Sitting outside in the sunshine at the Olive Farm, looking through the hiking options for the day, two friendly faces come into view – which is surprising, as I thought that I was the only one staying here! Turns out that they are volunteers at the farm, both studying permaculture and wanting to set up something similar back home in Argentina. After a quick life story exchange, they told me about a place they had visited the day before – by the look on their faces and the way that they were raving about it, I felt that I had to go. Plugging it into the Satnav, it adds 1:30 to my drive for the day, so I waver a bitâŚâŚbut then, I remember that for maybe the first time in my whole life, I have the luxury of having a plentiful supply of that most elusive of commodities: TIME! And, as it turns out, that extra driving time was through such stunning mountains and rivers that it was a real pleasure (well, the first halfâŚâŚread on!!).
Valderrobres
As with most towns on the continent, thereâs a motorhome parking provided just outside the town of Beceite, so I hop on my bike, having lathered on oodles of sunscreen and packed plenty of water, as Iâve managed to arrive in the heat of the midday sun. The town itself is very old and quaint – I only just about make out the signs to Parrissal, the trail of which starts 5km in along a dirt track.
Weirdly, Iâm the only cyclist out there today – everyone else decides to drive (clearly not an option anyway in Gloria!) but they are missing out on the views of the mountains and âGubiesâ the spectacular needles formed the top of the Canyon walls. This area of Aragon (yes, finally out of Covid hotspot Catalonia) has been shaped by the Upper MatarraĂąa River, carving a landscape of ravines, extraordinary rock formations and pine forests; no wonder it is known as the âSpanish Tuscanyâ.
Reaching the end of the track, I lock Scottie up and start the hike; I have not researched this place at all and, wow, am I in for a treat! Almost straight away, the canyon walls draw in and the path becomes a wooden walkway jutting out from the rock over the stream. The peace of the place is equal only to its beauty – how lucky am I to be discovering this little slice of paradise without hordes of tourists?! The crystal-clear, turquoise waters are so clear, they are just mesmerising – Iâll just let the pictures do the talkingâŚâŚ
The trail doesnât really end, as you can go all the way through to another village, but it gets to a point where you are right inside the canyon and can only continue through the water. So, completely ignoring the no swimming signs, I stripped off and carried on, having a lovely dip in the refreshingly cold waters.
The drive to my next stop was almost 3 hours long and, once again, through breathtaking mountain scenery, so it should have been a pleasure. However, when I started Gloria up, a âcheck engineâ light came on which, when researched (Iâm getting to know my Groundbus manuals better than my Airbus ones!), indicated that it was a fuel injector problem and was safe to drive but power would be reduced and I shouldnât put any extra stress on the engine. So a mountain pass was not really what was needed!! As you can imagine, it was a very tense drive and I didnât know if Glo was going to make some of those endless steep inclines, but she put her back into it and like a trooper got the job done. Phew! I had a quiet night in Castellon, book-ended by a swim in the sea late at night and then first thing the following morning.
And I took advantage of the beach shower on offer – six weeks on the road has led me to have no compunction in lathering up in public!!
As you can imagine, from 9am that morning, I was on the phone making frantic calls to garages to get my engine fixed. The first garage diagnosed the problem (pressure differential sensor, if youâre interested!) but didnât have the part, neither did the second (main Valencia Fiat dealer an hourâs drive away), so I wasnât hopeful when I got to the third where the parts department was closed until 3pm (siesta time đ). After a strange conversation conducted entirely on google translate, I got the phone number and, in a forlorn and worried heap, found myself a campsite for the night. Unfortunately, Spanish parking spots are known to be hotspots for motorhome burglaries, so after a lot of research I have found a secure place that is more like a parking lot, but does the job. I spend my hour off making phone calls to Fiat dealers everywhere, but am drawing a blank. Finally, 3pm arrives and I ask the friendly campsite owner to talk to the parts department at the garage – itâs so strange not understanding one single word, but the outcome is music to my earsâŚ..âGo, go, quick as you can!â So Gloria and I race back to the garage (well, nothing about my big old lumbering Moho is racy, but we try!) and, still not entirely sure if they have understood what I need, I hand over the keys and she is taken off my hands and goes into surgery. One hour and âŹ300 later (eek!), she emerges from theatre and is right as rain again. WHAT A RELIEF!!!
