and the rest of it I suspect) is so fertile I am convinced you could grow kids here!

Anyway, we arrived in Montpellier and had found some literature about a camping ground called the Oasis Palasienne. It was about 3klm beyond Montpellier and sounded exotic so we decided to give it a go. After all, we had stayed in Auschwitz - aka. Frankfurt City Camping - so we were ready for anything.

Well, the Oasis Palasienne was not exotic, in fact rather than an Oasis it was more like a puddle - although in fairness it was not all that bad except that the lawns were almost as tall as me and appeared to have been spared the mower or whipper snipper for about 12 months - the restaurant and bar was not open yet (even though the tourist season was officially underway), the only water views (which had been advertised) were gained if you looked over the shower wall whilst someone was showering next to you and it was 3 km from anything with nothing anywhere nearby to walk to.

Once again, we relied on baguettes, smoked meats and cheeses washed down with a little beer and wine and had an early night. Prior to bedtime, Jane and I had walked around the graveyard, er sorry, the camping ground, and did see, in the faraway distance, buildings and landscape that gave the impression of being the coast so decided we would at least drive there the next morning before we pushed off again on the next leg of our adventure.

As it turned out, this was the best thing we could have done. That distant resemblence of coastal landscape turned out to be a little fishing village called Palavas Les Flots and it reminded us both very much of Dingle in Ireland or Forster on the mid north coast of NSW. Wonderful little village right on the ocean with channels into the main section of town where the fisherman unload their catch each morning and sell direct to the public in the main street. We wancdered amongst the fishing boats and crews, who by this time (10am) had unloaded their catch and whilst their wives tended to the cleaning and sale of the catch, the fishermen were to be found seated behind the women, slicing smoked ham from the leg, accompanying this with large chunks of fine French fromage and washing the whole lot down with a bottle (or 4) of red wine. Once again, I found myself musing on the joys of being a French fisherman in a no nonsense, no worry environment like Palavas Les Flots.

On entering this particular village, we had seen a large paved parking lot very near to the main Marina where no end of boats were berthed. It turned out this "parking lot" was in fact a overnight (or as long as you liked) accomodation area for motor homes, complete with electricity, fresh water, toilets and showers and all available for the overnight price of about 15 Euros. We immediately drove in and booked ourselves a wonderful spot right at the marina edge with the water and floating boats all of about 6 feet in front of our motor home.

An absolutely delightful view straight out of our front window and a fabulous spot to bunk down for the night knowing we were in a secure area, surrounded by about 50 other motor homes of various size and opulence all sharing the view, the experience and the life style.

I wandered around (as I am prone to doing) to admire the various configurations and set ups of these homes and got to speak to quite a number of people. It turns out the motor home community in Europe in vast and they will spend significant periods of the year travelling around Europe - similar I guess to our own 'grey nomads' - however, these people have the benefit of being able to do it every couple of week ends through the proximity of European countries and the opportunity to just jump in the motor home and head off for the weekend to France, Spain or Germany - or many other countries as well- and get back home in time to start work on Monday. For that reason I guess, motor homes are a really big thing over here and having now travelled on roads in three countries (Germany, France and Spain) I understand why you see more motor homes than semi trailers on the road. Everyone who gets the chance takes up the opportunity of travel and does so quite comfortably in a motor home. Its affordable, accomodation is everywhere and all undertaking this type of travel seem friendly and offer assistance in whatever form needed if/when required.

Back to the story: So Jane and I hooked up the power, locked up the motor home and ventured into Palavas Les Flots for a survey of the town and its inhabitants.

I once read a book by Kate Grenville called The Idea of Perfection which was set in a (fictitious) little country town. When I read the book, I thought of the setting of another book called The Bridges of Maddison County and I believe that Palavas Les Flots could have been used for the inspiration of either of the two. Nothing clever or funny to mention here - simply a wonderful place and one Jane and I truly enjoyed being in. Great local people who represent, in our eyes at least, the quintessential french rural lifestyle - from the sea worn and weathered tanned skin of the fishermens faces to the still evident liveliness sparkling in the eyes of older village women scurrying about making much about nothing really but occupying their time none the less.

The simplicity and contentment abounding in this village was for me an absolute highlight of the trip thus far. I really was sorry to have to pack up and move on and told Jane I could have quite easily stayed for many more days.

We lunched on freshly prepared sea food of moule (mussels), crevette (prawns) and petite poulpe (calamari). This was accompanied by french crusty bread and finished with creme caramel and espresso cafe.

