Gonna Ma-beya un it

‘I must remember to sit down and write the blog’ ‘don’t let me forget to sit down and wrote the blog’ ‘shit, I really have to sit down and write the bloody blog..’ 

Ok, so it’s been ages since we’ve had the chance to update our pictorial and worded travel diary.  This is partly due to laziness, having lots of other interesting stuff to do or a series of hilarious run-ins with our local Spanish internet shop which appears to have the gravitational pull of Hattie Jacques and has exerted such a Toulon-like grip upon me that I had find it impossible to avoid entering and have another fall-out with the proprietor – he really is a disagreeable chap and sold us a lie god dammit – so I enjoy our little get-togethers.

Anyway, after a few ‘discussions’ we have finally sorted out a net connection that isn’t powered by the local donkey and that allows us sufficient GB’s to kick-start our blog again.  Apologies to our four Caribbean readers about the lack of recent broadcasts but we’re back on air now so hook yourself up a hammock, grab a can of Lilt and join us as we continue our journey through space and time….ok then, just France and Spain.

We left off waaaaaay back in mid-October, as we were just about to carry out a load of second viewings of property dotted across Brittany and in differing states of repair.  We viewed countless property the first time around remaining open minded about all we looked at, despite condition or location, and found some lovely property in the wrong location or a dog of a house in favoured location, but nothing felt quite right.  Anyway, we whittled it down to a few decent ruins in our favoured location of south-eastern Brittany and headed out to see them again.

Before we go into how we got on something that we both began to feel as we spent more time in Brittany was that, as lovely as it is, it can feel a bit too quaint and quiet (especially coming from the mean streets of E’Dwich) and what we’d originally set out to find ‘wow, look at all this peace and space’ became a little bit ‘shit, look at all this peace and space’.  France – and Brittany in particular - feels like a perfectly safe and decent place to live, everything seems nice, quiet, clean, pretty damn near perfect… a bit like the Truman Show.   There just doesn’t appear to be that extra something exciting that we have found in so many other places present in Brittany.  But property is cheap, the countryside is really nice in parts and the people we’ve met have always been extremely friendly to us.

This has left us just mulling over if we would/could permanently live there, and we’re still not sure of that right now. We met a really decent bloke who was around the same age as me (still young, full of verve) who had moved to Brittany sometime ago, set up his own property investment company and was trying to sell us a house.  He took us around a few houses, really helpful, telling us why each one was the perfect investment opportunity for us and we all got on well so we took him for a coffee after completing our viewings.

No sooner had we sat down when he was suddenly like ‘look, I’m trying to sell you a house and all but do you REALLY wanna live here?’ and went on to explain how he’d moved out for the ‘better quality of life’ more space etc but that the remoteness/rural life nature & lack of City hustle and bustle can be very hard to adjust to, so he said he was moving his family further south and that we should give serious consideration to our plan of moving lock-stock to Brittany as it can be a little sleepy (not his exact words).  Either the best, or worst, Estate Agent going.  Good man. 

We’d also seen evidence of the risk of buying property and moving abroad in the form of a lot of half-renovated incomplete ‘dreams’ that owners were now trying to sell or property that had been bought from the UK and just left to rot, not something we want to end up with and doesn’t endear you to the local community.

Anyway, with all that in mind the properties that we went to see for a second visit turned out to be just too far away from life for us, too rural or in small hamlets with not much going on so we ruled them all out.  We’ve not searched for or bought property before but something happened to us during our search that I guess a lot of people experience; we found ourselves comparing everything against the very first place that we viewed and that we had found on-line whilst still in the UK, the mighty Lignol!  Not only did we find ourselves talking about it but also we’d find ourselves visiting it, again and again, countless times like it was our own. It’s not, but we want it to be.  So after an extensive search and a long drive back up from Italy to Brittany we’ve picked the very first one we saw over 12 months ago (luckily for us there has been four failed purchase attempts to date by others so it’s still available).

Awesome ruin it is, set into some lovely land and not too far from both the nearest small and decent sized town.  Anyone reading this (including the four Caribbeans) will hopefully discover all this anyway, as you will be helping re-build it.  There’s not the business opportunity we were looking for at the site, yet, but there could be potential to expand in the future and even though it’s not ours we do get that feeling of coming ‘home’ when we visit it.  Just most homes don’t have trees growing in the lounge.  So, easy part done, identifying the property we want, now we have the very difficult process of trying to actually make it ours by having an impending offer accepted and securing a modest French renovation mortgage, not as easy as getting hold of cash in the UK and a blog entry of its own.  Who knows if we will actually live there in the future, just getting it re-built will be enough to start with. However, anyone reading this (including the four Carribeans) will be expected to put us up for a while in April if none of this comes off, could go either way as it stands today.

Right, with that partly sorted it was time to leave Brittany and follow the sensible birds and retired cock-er-nees down to southern Spain for winter and to the house so kindly donated to us by Wendy and Graham. Located in the village of Acequias, not far from Granada in Andalucia, and at about 900m altitude up the side of the Sierra Nevada it’s a great place to head to for winter!!

Up to this point we’d done so much driving, so much travelling and spent so much time in the van that we decided to blast down to southern Spain as quickly as possible, sometimes at terrifying speeds close to 55mph.  Also, with the northern European weather beginning to turn on us and the relative sanctuary of open campsites with warm showers now few and far between we couldn’t wait to get to Acequias. 

So, not much to tell you about the trip down other than we passed through:

Biarritz - great looking place, even on a cloudy day – full of trust-fund receiving surfers.

San Sebastian - awesome place to visit, brilliant city in stunning setting – full of trust-fund givers and an elderly community not unlike that in the film Cocoon.

Other than some place in the middle of Spain that was it for major stops on our journey south, we really went for it and the bus is none to happy with us for it.  It’s a shame that we missed a lot of Spain on the trip down – although the middle drive from north to south is a pretty monotonous stretch of nothingness, nothing but whole loads of nothing, save a few ropey industrial looking places – but once we get settled we plan to head out and explore more, we also wanted to save something for the journey back north next year (if we don’t just keep heading south).

Arriving at Acequias was brilliant.  Mainly because the van took a beating on the way down, we’d really pushed it, but also because we’d been looking forward to the comforts of living in a proper solid structure ever since the summer ended and the great European rains of 2012 arrived.  Naturally, because we’d spent the best part of seven months in our awesome van and now needed to adjust to living in a house (we tried to drive it to BP and fill it up with diesel but we can’t get it started, engine trouble we suspect..) it felt a bit weird getting out of the bus knowing it would be for quite a while.  We also had the slightly unnerving sight of the lovely local Spanish mama’s lining up to stare through the windows at us for the first week or so, must be a local custom or something, but they are all proper old mama types, very umm, ‘curious’ for want of a better word but also very welcoming.

We arrived at the house quite late at night and a bit disorientated so preceded to get well smashed on cheap Rioja and rum.  Banging headaches we stumbled out onto the roof terrace the next morning to be met with a fantastic panoramic view of the valley that we find ourselves right next to, the Sierra Nevada mountains and farther beyond to distant villages.  It looks like a great place to spend time.

In return for the kind loan of the property we are undertaking some repairs so have spent our first week at the house doing one or two jobs, getting to know our immediate surroundings and just relaxing into relaxing, all the while looking up at the mountains wondering how great it will be to walk them, getting excited about getting out into the local community more, cycling the challenging looking roads and maybe even heading to the beach, in November.  We also need to source combustible material and get to grips with our wood burner as we suspect it could get cold around here.

More of which will be posted in a less shoddy time frame in the next week (or so).

Hasta bloody Luego!

No title no cry.

Full circle...back to Brittany

Last time we caught up we were at the Dutch run campsite near the town of Cordes-sur-Ciel.  This felt like a last few snatched days of holiday; we were reaching the end of September and this together with our climb northwards, would leave us preparing for some chillier climes.  Cordes-sur-Ciel is a beautiful town, dotted with wonderfully weird little shops - one displayed a full fighting scene of little plastic soldier toys - you're left wondering if they sell very much, or perhaps this is 'art', who knows..  Anyway, another hilltop town, but this one beautifully French, and a couple of hours spent pleasantly strolling (or rather huffing and puffing up steep inclines).  After three days relaxing in this area, we proceeded with our climb to northern France, arriving in the Dordogne and staying at an aire in Tremolat, not far from Bergerac.  By now we were getting back into this aire business - the Tremolat one by example being pretty much as good as any campsite, if you can go without electric and have your own washing facilities your stay in France can be very cheap and easy.