I celebrate with a lovely swim in the sea and walk along the beach – itâs been quite a day and Gloria and I have gone on strike, so when my co-pilot arrives at the airport this evening, heâll have to catch the tube into the City while I will attempt the bus. Itâs SO unbelievably roasting hot hereâŚâŚoh, for another dip in those clear cool waters of Parrissal!
Waiting for the Breakdown Services just outside Narbonne in the South of France I was thankful for my beautiful view, a seat in the shade and a galley in which to make lunchâŚâŚbecause it took over FOUR hours! In fact, it was only when Iâd made myself a cup of tea (the proverbial English habit that always seems to make things better!) that Breakdown Man actually appeared. So, what was the problem? Well, let me backtrack to the previous evening where, after climbing up a steep single track road, I found myself at the most glorious viewpoint over the Occitanie countryside and got myself settled in for the night (donât worry, I have full confidence with my sophisticated alarm and am on first name terms with Alarm Man Carl – Carlarm Man??!).
Woken from my deepest slumber, Iâm suddenly in the middle of a booming, full-on French nightclub playing extreme rap at ear-splitting decibels. All the usual tricks of earplugs and a pillow over my head were tried, but the French Rap broke through. They are obviously a bit short on choice here, as there was one particular âtuneâ that came on about every third âsongâ and I found myself quite liking it – didnât expect that! On the trackâs fourth outing, I realised sleep was not an option, so stuck my head out of the centre hatch to survey the scene and saw a group of âyoofâ all enjoying the beauty spot (and the âmusicâ). By now it was 3am, so I fired Gloria up, went about 1/2 mile down the road and the rest of the night passed uneventfully. Wanting to enjoy my morning cuppa with this amazing view, I drove back to the spot and laughed when I saw my doormat there, just waiting for me! All was fine until I went to start the engine – maybe my battery is on its last legs, as obviously the two short journeys had decimated it and there was no sign of life?? Fortunately, as mentioned, I couldnât have had a more beautiful spot to wait – the plains below all covered in vines, the lines making it look like a patchwork of corduroy.
As expected, I had just had my first sip of tea when Breakdown Man finally appeared – it never fails!! Using his boosterpack, he got me started straight away – when questioned about the state of my battery, he said it was fine and we both came to the conclusion that it must have been the two short journeys. All of this was done in my schoolgirl French with no charades this timeâŚ..it must be beginning to come back to me – not flooding back, just a little rivulet!
The long-lost doormat!!
My first stop thereafter was a car parts shop to buy a battery booster pack, ensuring I could be self-sufficient in the future (I had already bought some monster jumpleads but there was only one car that visited in that entire time and, despite their very kind and best efforts, it seemed their battery was too weedy to do the job!).
A quick cycle ride into Narbonne made the whole day feel better, as I got to see the beautiful Cathedral which, if it had been completed, would have been the tallest in France, but building regs and the plague got in the way!
On this trip, I have âcollectedâ many things; it started with castles in Germany, continued with rivers (Danube, Rhine, Rhone), morphed into lakes (St Moritz, Lake Como, Castellane) and now my latest âthingââŚâŚ.tree-lined avenues or rivers. It seems that ever since driving the Route Napoleon, these have been everywhere and are clearly an iconic part of âLa Belle Franceâ. The most common theory for these prolific beauties is that Napoleon ordered their planting so that his troops could march in the shade – but clearly trees take a few decades to grow, so the alternative theory of the nobility ensuring their goods remained fresh sounds far more plausible to me. Whatever the reason, it really makes driving through the French countryside âmagnifiqueâ!
I would love to say that I reached my camping spot for the night, a spot deep inside one of the countless vineyards, without a hitch – but in the last mile, I found myself in one of the tiniest streets in a small village and, feeling nervous that I might get stuck, I hopped out to scout out the way ahead. Definitely the stressful part of the roadtrip, driving through these small villages, resulting in me inadvertently switching off the engine and – youâve guessed it – it wouldnât start again. So now I find myself right in the centre of this tiny village with no one able to go around me (fortunately it was so quiet, no one ever came!). Knowing that I had the booster pack onboard was goodâŚ..but I hadnât had a chance to charge it yet so it wasnât much help. HELP!! Suddenly, there was that most beautiful sound – an English voice asking if I needed any help?? And before he could say otherwise, this kind lady had enlisted the help of her husband (probably just settling down for a relaxed evening) and he got me going. Whilst doing so, we had a good chat about their life in France – the one upside of having vehicle problems is meeting so many lovely people!