We filled in the afternoon browsing through the shops, walking amongst the bobbing boats on the pier and feeling the sand dissipate between our toes as we carried on like schoold kids running in and out of the ebbing french waters on the nearby beach. Time literally seemed to stand still and I think we could have gone on doing this for ever, however, before we knew it the time had come to source another restaurant for dinner.

We found a place which was apparently popular, judging by the number of people eating in it, so took a table and were served a filling meal of veal and pasta for moi and a pizza for Jane which would have easily doubled as a "lazy susan" on a gourmet table seating 15. Needless to say, Jane was not able to get through it all but we both wandered back to our motor home that night feeling filled and relaxed after a wonderfully simple day taking in the pleasures of this little place.

A great nights sleep and after a quick breakfast of coffee, croissants and another walk around, we packed up the motor home and headed for the Spanish border.

We hit the motorways and encountered some really rough wind blowing us (and other motor homes, caravans and large trucks) all over the road but eventually, we came to the (by now) expected toll point - adieu France - hola Espana!

I hadn't previously mentioned the toll booths but let me just say this - they leave the old toll gates at Berowra and the Harbour Bridge for dead. Conservatively, these toll gates have been set up across at least 24 lanes of traffick as the road spreads out on entering same. They are both a welcome site (as an indicator of arriving at specific destination points on our trip) and awesome when confronted by them for the first time. Booths are both automated and manually operated and personnel within same seem to be multi lingual - having no difficulty speaking English, Spanish, Italian, German and no doubt countless other languages in recognition of the variety of nationalities passing through same each day.

We then drove on and whilst travelling toward the Costa Brava coast, had our first true glimpse of the Pyrenee's (Pirineos in Spanish) mountains which, in contrast to the sunshine and 25 degree temperature we were experiencing, were still heavily covered in snow. We captured some lovely photos of the mountains and eventually drove into a town named Palafrugell which is effectively the commencement of the Costa Brava coastline. A puick stop in a parking area right on the beach and we lunched in our motor home with the door wide open admiring and taking in the bridal white sand of the seaside splashed against the crystal clear blue waters of the Spanish coast. I see why the English come here in their droves - the sands on these beaches would be the only thing on earth whiter than their legs!!

We finished lunch and hit the expressway to a place called the Globo Rojo which advertised on the internet as a "hip, happening camping park where everything you need is at your doorstep". This is about 40 klms north of Barcelona and after arrival, we requested that we be permitted to actually walk around and "check the place out" before we booked in (another handy hint for aspiring travellers in lieu of our recent experiences at Auschwitz and the "Oasis").

Good thing we did - the internet site was far more "hip and happening" than the park was so we decided to do a u-turn and head north again, this time via the entire Costa Brava coastline, until we found a place we wanted to stay at.

Even though this took a lot longer than going by motor way, the scenery was well and truly worth the continual gear changing required going up and down windy coast roads with high cliffs on one side and massive sheer drops to the ocean below on the other. A couple of heady moments were experienced when we encountered full size tourist buses coming the other way and I now have a completely new respect for anyone who drives a bus - whether it be the drivers of these top of the range coaches ferrying tourists across Europe right down to the poor bugger transporting kids to school and back each day - these guys have gone up in my estimation. We arrived in a place called St Feliu de Guixols and found a great camping place called Cala GoGo which is in an area named Calonge. As it turned out, this place was about 25 minutes from where we had stopped to have lunch at Palafrugell some 4 and a half hours earlier.

We booked in and set up the motor home in about 5 minutes. Jane has become quite the hand at this and once I pull in, she gets the chocks out of the back and puts them under the relevant wheels (I then drive onto them and this levels up the motor home), hooks us up to power and then winds out the awning. Our selected spot is near the two very large swimming pools (one of which is heated), is high up with views of the Costa Brava coast and out to sea, near the restaurant and bar and very close to all amenities we need. We decided to spend 3 nights here to "recharge the batteries" and soak up some much needed sun and ocean swimming (and to give my left knee time to recover from a bad dose of "clutch leg"!)

We are also sitting in a WiFi serviced site so I am writing this to you at 5pm in the afternoon under a gorgeous blazing sun. Jane and I have been swimming this morning and generally lazing about. We will be heading for a walk down to the beach once I send this off and I have attached a couple of photos from the last few days including pictures of Palavas Les Flots, the Pyrenees and our current camp site.

Hope all is well with you all - please keep the comments coming. We enjoy your chit chat and it keeps us informed about whats happening with you.

Love to everyone

Seniora Piernas Poco (Little Legs) and Signore Ricardo