Onwards early the next day, and since we were heading that way, we decided to make our last stop before Brittany at Chatelaillon, just south of La Rochelle.  I'm not sure Michael and I have ever come to France together without ending up here at some point, and in fact it was the destination for our first ever foray into French camping many years ago, when it took a whole day and a couple of bottles of cider to even get the tent up straight!  Anyway, for some silly reason we're sentimental about this place as in a weird way it feels like where it all began.  On this occasion, we had received a text from a fellow weather obsessional warning us of the forthcoming gales, however still decided upon the aire spot directly infront of the beach, and therefore at the mercy of any weather coming in from the Atlantic.  A windy and rainy walk along the beach later, we shut ourselves in the van which swayed from side to side in the high winds through much of the night.

After a short drive, we found ourselves on the boundary of Brittany and in need of hot showers, so checked in to a campsite on the coast at Penesten, which thankfully had wifi to while away two more days of constant rain.  I suppose this is the point it hit us that our summer was over.  No more flip flops.  No more suntan lotion.  Not even shorts weather, and the thought of craving ice cold frappe's suddenly seemed both ludicrous and a million miles away.  Anyone who know's me well will realise it took me a few days to adjust to this realisation and come out of my stinking mood!  There was however house hunting to look forward to and much of our time was spent lining up appointments for the coming weeks in Brittany.  And we had a regular visitor to the van during this time of a cheeky little cat, who had clearly sussed us out as complete pushovers and the best place to hide out the terrible weather. She operated on the 'if I keep really quiet they wont notice I'm here' tactic, and then when we attempted to shoo her out the door that evening, switched to all out attack, leaving us both bleeding and zig-zagged with scratches...needless to say we lived up to our pushover tag and let her stay since she was quite nice company when not being forced out into the cold.

Due to the weather, this campsite was also the scene of mass death in the local pigeon population.  We arrived back to the van one afternoon to a birds nest and dead baby bird that had obviously been dislodged from the tree in the winds.  The campsite owner removed the bird and told us in broken English, and mock splatting noises, that many had been falling over the last few days.  This was evidenced an hour later as a second baby pigeon, who had clearly been clinging desperately to the branches above since his nest fell an hour before, gave up and fell within a metre or so of us standing by the van.  Poor thing made a noise like a deflated football as it hit the ground.  Anyway, it made walking under the trees quite tense for our remaining time there...and was the first time I missed my cycle helmet.

So, now we were in Brittany, our intended future home.  We had plans to explore some of the regions and pockets of Brittany that we had not been to, before our viewings started in few days.  This began in La Gacilly, a town right on the border of the Morbihan which hosts the largest photographic exhibition in France every year.  Fortunately, the exhibition was on when we arrived, and consists of open air installations throughout the cobbled streets, and several large format photo's pinned to the side of buildings and businesses throughout the town.  The aim of the exhibition is to make people think about the future of the planet, and this year's theme was People and Nature.  Awesome.  And a good introduction to Brittany no less.  We pootled around some nearby villages and then ended the day camping at Port Foleux, a very poignant stop since this was where we headed off on our trip from five months ago.  It almost made us question whether we had dreamt it all...

Then of course the viewings began.  Which actually brings us up to present day, as over the last 10 days or so we have attended viewings with various estate agents and notaires (basically like local solicitors that manage a list of properties for sale in their area) in many of the regions within Brittany.  It's been a very strange experience in the main, partly I suppose as we have never purchased a property in the UK, let alone in a foreign country.  The serious nature of what we are proposing to do has definitely sunk in over the last week, sitting at our desks in London full of bravado talking of buying a property in France is very different to actually doing it, that's for sure.  There have also been fairly rude awakenings in terms of planning laws and land usage; any potential campsite or business we had in mind would need to be fought for tooth and nail in most cases.  In others it is simply not an option, or too expensive.
It's not all bad news and negative experience though; we have seen some lovely parts of Brittany, and naturally living over on the continent feels as though it opens up the whole of the Europe, but particularly the rest of France, the beautiful country that we love.  We have also seen some properties, which although in some pretty ruinous states, are definitely options for us in terms of having a home for the future, and let's not forget that it is a buyer's market at the moment here in France so what you get for your money is actually quite a shock when compared to over-inflated prices in the UK.  What we have seen however is perhaps the effect of the economic downturn in the UK, with lots of British bought and half renovated properties back on the market; financial circumstances have changed for some and their dreams will have to remain unrealised.  Of course, in some cases, these British owned properties were bought with no intention of renovation, simply as a 'sit on and make money for nothing' scheme, however with no rising market these people have lost out on their moneymaking schemes.  In these instances it's easy to understand some of the French animosity towards the Brits!

All in all it's been a great experience, and we are glad we arrived in Brittany early.  We are still determined to   have a stab at moving our lives over here, however not wanting to end up with a project we can't finish, we'll be making sure we get our sums right.  In fact we have some second viewings at the weekend so let's watch this space.

Who lives in a house like this?

Smack my beach up

I was going to title this blog entry ‘Up shit creek’ but that wouldn’t have worked because all of the beaches, bays and creeks we have seen recently have been spectacular (unless you include the creeks belonging to the two old dears in swimwear bent over in front of us momentarily blocking the beautiful view of Cassis bay)..

So, where have we been since we left Anna in Nice? (by the way, if you ever find yourself in a gorge with Anna do get her to perform her ‘Last of the Mohicans’ impression, her interpretation is Oscar worthy).  The plan was to skirt along the South of France (S.O.F from hereon in) a bit more before starting to bend our way back up towards Brittany - where we have to plan re-joining normal life - via the Midi-Pyrenees whilst trying to get as much swimming in as we could, be that in the sea or wild.  So we’ve spent as much time by bodies of water as we can, whilst the sun still shines and the water still warm, all the while further exploring the country that we will soon call home.

First up was the mainly rocky coastline of the La Lavandu area. Don’t get me wrong, I really liked the so called ‘chic’ part of the S.O.F - it was way less crass than I thought it was going to be and especially when compared to its Italian neighbour- but just a little further along the coast towards Marseille and away from Cannes, St Tropez etc there can be found some lovely little spots if, like us, you prefer to get away from beaches offering overpriced sun-loungers and hideously botoxed faces.  A bit of scrambling and you can pretty much have a spot on the beautiful Med all to yourself. So we found an awesome little campsite to stay at for a couple of days and relaxed by the clear blue sea for a bit, in beautiful sunshine (sorry Anna!!). It was at this site that I’m ashamed to say that I found myself wanting another… sincerest apologies Gus but that VW Delher was beautiful… ‘Oooohh VW Delher, how I yearn for thee’.  I found myself staring at it all longingly..

Proper chilled by now we packed up and headed out for the quick scoot along the coast to Marseille airport to collect more visitors!!  So, who would be appearing through the ‘Stars in Their Eyes’ doors of the arrival lounge this time? Is that, is that Eddie Vedder and Kylie Minogue*? No! Even better than that it was The Wrights, Mr & Mrs Wright that’s Darren and Emma Wright!! Dazzer and Em, how amazing to see them arrive.  We’d booked a place in La Pradet (the fantastically named ‘Lou Pantai’) back towards from whence we’d came and it was on the 2 hour or so drive back to the campsite that we had our first encounter with what was to become a most formidable foe; bloody Toulon.  Toulon. If you ever find yourself in this region, anywhere on the A50 or A570 and you need to get from Marseille to St Tropez do all that you can to avoid Toulon. Go as faaaar around it as is possible. I’d suggest that going via Switzerland is best, just to be on the safe side, coz once stuck into the spidersweb that is Toulon, there’s no escape. Struggling is futile, the more you struggle the more entangled you become: climb mountains, swim oceans, dig tunnels, just don’t go through Toulon (unless you have a fetish for traffic jams and sex toys, then THIS is your KINDA TOWN!).