My campspot ,which is literally a mile or so into endless vines, is beautiful, but I am now so worried about my battery that Iâm worried about switching the engine off. Just as Iâm pondering my next move, a car drives along and I pluck up the courage to wander down to the only dwelling in sight and ask if he can charge my booster pack for me overnight. I certainly took him by surprise as it was so remote, but he was really helpful, immediately putting it on charge and even inviting me in for a coffee the following morning. Turns out that Renee had been a Dutch Roady for the likes of Bon Jovi and an Elvis singer too – yet another fascinating story and good to see the beautiful spot that he and his wife had created in this little slice of heaven.
The booster pack WAS required to get Glo going, so a French version of Halfords was definitely next on my list – except that it was Sunday and the French are much better at enjoying their Sundays off, so I was left with no choice but to get to my next campspot which I chose primarily for the fact that it had EHU (electrical hook-up!). The fact that it was on a farm was just a bonus!
Off on my usual bike ride, I decided that French seaside towns leave a LOT to be desired – they keep it a big secret, but I would say that they are every bit as bad as the more well-known Magaluf or Benidorm. Thank goodness I was on the bike, as I could just speed through them and head back inland – where things improved massively as I stumbled across the inevitable vineyard and succumbed to an irresistible tasting! And, of course, ended up offroading again – this time through the peace and quiet of some wetlands……
After the now customary jump-start the following morning from Quebecois Lady (battery shenanigans have enabled me meet people from all over with such interesting stories – and also given me faith in the human race, as everyone has gone out of their way to help me), I headed straight to âRoadyâ, a car parts specialist, to buy a battery. My request resulted in much scratching of the head, followed by a request to see my registration form which definitely caused even more head scratching!! Finally, they concluded that the battery that I needed was out of stock and even if it was in stock, they didnât have a slot to fit me in that day. Their only suggestion? Go and have a look in the Intermarche next door. Not having much faith in this, I call breakdown assistance, again – and find myself at a low point of the trip, going up and down the aisles in a supermarket in search of a motorhome battery. I mean, really – ARE THEY JOKING ?!?! A meltdown was imminent but, amazingly, it appears that they might have one – weird?! Just before I buy it, the breakdown services call and I race back to Gloria. Itâs not Breakdown Man this time, but Flat-bed Truck Driver who is there purely to get Gloria onboard and transport us to a garage. However, when questioned if the garage would have a suitable battery, bearing in mind that the battery specialist didnât, he understood my predicament. He then had a stroke of genius and fetched his battery checker – turns out my battery was âbonneâ (also turns out that itâs feminine – Iâd been referring to it as masculine all alongâŚâŚperhaps this explains itâs whimsical ways??!!). As he does this, the smoke alarm goes off and the penny drops – could it just be the battery connections?? Flat-bed Saviour Guy tightened them all up and – just like that – I was fixed! What a relief – I had visions of spending endless nights outside Roady or even trying to change the battery myself (Youtube is great, but that might have been pushing it!!).
So – off to recover what I had originally planned for the day, a hike in the foothills of the Pyrenees. There was no time for the full walk, but a stomp uphill for a good hour helped relieve the frustrations of the day and also treated me to a view of the entire French coast along which I have driven. A fitting end to my time in France!