Helen and I had not been to Lou Pantai so were a little apprehensive on arrival. Sites can be hit and miss and we wanted Daz and Em to have a nice chilled place to stay but we needn’t have worried. It turned out to be a really well kept, proudly ‘eco’ place run by a lovely couple.  Daz and Em settled into their modern cabin, we arranged our pitch and then a lovely evening was spent catching up whilst downing loads of Italian red we’d saved.  We got up earlyish the next day, had French pastries for breakfast and headed out for some local beach action.  Although not directly on the coast a short walk from Lou Pantai will take you to some lovely coastline and four or five individual beaches with lovely clear blue sea, good snorkelling too.  To get to our chosen beach we had to take the route through the nudist beach area.  Emma said to Helen later that whilst I was walking through it I sounded like the Rain Man – ‘Oh, oh god, oh no, oh god, not happy’.  Man, there’s some sights permanently burnt onto my retinas..

We spent a lovely afternoon here (a few beers, some exploding) talking to Darren and Emma about our future plans for Brittany, which was good, coz Dazzer’s a creative type so once you start him riffing on things any number of good ideas come out.. clever man, gave us lots of good stuff to think about.. this also helped avoid talk of our beloved, but shite-right-now, Reds - JTF96 the truth, at last!!

The plan for the second day was an awesome one, something I’d be looking forward to for a while – a trip to the Creeks of Cassis!! Although, this also meant going back through Toulon…bloody Toulon.  At least the town planners - probably recognising that having two motorways ending in the same small city centre was madness - had the decency to dig a huge bloody long tunnel under the entire city heading west to east, shame it was only the one way though.  So, arriving at about midday in Cassis and after having trouble finding parking we made sarnies, packed rucksacks, donned sun-cream and headed out in search of ‘Les Calanques’.  The only way to reach the calanques is on foot, unless you take a touristy boat trip, and despite the intense heat we were all determined to walk it.

After a bit of hit and miss with directions we finally found the beginning of the creek trail. Gutted.  We asked some locals which were the best to strike out for and how long it would take and were told that the nearest were at least an hours walk away.  It was getting into the afternoon and stupidly we had only put a few hours or so on the parking meter and the walk meant we would have had to eat our sarnies whilst swimming and leave pretty much as soon as arriving, not worth it.  We’d lost the creeks.  Despondent, we all headed back into Cassis but then still had a wicked afternoon on the beach near town. This was still stunning, amazing views (two old dears aside) and amazing water for swimming. Burnt and happy we headed back to base but not before having to battle ruddy god damn Toulon city centre again..

Our next two days together consisted of more local beach action then a boat ride over to the Ile de Porquerrolles - Emma, ‘is there anyway of saying this without it sounding like pork rolls?’ – where we hired, and trashed, bikes, cycled the well-laid-out scrambling tracks all around the island, found brilliant beaches, clear warm waters to swim in and encountered Forrest Gump on the boat on the way home.  Another awesome day spent with friends by the Med.  Sadly though, this was our last day together.  As with everyone that has come out we have to say a HUGE thank you to Daz and Emma for taking the time to come and see us, for the fantastic laughs and for the lovely generosity you showed us.  I’m thinking here of our last evening together AND for all the washing up.  I hate the washing up… god damn bloody bubbles… We hope that everything goes really well for you.  You just know we’ll be making a trip a bit farther afield as and when..

So, lessons learnt we took the longer scenic route back to and beyond Marseille to its airport to drop Daz and Em off (Marseille ain’t no picnic to negotiate in the van either) through the hills and woods of Provence avoiding central Toulon and circumnavigating Marseille and bid farewell to our friends.  Helen and I had been in this region for a while (not complaining though) but both felt that is was necessary that we started to make tracks somewhere new.  Heading east thoughts turned to where we would spend the evening, to what excitement lay ahead, joy that we’d left Toulon behind forever but regret that the Creek of Cassis remained unconquered – how good was the swimming there that we’d missed out on?? 

As often happens when driving I found myself daydreaming, for some reason mostly thinking of nightmare scenarios that would never happen, ‘what if’ type thoughts.   One was ‘what if Dazzer or Emma had left a passport in the cabin and we had to drive the 2 ½ hours back to Lou Pantai, through Toulon again, glad that didn’t happen’….. ‘Oh shit babe’, ‘what?’, ‘I’ve left my bloody passport behind the reception desk at Lou Pantai’, ‘oh good’.  Van eventually turned around we had to drive all the way back, this being our sixth or so drive along this stretch of road and back through shitting Toulon again, in bloody rush hour, WHY!!??  I don’t even know where the beads that are in that sex shop window are supposed to go but I might just get them now.  Whilst sat in Toulon’s traffic I’ve noticed them steadily come down in price over the last few days.. could be a once-in-a-lifetime deal??

Lou Pantai, bless em, took the blame for the passport which was really really kind of them and insisted they should have given it back rather than me having to ask for it.  So they gave us a free night, dudes.  Dazzer via a text had also called the situation correctly, the gist being ‘man that’s shit, but you should go do the Creeks now’.  Good man, hadn’t thought of that. 

The Creeks of Cassis are one of those things you just have to do if you’re ever down here. They are spectacular.  Daz, Em, we are gutted to say that from the point where we were all together and decided we had to turn back we found out we were just twenty minutes from the first one (pictured below) and the second one was not much farther on. If it’s any consolation the one that we were going to head for together ‘En Vau’ was well over an hours walk (Helen and I making it much harder on ourselves by taking a 40 minute wrong turn on a ridge, in the heat, with big back packs on) and involved a very steep climb down shifting rock ground into a valley, not the best if you don’t like heights. Not sure you would have enjoyed it!?

After our long walk to En Vau we were slightly disappointed by the amount of people there but it was well worth it, really dazzling place this.  Although, despite being a hot day due the time we arrived and the narrowness of En Vau the sun was hidden just behind the top of the ridge. Never mind though, we’ll still swim, especially as there aren’t any people in that crystal clear blue water and we’re well hardcore after our gorge swim with Anna; ‘fu..fu..fucking hell, it’s FREEEEZING!!!’. My god was it cold, you got one of those ice-cream headaches if you swam more than a few strokes with you head under the water but we stuck it out and were rewarded with an incredible swim.

Our complimentary stop at Lou Pantai was followed by a further two free evenings. One was at a decent aire occupied by a load of cats, any number of which we would have taken with us (not a Hoxton amongst them though) and for the second we got back to proper free camping again by parking up right beside a canal on our own in the lovely town of Agde. France being France this was completely hassle free, they are waaaaay more relaxed here about vans parking up than anywhere else we have been and you can get some incredible spots. We couldn’t swim here, water not up to much but cest la vie (that’ll be the French coming along nicely..)

Next up was a campsite near the city of Narbonne set on a bay and in a natural park. Looked at lot like north Norfolk I thought, particularly Blakeney, so was therefore good for cycling on account of being mainly flat.  This place had the most aggressive mosquitoes we’ve ever come across though.  I had about four or five attached to my back at one point, in the daytime.  I put a top on to combat them but they just bit me through it, little buggers. This campsite was notable for two things. A brilliant pool designed for proper length swimming and individual camping spaces the size of tennis courts, obscenely and stupidly big. So much space you see, it’s all the spare land they have in France, they almost mock you with it; ‘ere izz your-a comping pitch, itz az beeg az your Bedfordshiez’.

Although we were a few kilometres from the coastline it was here that we finally let go of the Med for the foreseeable future and headed north and inland.  Helen (who always finds amazing things for us to do) had done some investigating into the best wild swimming locations that we want to seek out.  First up was Point du Diable on the Gorge de l’Herault just north of Gignac.  Our aire book listed a place in the town of Aniane just short of Point du Diable so we headed there.  Crikey, Aniane is a weird old town full of League of Gentlemen type characters but a cracking little place, probably.  There is a strangeness about it we that couldn’t put our fingers on that made it both off-putting and appealing.  It did stink of wet dogs and piss though, that didn’t help.  Proper alternative, squatty, traveller type town worthy of another future visit I think.

Anyway, when you start getting up into this region it all gets very impressive.  Needless to say Point du Diable didn’t disappoint and was a truly great swimming experience.  I won’t try and describe it but there is a picture below, the last one, which as good as it is doesn’t tell you the whole story, and we had a blast here.  We arrived early enough to be the first and only people here for our swim starting off in the large lake type pool, then up into the gorge and under the three bridges.  Not even the experience of having people way above on the bridges take pictures of us playing about in the water could spoil it, we agreed that it might even have made it a little better.. a great place to swim this.

From here we headed to another aire at Fraisse-sur-Agout in the upper Languedoc region, just shy of the Midi-Pyrenees area.  You have got to come here and drive this region, man it is incredible.  Spent the whole journey ‘look at that’, ‘wow, look at that’ - forests, rivers, lakes, gorges, big climbs, rolling hills incredible little towns.  We just don’t have anything like it really at home, not on this scale anyway. 

Fraisse-sur-Agout itself is nice, if a bit twee, but the aire was really good. It cost €7 but was worth it because it was right by a river, quiet and offered all of the facilities we (desperately) needed both having suffered a little ‘digestive trouble’ over the previous few days, leaving us err, a bit clogged up and not able to go to order as and when the opportunity arises, at campsites or supermarkets, like we usually do.  Oh yeah, life on the road man; Athens, Nice, Carrefour supermarket disabled bogs, seen all the sights.  Anyway, it was here at Fraisse-sur-Agout aire that my earth finally moved after a 3 day hiatus but that I then had to suffer the ignominy of a succession of teenage French girls on a field trip running out of the toilet that I’d used holding their noses and making puking noises.  Bang a gong, approaching 40, cool as ya like.

Our final destination of this blog entry was/is Cordes-sur-Ciel chosen for no other reason than it’s in the general direction of where we’re headed and is in a lovely area – I’ll leave Helen to tell you about this place though.

France, as we knew already but are discovering more and more, is absolutely stunning. It offers everything you could want if you’re active and like to get out and about and if you like peace and space from time to time you couldn’t place yourself anywhere better.  Huge big old vast bloody country, but just over the same population as back home, no one to be seen some days!  I think we’re going to like living here.

*Sorry Emma, couldn’t think of any other blonde antipodean lady! 

If I had a photograph of you...

Riviera roulette and gorgeous gorges

Leaving our relaxing campsite on the edge of Tuscany, we were looking forward to having over a week or so to explore the Liguria region; the Italian Riviera no less.  Amongst much other useful stuff left to us by the previous owners of our van, was a dusty old map of Liguria highlighting all the wonderful sights, sounds and gastronomic delights to be found, so we picked some ‘must see’s’…well excited we were… and planned to make our first stop at the very edge of the region, at La Spezia.   Now, perhaps partly because we chose to stay on an aire, and in some instances as I’m sure we’ve already mentioned, they tend to be in the scrag-end of towns, we weren’t left with a nice feeling about La Spezia.  Our stop for the night was at the bottom of the ambulance car park, and we were checked in by a bunch of paramedics having a late lunch break.  Weird.  However, aside from a voluntary donation to the service, it was free at least.  As you can imagine though, ambulance car parks are rarely in the nice part of town, and our attempt to walk towards something a bit more up our street failed…finding ourselves at a shop where the locals couldn’t be bothered to put their cigarettes out when they went to get their shopping…yup, that bad.  So La Spezia was a one- night treat, and not really desiring to explore further we headed up the coast.

Driving towards Cinque Terre, we were keen to adhere to our friend Joanna’s advice to ‘not attempt to take the van there under any circumstances’, and certainly the roads looked very small and squiggly on the map, however we thought Levanto looked pretty manageable, there were a few other motor homes about, and well, quite frankly saying something is tricky in the van is a bit like a red rag to a bull after Albania-mania so we went for it.  Levanto was lovely; steep and jagged cliffs plunging into clear sea and lovely pastel coloured houses perched up on the mountains.  The rows of matching sun loungers and umbrellas on the beach ruined it somewhat , packing em in like sardines as usual, but still an impressive view.  It was attempting to negotiate ourselves out of Levanto on a different road in busy traffic that we took a wrong turn somewhere along the line and found ourselves snaking up the ‘steep and jagged cliffs’ on an increasingly narrow road…aahh, we thought as we realised we couldn’t turn around…this is what Joanna meant…yeah we really shouldn’t be here.  But the only way is up, as Yazz would say, and up, and up and up.  At last, thankfully the road ended and we had enough space to turn around and head down, this time at least a little more relaxed and able to appreciate the stunning view.  We finished the day at Sestri Levante, on a very overpriced campsite, due to the lack of aires on this part of the Riviera.  In fact it was the kind of expensive that got us thinking about how much it was going to cost to carry on exploring the Riviera at this time of year, and actually, now don’t get me wrong I’m sure parts of it are very lovely, but it really isn’t our thing.  We also realised that the parts of Italy we had enjoyed the most were when we were in the countryside, so we made plans to abandon Liguria and head over to Piedmont instead.  What, no Portofino I hear you cry?  Nope, afraid not, you can’t do everything hey.

The Riviera obviously felt a little put out by our decision, as that night we were both kept awake by about four rounds of thunder and lightening, and extremely heavy rain.  Packing our damp belongings into the van the next morning (something tells me we best get used to this) we headed for the countryside.  And the minute we did, we knew we had made the right decision.  We stopped for some lunch in a place called Sassello, apparently the home of amaretti, a lovely little town where we thought it rude not to purchase some of their wares, yum.  Then we drove onwards to our aire at Acqui Terme.  What a beautiful place we were in, a stunning town indeed, and we arrived in time to have an afternoon stroll around a street market full of antiques, and all sorts really.  As girls do in these instances, I managed to pick up a bargain; a €2 cardigan which I’ve respectively been told looks like a rug in a granny’s house, oh well…  We arose early the next day to get out on our bikes, and with the weather god’s smiling on us had a fantastic ride, stopping at the most picturesque river for a plunge in the clear water, made all the more perfect for having the whole place to ourselves.  Returning to the van, via the local gelato shop (melon flavour is where it’s at guys) we drove onwards to stay the night at a vineyard aire at San Damiano d’Asti.  At first when we saw the gate across the entrance, we thought our luck was out, but thankfully the owners daughter greeted us and suggested that once we had parked up the van, we join her for some wine tasting in the cellar.  So, we left the van next to a cheerful looking goat and in we went.  The vineyard itself has been passed down through three generations and there were wonderful old photos of grandfathers and great grandfathers working the land adorning the walls.  We sampled a few reds, and were kept thoroughly entertained by the owner’s daughter throughout, who was moving to Australia later that week and thankfully wanted to work on her English!  She then asked us to choose our favourite so that she could fill us up a complimentary carafe…errr could this day get any better?  Strolling back to the van, wine in hand, we heard an odd noise coming from a nearby shed, ‘it sounds like some old guy lifting weights’ I said.  No, not at all it turns out, as our neighbour for the night, an asthmatic Shetland pony announced himself by wheezing his way over, joining us and the goat for the evening.  We had wine, they had peaches, and we were all a happy bunch. 

After a shocking night’s sleep; old wheezy stood guard by the van all night, we headed out for more cycling to blow away the cobwebs, and then prior to leaving the vineyard, thought we might just purchase some of that lovely wine to take with us.  Now I knew purchasing direct would probably be cheaper, but €1.65 a litre is unbelievable!  So off we went, lugging our very heavy 5litre bottle with us.

We drove through the town of Alba, breathing in the thick scent of chocolate hanging in the air…it’s here they make forrero rocher chocolates and …nutella!!  Did anyone else know they were made by the same company? Well it was news to us, and weirdly quite a sickening smell.  Onto our final stop in Piedmont, an agrotourism place in Belvedere Lange.  Bloody lovely it was to, with a swimming pool for us to while away the evening sun.  Piedmont, as it turns out, was the best decision we ever made.

Next though, we were bound for France, as we had an airport appointment with London Lady, Anna Smith.  Heading back down to the Italian Riviera rather then tackling the route through the Alps, we spent a night at an aire in San Remo, waking up to our final border crossing for a while.  Pretty much four months to the day we left, we were back in France.  And weirdly, the difference between the Italian and French Riviera is vast, suddenly everything was less packed, very beautiful, and far more chic.   Certainly this coastline is made for burning around in a small, vintage convertible, as we found out to our frustration arriving at Nice airport; height restriction barriers everywhere preventing the bus getting anywhere near.  Finally though, there were three of us in the van, pootling up through the Provence countryside, and soon enough us girls were in bikini’s and by the pool for afternoon sunshine.

The next day brought what seemed an endless search for the ‘nearby’ Gorges de Loup, made all the longer by the campsite owner pointing us in the opposite direction.  Nearly four hours, and nearly as many about-turns later, the three of us found ourselves winding through trees beside the Loup river, marvelling at all the clear pools that we wanted to jump into, but pushing on towards the gorges.  Finally settling on a deep pool fed by a small waterfall at the top, we stripped to our swimmers and walked up to our ankles; ‘whooah!!’ this was seriously cold water! Had it not been for the effort required to get there I’m not sure we’d have got in, but slowly we managed to lower ourselves in, Anna’s shrieks echoing around the gorges, for the most invigorating swim in the most beautiful location.  While sat on the rocks in the sun, thawing out our frozen toes, a group of French tourists came gorge diving into our pool, head to toe in wetsuits.  We realised how bloody cold the water really was, and hoped that our hair still looked wet enough to make us look like crazy adventurers…  anyway, what adventurers need are croque monsiours and beers, so we stopped at a bar on the way back and then ambled our way through the pretty French town of Bar sur Loup, returning to the van, and the start of a night of rain.  Not that we cared, what an amazing day we’d had.

The next morning, we packed up the van in the pouring rain (told you we’d get used to this) and headed back to the coast.  Not really feeling our first destination we plumped for Antibes, and after setting up camp decided to walk into the old town for a nice French supper.  Mussels of course, and obligatory red wine.  Then of course it was time for some beach action, so the next morning we strolled to Antibes beach (since the one near the campsite was more ‘bleugh’ than ‘beach’) , past all the shiny yacht’s in the harbour, for a morning of sun, sea and sand…and more importantly Anna’s first swim in the sea all year.  But inevitably, here come those rain clouds again, so we packed up and happily found a Picasso museum in the old town to while away the afternoon and add a touch of culture to Anna’s trip.

As always, we reach the day when our friends have to go, which is always tinged with sadness.  In this instance it was also tinged with slight hangovers from a night of far too much red wine and very competitive card games into the wee hours.  Anna, it turns out, is a pretty aggressive Uno player for a first-timer.  A wonderful visit from a wonderful friend, we felt a little lonely when she had gone.  I wonder what could cheer us up…more friends to stay perhaps?...        

Piedmont

Provence

Strap yourself in, it's a long one (as the actress said to..)

'Ciao!' 'Bellissimo!' 'Mama Mia!' 'You look atta-ma sizz-ter I-a cut off aya genitals and-a turnem into spizy meatballz like-a ma mamma yoose-to-a maik..'

Yes! All this can only mean one thing, we’ve arrived at the home of great food, passionate people and the world’s most loved organised crime syndicate – Italia!!

As Helen mentioned previously we took the opportunity to travel to Italy using Camping on Board. If you have a camper this really is a great way of doing an overnight journey giving you both the luxury (if you can call it that) of wandering around the rust bucket you booked onto but still using your own van for sleeping, hanging out etc. You even get to hook-up - that’s an electrical thing Rob, not an on-board swingers party - dead handy if you don’t want to book an overnight cabin or if you haven’t yet mastered contortionism and can’t bend yourself into a small chair in a brightly lit restaurant for hours on end.   All you need to know is what time you arrive at your destination so you can set an alarm and not oversleep. I’ll ask at the bar, they’ll know. ‘ Mi dispiace, non capisco’ came the response. No worries, I’ll ask at the ship’s main reception. After a bit of thought: ‘I-a don’t-a know-a whatata time-a we arrive’. Good man.

Every country seems to have a butt-hole of a town and Bari, from what we saw upon arrival, is certainly a good nominee for Italy’s, a right old dive of an industrial wasteland. Bari also has one of the most confusing road systems we’ve encountered so far and it took ages to figure out how to get out of it – we’re sure it was intentionally designed this way to trap you there – but once free we found ourselves in the stunning setting of the southern Italian countryside, all sun-scorched fields, rustic farm buildings and crooked old woman dressed all in black (a suicidal move given the heat), bellissimo indeed.

Like Greece with its ‘picturesque, stunning, awesome’ coastline and beaches Italy seems to have a never-ending succession of ‘picturesque, stunning, awesome’ old hill-top towns and Matera was the first we stopped at. Bloody good choice too, an amazing little city that looked incredible at night-time. Not even a disappointing first Italian meal served to us by an Italian gentleman whose designer shoes were clearly crippling him (they do suffer for their fashion here) could spoil our short stop here. We’ve realised that we need to find more free stops now so we found a decent little car-park to spend the night in. We even felt comfortable enough to hang out our freshly laundered undies in the morning, much to the surprise of the locals going about their business I’m sure. Saying that, I have got nice briefs though, perfect for hot climates; ‘Cool and Fresh, with Stretch’ retailing at just £17.00 for a four pack, available in white or black (mine are white) from all good Marks and Spencers. Sorry, I’ve put that in just in-case someone from M&S’ publicity department happens to find our blog and wants to sponsor me. God knows I could do with it the rate I’m getting through them out here.. it’s the heat.

Onwards, and quite literally, UPWARDS!! Geddit?? It’s a hilly country, so you go up a lot, quite literally (though there are obviously some downs too). A lovely drive through the mountains, a quick dip in the ocean and a stop at an incredible typically Italian food store and we found ourselves at a brilliant little aire near an old town called Chiaromonte that had stunning views on account of being up on a hill. A fantastic facility that appeared criminally underused by those whose use it was intended for. But we weren’t complaining, having the place to ourselves. Besides, we weren’t completely alone. It appeared that all orange-clad public sector workers were skiving off work here in the daytime and we had the added ‘pleasure’ of the company of the local football team whose great looking municipal ground was joined onto the aire. They trained in their pants don’t-cha-know. Oddballs, in more ways than one.

It was here the day came that I was hoping would never arrive. There was no toilet facility at the aire and a walk around the very steep, very shut, town also proved fruitless. So, despite having strict Thetford toilet rules concerning any serious use I had to have my first ‘crunchie’ in the van.. not pleasant, or easy, with loads of curious bin-men and footy players in g-strings hovering about outside…I hope I never see this day again.

A new dawn and another lovely drive through the mountains and all around the houses to our next destination of Padula, a stunning old town set on a… you know the rest! We stopped at the bottom of town at one of those ‘Agro-tourism’ (which isn’t as violent as it sounds) places that turned out to be a lovely old farm. We had a couple of lovely nights here and spent our time getting back out on our bikes to explore the local area, something we haven’t had the chance to do for ages, and wandering around the town in the evening. There was even a free concert to go to in the stunning setting of the local monastery that we stumbled across. Some entertainment, we thought. After waiting an age for the band to strike up we were gutted to be presented with a right over-the-top warbling pop diva so promptly left. Unfortunately, our farm was near the monastery so we had a night of one Italian Celine Dion type after another belting out a load of crap. For once I was thankful, and felt sorry for, the local dogs who had been set off by the noise but who also helped drown it out.. good Rovers.

We don’t often take in touristy or recommended stuff but we’d remembered that we’d kept a few old Guardian travel items on the places we’d be visiting and went through Italy’s. One leapt out at me in particular, an article entitled ‘Is This the Best Pizza in Italy?’. It turned out that we weren’t far from Agropoli, the location of Pizzeria Anna, so we headed out to find it. The article mentioned that the Pizzeria was not what you’d expect, nothing posh, just a normal looking ‘you’d-walk-past-it-most-days’ little restaurant and they were right. But, my god, the pizza’s we ordered were very cheap, all things considered, and incredible!

Despite it’s run of the mill setting the pizzeria had certificates on the wall to show that the tomatoes were a sweet San Marzano variety grown on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius and that the mozzarella came from a herd of buffalos reared in the marsh meadows north of Napoli (stolen word for word from the Guardian article, can they sue?). Helen ordered the pizza vulcana that was simply a tomato base, gooey buffalo mozzarella and prosciutto, and it was sublime. Hooper decided he would go for the pizza a sorpresa, the same as the journalist who had written for the Guardian. We only had half the article so I didn’t know what I’d ordered and the menu had given me no clue. All I got from the article was that this pizza was ‘extraordinary’. The journalist was 100% bang on. It turned out that the pizza a sorpresa, the most expensive on the menu at just €10 was one single pizza but divided into eight different sections, each with a selected topping of the chef’s choice from the menu… I nearly cried when it arrived. A true work of art and it was absolutely amazing. Not too big, elegantly understated given what it was and a truly delicious pizza. One to tick off of the list along with once owning a Porsche and getting fired from a job.

Up Pompei! Frankie Howard once cried and Pompei was our next destination, somewhere I was really looking forward to going. We’d found a little aire not far from the ruin which was in a part of Pompei that another eruption could only improve, an awesome little place to stay again complete with outside, in full view of all other campers, shower. We kept our swimmers on for this refreshingly ice-cold experience though (sorry to disappoint any naturists out there) and settled in for an early night after a particularly tricky drive into Napoli.

I’m not very good at writing about the historical stuff we go to see but needless to say Pompei really does not disappoint. With the ancient city preserved as well as it is you get a real sense of what it would have been like to live in a city such as this and the added bonus of Vesuvius as the dramatic backdrop. It is well worth the €11 it costs to get in, the pick of the relics we’ve looked around so far for me as there is so much still there. Houses, shops, public buildings etc still in such good condition and a really good amphitheatre that would have been great for watching lions chase christians. However, when they were building it all those years ago did not one person think; ‘ere, that huge great big volcano yeah?’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Not gonna go off at any point soon, destroy all this good work like and bury us all alive under a thick layer of hot choking ash?’ ‘Nope…’

Our continued journey north took us first to the worryingly named Strangolagalli - where we had a free night at a recycling unit - and then to Terni where we found an aire that you could stay at for 48hrs for just €4 with ruddy electric too. Not too bad a town either with free access to great sporting facilities including a running track - take note Britain!

It was here that Helen too had a day that she probably never wished would come and pleaded with me not to write about. After her sharing my comment about Anne’s lovely over-toppy-beachy-thingy though I couldn’t resist. So, we’ve been without WiFi for a while and desperately needed to get budgeting/planning etc done as soon as was possible. We walked the whole town looking for WiFi and found nothing. We were just about to give up when out of nowhere ‘do do do do dooo, I’m loving it!’ There they were, the golden arches, and what does that say on the door?? Free bloody WiFi. Helen hasn’t had a Maccy D’s for 8 years (or so she tells me). Three hours we were in there, first ‘we’ll just have drinks yeah?’ Then, ‘I’ll just have a small wrap or something’ which turned out to be a fuuuuuull Maccy D meal with fries an all. She now has her own Maccy D’s WiFi account and everything..

It was during the next day’s drive that I suddenly got whiff of the most awful smell. ‘Oh no, perhaps Helen has reacted badly to her Maccy D and hasn’t had time to get to the toilet’ I thought to myself as she sat beside me in the cab, ‘I won’t say anything, the poor girl’. But no!! I needn’t have worried. The awful smell was emanating from outside as we’d just arrived at the natural sulphur hot springs of Saturnia - thankfully!! Pretty crowded by the time we arrived in the evening so we got up early the next morning, had a lovely walk through the south Tuscan countryside and plunged ourselves into the naturally occurring hot water pools. After bobbing around here for an hour we then went off piste, found the river that was the source of the pools and, along with just a few locals ‘in-the-know’, had a relaxing plunge in the river, without many others around. Lovely, aside from the fact that some of our clothes & bedding now smell like rotten eggs.

The next evening we found ourselves in Colle di Val D’elsa and camping in a small woodland set on a lovely Tuscan vineyard run by an awesome piss-head eccentric, completely on our own. ‘We’ll do 2 nights here, awesome, just what we’d been looking for, at last’. We both soon changed our minds after a few trips down to the ramshackle, insect infected back-to-nature toilet facility set back into the woods. Wussies, both of us.

So after a night of ‘what was that, did you hear that noise?’ etc and lots of recent free, cheaper stops we both felt that we needed somewhere easier and more comfortable for a few days. We’ve arrived just south of Viareggio at the kind of campsite that we hated at the beginning of the trip and would normally not go to but it’s been lovely having everything we need in easy reach and the sound of other people around us again. A good chance to re-charge, get washing done & plan September in France which is shaping up to be very busy with much welcomed visits. One thing about the site though, once you’ve paid for your pitch they then charge you to use the outside pool, cheeky f*@!ers, and not only that they make you all wear identical swimming caps so we all look like some kind of weird cult or really bad synchronised swimming team. Coleman was not happy.

It was from here that we jumped on our bikes and headed out to find something that I have wanted to see since I was a nipper – only the bleeding Leaning Tower of Pisa!! An amazing sight to behold and I was glad it wasn’t a let down after all those years of longing. Whilst there a street trader told me a remarkable story about the tower.

Apparently, sometime in the early 1980’s an angry, unshaven and clearly drunk American man in fancy dress arrived out of the blue and singlehandedly righted the tower back into a true vertical position! This caused huge problems for the local souvenir sellers who now had stalls full of useless ceramic mini Leaning Towers which had to be replaced with new, true, replicas. No sooner has this happened than, about 6 months later, that same now much happier looking American guy returned and pushed the Tower back to it’s original, and world renowned, listing position! After the expense of replacing all of the ‘leaning’ stock this pissed the local traders off no end so, clearly exasperated by events, they set about smashing up their now useless stock with brooms. Weird huh!? Honestly, you couldn’t make it up…

The tower is found in a lovely setting with some other beautiful buildings around it including a cathedral with really impressive external decoration and impressive carved doors and another large domed shaped building that also appeared to list slightly. I overheard lots of ‘is that building leaning too or does it just appear that way because I’ve been looking at a leaning building’ conversations but I am convinced it was also on the wonk. Pisa is definitely a good place to do in a day.

You may wonder why there are some glaringly obvious names missing from the ‘must see’ list of Italian places to visit - Rome, Amalfi Coast etc - but after nearly four months on the road, and with the weather still blisteringly hot, we’ve been a little pooped of late so need time to just relax. We’d also decided that we like the Italian countryside far more than the coast we’ve seen and that the major cities are just too hot, and too packed, to bother going to this time around. So, we are just slowly drifting our way up through Umbria and Tuscany heading for nowhere in particular whist taking in the incredible scenery all around us.

Proof we're not lying 1

Proof we're not lying 2

Friends and family

Another friend to join us on the trip; Lena, and so we all climb in the van and drive away from Camp Athens towards the island of Evia and her father’s beautiful home on the coast – our home for the next 5 days.  We were under strict instructions from Lena to relax, relax and then do some more relaxing, which as you can imagine we are pretty good at by now, but this was different.  This was an extended period of time out of the van, with a real opportunity to rejuvenate before setting off travelling again, and in beautiful surroundings…and, and this is a big and, to sit still and save some much needed dosh!  It had been bloody donkeys since we had caught up with Lena properly (and she crashed the Porsche) so it was truly wonderful to share each others company, and we had the enormous pleasure of meeting cousin Kristina and her husband Agoustinas (who probably wont speak to me again when he see’s how I’ve spelt his name), and their baby daughter Sophia, who tested all my non-maternal instincts when she spent the car journey to the local taverna copying everything I did.  The taverna too was the kind of place we had been hoping to stumble on during our time in Greece; a family run place packed full of Greeks with a great atmosphere, and it provided a taster of the Evia delicacy of cheese bread.  Cheese. And bread.  All mingled together in hot gooey wonderment.  Beautiful, and seriously damaging on the waste line I’m sure.

So, lots of swimming, fantastic food, and jugs of Pimms later (thank you Matt), we were ready to leave Evia, and drop Lena back in Athens before heading off across mainland Greece; both feeling very happy to be on the road again after our refreshing pit stop – Lena if you are reading this, thank you for your endless generosity, we were so happy we got to see you and look forward to living in your new world of anti-capitalism (it just needs a little tweaking for the Nobel).

Surprisingly, the drive across the mainland was far flatter than we expected and we found ourselves at a free stop on the hillsides next to a taverna, right next to our destination of Meteora.  This was quite possibly the quietest night’s sleep for some time – no dogs, no traffic, no squabbling Athenians…  Meteora is quite possibly one of the most dramatic sights in Greece; lots of monasteries perched up on top of strange rock formations,  apparently caused by strong river currents formerly running to an ancient sea.  You wonder how people accessed some of them, until you see the long rope and basket pulley system used to hoist them up…not for us.  We had a great morning driving around the hill sides , but the August tour bus crowds put us off going into any.  Onwards west then, to Igoumenitsa to secure ourselves some tickets for the next part of our journey.

It seemed crazy that over a month had passed since we were last at this port, and the 160 euro tickets that ‘no point buying, they wont go up’ were now over 200 euro’s.  Damn.  We now had the added complexity of getting the van to Corfu and then onwards to Italy.  After a bit of shopping around and tweaking of our Italy destination though we managed to secure both ferries for 150 euro’s, and the opportunity to experience ‘camping on board’ for the Italy journey.  We triumphantly headed to a nearby beach where we knew we could camp free for the night.  It was sunny when we arrived, but as the grey clouds started rolling in, and the other vans promptly packed up and headed off we wondered if we should be doing the same…especially when we looked around and saw huge branches and other vegetation that had obviously come down in a storm the previous night.  So just us and an Italian camper were left, both looking up at the tree’s overhead warily, but eventually giving each other the thumbs up and saying ‘we’ll stay if you do’ in broken Italian/English.  Quite possibly the biggest storm I’ve seen in ages blew right overhead, masses of rain, huge claps of thunder, and the largest scale mass exodus of sunbathers from a beach ever.  Perversely, after two months of wall to wall blistering sun, it was amazing to be trapped in the van by rain…in fact, like proper Brits I think we even made ourselves a cup of tea while we watched the lightening.  Needless to say, it soon made way for the evening sun and we were left with the quietest beach in the whole of Greece that night, just us, the Italian and hundreds of stray dogs.

We decided that by way of a goodbye to mainland Greece we would treat ourselves to a stay on the lovely Sofas campsite again…so a wonderful day and evening was had, catching up internet time, cooking up the veggies Lena had packed us off with, and even watching some Olympics in the bar.  Perfect, then it was back to the beach for another free stop before getting our ferry to Corfu the next day…to see my parents, who just happened to be on holiday there celebrating 40 years of matrimony…amazing.

The ferry to Corfu was quick and easy, except it was the first ferry I’ve ever known where all the vehicles had to reverse on, which is no easy feat in Gus, but if the Czech HGV driver can do it then so can we.  We pootled our way up from the south of the island and located my parents hotel, left a message to meet the next day and then drove north to find some freecamping.  North Corfu took my breath away to be honest – it is so dramatically beautiful with sheer cliffs plunging into clear turquoise waters – if you can find somewhere away from the kids burning about on quad bikes, it is heaven and my idea of paradise.  Yet again I had timed my book reading bang on and was halfway through The Corfu Trilogy by Gerald Durrell…another gold star for Coleman. 

We spent the next day knocking back complimentary drinks courtesy of my parents in their all-inclusive hotel.  They even sneaked us in for a crafty lunch, while we caught up on the last three months.  It gave us the idea of doing a trip based solely around wandering into all-inclusive hotels and seeing what delightfully free food and drink you can pilfer along the way…maybe next year.  We found a campsite around the corner, with the luxury of a swimming pool, and made a trip to Paleokatritsa for some last Greek snorkelling.  Then on our final day on Corfu we went to Kerkyra town with my parents for a very long lunch by the sea, where we were witness to some champion eating skills from Hooper in order to finish up all the food we had ordered and been too full to eat.  That’s my boy.  It was over 40C yet again so before we caught our ferry to Italy we all headed back the hotel that just keeps giving for a dip in the sea.  It was on the way back to the hotel that Michael paid my mum the ultimate compliment, when he said “that’s a nice whatever it is you’re wearing”….haha!  What a beautiful 3 days on Corfu, and simply wonderful to spend it with my folks.  Now onwards to Italy.

Goodbye to Greece

Friend for dinner.

So, a quick blast back up through the Peloponnese (forever know known as ‘the Ploppers) would see us either having a free stopover at Ancient Korinthos or we would boot straight through to our next destination – Athina! Been looking forward to a bit of hustle and bustle, just for old times sake. We decided to commit the ultimate sin of the long-term-van-traveller and get on the recently built superhighway toll road (frowned upon in the new circles we move in; ‘So, did you take the stunning coastal back road that brought you through ancient blah blah and get a real sense of what a struggle it must be for the people that live there?’. ‘No, we blasted up the motorway, got a ham and cheese baguette from a service station and didn’t see a bloody thing…. smooth road though’).

Now we appreciate that Greece is having a bit of a hard time, and that you have to make the most of your tourist industry, but boy did they make us pay for taking the quick route back north: toll after toll after toll, and not cheap either.

We’d pay one lot of money, and think that was it, only to get 40k up the road to hit another toll. What!? Why?? Why are we bloody paying again!!?? We’ve only just paid misery-guts back down the road for this!! To make matters more stomach-ulcer-inducing infuriating we were stung with big truck charges. Everywhere else in Europe we’re classed as a car but for some reason not on this road. ‘Why?’ I asked a particularly walrus looking toll both trickster. ‘It’s the height of your vehicle, very high’. ‘WHAT”S THAT GOT TO DO WITH ANYTHING!!?? The air is free up there, there’s no road and you haven’t had to pay to supply the air that the top of the bus moves through!! I’m on the road, the strip of tarmac below the van and we’re only taking up a small bit of it!! ‘It’s the height’. Oh well, not much you can do but yes I/we felt particularly aggrieved by the charges (as anyone bothering to read this can probably tell). Saying that, one thing we’ve noticed which is rather sad and probably an indication of the severe economic cutbacks that Greece has had to implement is that a lot of road building appears to have been abandoned. I guess there isn’t the money to finish certain big projects so tolls are understandable. We’ve seen some new motorways that stop at a point, just leading into a field, or others that have newly erected directional signs with the name of a town/city crossed through as the exit junction hasn’t been built. Or, everyone could just be on holiday, hard to tell.

Due to the cost of the road (which was ultimately expensive but bloody convenient) we decided to push on through to Athens as coming off at Ancient Korinthos would have meant paying to get back onto the motorway again the next day. We’d researched and pre-booked a campsite in Athens (the imaginatively named ‘Camping Athens’) that was near to town and offered the fairly cheap vehicle storage that we’d been looking for. But, by going straight there we’d arrive a day earlier than planned. Would they be able to fit us in?? It’s bound to be packed what with it being July and near central Athens. We’ll go for it. If they can’t fit us in we’ll just have to run the risk of parking up somewhere in Athens and sleep in the van whilst all the rioting and carnage, raping, pillaging, burning of buildings and the collapse of civilised society as we know it went on around us.

Our enthusiastic arrival was met with a surly ‘you’re a day late’; we were actually a day early thus providing them with more business. ‘No no, we’re a day early’. ‘No, you’re a day late’. ‘No, really, we’re a day early, I sent you an e-mail and everything, open it up, check it out, we’re definitely a day early. ‘I don’t forget a thing, a day late’. This continued for sometime leading us to think that we’d lost the one place in Athens that we really needed and that our plans were, like the city itself, up in flames. ‘Anyway’ I said, ‘never mind about that, can you fit us in still…..? ‘Sure, we’re empty’.

Empty wasn’t actually empty. There was one other vehicle, a brilliant looking old Merc, which we noticed on the large site as we walked around with the camp owner looking for a suitable pitch. Huge site, loads of places to choose from… could have parked anywhere. ‘You go here’. ‘What, right next to the only one other van you have on the whole site?’ ‘Yes’. ‘Err, that’s a little close don’t you think, shouldn’t we give them some space like?’. ‘No, you go here, nice and windy’. Not a breeze in the air, nothing to cool the now extreme Athenian heat.

We couldn’t be bothered to argue but we both felt a little guilty as we brought the van around and parked it right next to the only other vehicle for miles around, clearly disturbing a fella sat outside his vehicle busying himself at his laptop. As we stopped in the pitch he looked up and said, ‘hey, your van looks nice and level there’ (that’s van owner speak) and we jumped out to say hello. Quick introductions and I said I’d go and get a cold beer from the camp shop for Helen and I. ‘No need!’ said our new neighbour as he produced an ice cold Mythos from his fridge for us. What luck again, what a lovely couple we’d just pulled up beside. Peter and Veronique - and their awesome self-converted beast of an ex-German Army van ‘Carl’ - from the Netherlands. Genuinely an awesome couple to meet.

As an aside; Helen and I have gotten used to, but bored of, talking about our trip to other people. We go through the same old routine sometimes. We’ll end up chatting to someone on a site somewhere and conversation will inevitably turn to travel plans. ‘So, how long are you away for?’ we’ll be asked. ‘Oh, ah, 12 months or so’ our slightly embarrassed response. ‘You?’ ‘Arrr, onlys ze two weeks’ will come the reply - usually through a bitter grimace and as we stand in awkward silence watching as the persons enthusiastically inflated dinosaur rubber ring deflates as they answer, letting out a whine as it does so…

Not this time!! Finally and bloody thankfully we got out-tripped!!! YES!! No need for travel guilt!! Turns out Peter and Veronique had set off on a journey much like ours - leaving a certain lifestyle behind with only loose plans and ideas ahead of them - but they are being far more intrepid. They are slowly making their way to Australia - sometimes in Carl, sometimes on bicycle when necessary - and will be travelling until late 2013. Good on them. We all spent a lovely evening/late night discussing the usual topics of conversations for people on the road for this length of time; routes, borders, places to see, hopes, absent friends, the absurd love you develop for your vehicle… toilet arrangements. If you get the chance to read this Peter & Veronique (and Carl) we wish you all the very best on your long inspirational journey and hope you travel safely. Please do let us know how you get on with your Chinese chaperone! We’ll of course be keeping track of your trek via your blog even if we don’t understand a word of it as it’s written in Dutch. Veel succes!!

A new day and a helpless new arrival! What dribbles, has trouble standing up on its own two legs and can often be seen wearing a nappy? Yes! It’s Matty George!!

Matt is the first of our friends to make the journey out to see us and we were really looking forward to seeing a familiar face, even if it was his. We’d arranged to pick Matt up from the airport in the van but decided we couldn’t be bothered. So we gave him some lame excuse about keeping the fridge cool that Matt, being very gullible, easily swallowed. Our new rendezvous point was Egaleo tube station not far the campsite. We had a little trouble finding it at first so Helen politely approached a gentlemen on the street and asked for the metro. Nothing, no response, no blink or twitch or anything, just a steely fierce death stare. ‘Metro?’ Helen repeated. Nothing. ‘Err, metro?’ she asked nervously for a third time only to be met with the same severe expression. Shit, he’s gonna attack Helen. ‘Ahhhh Metroo’ he suddenly smiled. Come on man, it’s not a huge leap from ‘metro’ to ‘metroo’!! We’ve subsequently found out that ‘metro’ means ‘metre’ in Greece so he might have though Helen was asking him the length of something, can’t think what.

We excitedly waited at the station for the arrival of our buddy but no sign for a while and it was really hot that day. After a bit of a mix up with where we had agreed to meet here was our first visitor, Matt, who had come suitably dressed for the 40-degree heat in thick cords, a heavy shirt and a backpack the weight of a dead pig strapped to his back.

We’d all planned to go Island hopping for a week or so and with tickets booked for the stupidly early ferry to Milos the next morning we caught up over a drink or two and settled in for an early(ish) night. Up and about when no sane person would be we caught our Superjet to the lovely island of Milos. Only a two-hour crossing on one of these fast things but you always run the risk of it turning into a river of vomit sourced from the feebler seafarer but mercifully this was a lovely smooth crossing.

Helen and I had never been to Milos; Matt had, but he didn’t mention it once. We took a taxi up to the lovely little fishing village of Pollonia and to Andreas Apartments where we’d booked to stay. Lovely little village and a great apartment that was surrounded on three sides by three very different beaches.

This was a particularly windy part of the island and as a consequence resulted in quite a swell. So, we spent most of our time bobbing up and down in the huge waves, snorkelling, getting dragged along large stoned beaches whilst trying to get out of the water in inappropriate flippers and losing our brand new snorkelling pipe to the heavy waters. We also set off on one of those longer than intended ‘Stand By Me’ type journey-of-life walks that is less about the scenery more about discovering what you are made of and eventually found ourselves scrabbling in flips-flops across Milos’ stunning volcanic coastline in 40 degree heat, lost, alone and unprepared with only our severe dehydration and circling hawks to keep us company. Being hardy souls we eventually made it to the main town of Adamas and crawling on all fours, sunburnt and parched we just about summoned up the strength to reach sanctuary.. ‘frappe…must…have….frappe…no milk…..one, one sugar…’ before collapsing.

One of the highlights of Milos was a beautiful meal that Matt and Helen cooked using the vegetables given to us by Andreas from his garden. He also gave us some fantastic goats cheese for free but we did have to watch as he anxiously moulded this into the shape of a bum whilst encouraging us to take a boat trip. Odd fellow.

Three days completed at Milos and up really early again for the short hop to Paros that took 7 hours for some reason. We were met by a scrum of desperate looking studio/hotel owners vying for business at the Paros port town of Parikia, a clear indication of how the number of tourists is down this year. With the knowledge that this would be the case we hadn’t bothered to book any accommodation and after a short search we’d managed to secure a lovely apartment in the old town that should have cost 145 Euros a night for just 50.

Paros, like Milos, was pretty quiet during our time there. You’ve got to feel for Greece. Numbers really are down this year and it’s such a beautiful place to travel, perfect in every way, that it’s a crying shame to see some businesses on the precipice of closure leading to an intense competition for custom. Undoubtedly prices are higher for some things - eating and drinking out and, oddly, toiletries – than we’ve experienced on previous visits but if you cook your own food and mix up the odd beer out with buying from a supermarket you can still have a reasonably cheap trip in the most stunning setting. Aside from fewer people and some increase in costs we can’t say that we’ve noticed a huge difference in atmosphere. There’s still the fantastic vibe of your Greek hosts zeal to ensure you have a great time, and lots of free watermelon.

So again we had a fairly relaxing time at Paros and it felt like we all needed it for one reason or another. You can’t go out and get blottoed as drinks cost too much, 10 euros per drink in most places for spirits/cocktails, but we did have a wicked night out with the owner of a restaurant who befriended us as we were his only customers. Greek hospitality being what it is he ended up giving us free alcohol to a value higher than the tip we left him.

Parikia is a brilliant place for a few nights stay and our time was spent either wandering around the old town in the evening or in the daytime searching out the best swimming & snorkelling locations, local and further afield. This led us to make the short-hop to Anti-Paros one day on the local ferry. Again, a truly beautiful place that was only marred by our decision to hire beat up old mountain bikes and cycle everywhere. Only Matt, Helen and I will ever know what we went through that day, there are no words to describe our pain, but we did eventually find what we were after right at the bottom of Anti-Paros. Before us was the most stunning empty little bay with crystal clear waters for excellent snorkelling and one of those typically Greek tiny white and blue churches on it . We had a right laugh watching each other take turns to dive down to the fissures in the rocks attempting to tease brightly coloured fish out of their hiding places. Awesome day, awesome fun. Until the previously mentioned race against time, want to forget, ride back to the port.

As you may know Helen and I had to leave our beloved cat Rita behind when we set out on our trip (Reets, if you’re reading this, we miss you girl) so we’ve taken to feeding strays and waifs along the way not thinking that we’d seriously consider catnapping anything and taking it with us but man have we just had our resolve seriously tested. Sat one day on our ground floor veranda when ‘What the bloody hell is this!? ‘Have you seen this cat!!? Allow us to introduce ‘Hoxton’, so named because of his fine, sophisticated Salvador Dali-esque tache that made him look like a bit of a Shoreditch twat. Awesome little fella that hung around the whole time the three of us were there. We all took great delight in surreptitiously feeding him under the nose of the owners who’d explicitly asked us not to. How can you not feed a cat with a tache?? We were so close to taking him with us just in case he didn’t get the food and care he needs but with facial hair like his we’re sure he’ll be fine.

One last ferry journey to return to Athens and a lovely final night together spent having a meal in town and a marvel at the Acropolis, all lit up.

That’s it for now. A long blog entry as we’ve been away from a PC for a while. We’d just like to thank Matt for taking the time to come and see us, for the hilarious time we all spent together and for the fantastic, brilliantly apt, pictures he took of us mostly without our knowing.

So, back in Athens and back to just to two of us. ‘Hang, on, who is this who has just wandered onto the campsite?’ It’s only our local Greece Correspondent, Ms Liambey!!

I wonder where we can all go and hang out together…