I had rather âbigged upâ the Pyrenees crossing and was looking forward to more switchback mountain passes; in contrast, although beautiful, there was a good mile or so either side of the border of endless booze, fag and fake handbag shopsâŚ.certainly not what I was expecting, a bit like the Wild Wild West! Anyway, the border crossing was uneventful (apart from me shouting out âWelcome to Spain, Gloria!!ââŚ..I must have some human company soon!!) and I spent the night by beautiful Lake Banyoles. The inevitable bike ride and coffee/croissant stop got the following day off to a good start and it was made even better by finally, FINALLY, after the most dogged, tenacious persistence you can imagine, managing to get another gas bottle for Gloria at last, so my rosĂŠ and milk can now be kept cold again! I wonât bore you with the details, suffice to say that every country in Europe has a different system and you canât buy a gas bottle from the garage forecourt where they are so temptingly laid out, only exchange oneâŚâŚ.and the only place to buy one is right in the centre of town, generally on a street completely inaccessible to motorhomes. Grrr – enough saidâŚâŚEurope, you need to get co-ordinated on this one!
The drive down to my next stop was one of my favourite drives of the trip – nice, easy roads through incredible volcanic scenery and passing the mountains of Monserrat looking like grey icing pushing up through the ground. It was hard to keep my eyes on the road due to the curious shape of its jagged peaks and it is no wonder that it is a revered holy mountain, home to a famous monastery. Another place for the bucket list!
A slight detour next, to a place that I had first spied in a travel article a few years ago and made a note about, so I was very excited to finally go there. Rock formations have always fascinated me and this Spanish town has literally been built on a lump of granite 50m high and a kilometre long. The old houses, built from the basalt that they are standing on, lean precariously over the dramatic cliff edge, overlooking the two rivers below that flank the town. Of course, it had to be seen from the river too, leading to a rather energetic bike ride back to Gloria đ Castellfollit de la Roca: a very worthwhile detour!
My Park4night App is really coming into its own in the wine regions of Europe, as my next nightstop is in yet another vineyard, named after a favourite tennis star. Nadal Wines provide free parking to motorhomes and I spend a peaceful night among the vines with yet more grapes for breakfast.
The next day is roasting, so I ditch sightseeing (who knew there would be so many Roman ruins in Spain?!) in favour of a relaxed morning in the shade of the tree beside the vines; I donât see a soul the entire time Iâm there! I have a few days of quite long drives, as Iâm making my way towards Valencia to pick up my next co-pilot, but I still manage to spend a lovely couple of hours on the beach on the way – warm shallow waters and the best âsardines on toastâ ever!
Eschewing vineyards for a night, I pick an Olive farm this time and am barely parked up before the produce is brought out and the tasting begins. Iâm shown a video explaining the harvesting process; netting on the ground and machines that look like a cross between a strimmer and a rake that shake all the branches, so the olives rain down – theyâre looking for volunteers to help in October if anyone is interested?! That is, if I can tear myself awayâŚâŚ..
Thoughts so far:
Beauty spots by day can become Rap Rave-ups by night
This trip has taught me a lot about resilience and self-sufficiency
Why do the French âstealâ our words? Apparently, Iâm driving a âcamping-carâ – I mean, really!
Do your research before choosing a French seaside holiday
France produces 7-8 BILLION bottles of wine per year
The Romans called Spain âHispaniaâ
An olive is a fruit not a vegetable!
Apologies for the lengthy blog this time – this is because I try and keep it interesting and focus on the âescapadesâ rather than the mundane travel stuff – and this week, I have certainly had my fair share of escapades!!
The problem with ticking things off your bucket list is that, in the process, at least two things get added to the bottom of that list! And so it was that I found myself âmooredâ on the banks of the Canal du Midi in my âland yachtâ Gloria, with her feeling proud that she was really able to compete with all the canal traffic motoring up and down, dreaming of journeying on the French canals myself one day. I had found this spot by motoring right past the horribly crowded campsite and exactly 301m past the motorhome prohibited sign and arrived in Seventh Heaven as, much Iâm loving the Moho experience, throughout my life Iâve always been drawn to water .
Once established (and after a swim in the canal, of course!) I jumped on the bike to explore the local town, Villeneuve-les-Beziers. I would have thought that Villeneuve meant ânew townâ, but it was the complete opposite; a labyrinth of tiny streets in an ever-decreasing circle to the middle, with not a tourist in sight.
So happy to be by the river, it was hard to tear myself away the next day, but eventually I hopped on the bike along the canal to Beziers. How glad I was that I hadnât succumbed to the canalâs enticing tranquillity, as this town was certainly not one to be missed. Just the bike ride itself was a revelation in hydrological engineering, witnessing the 9 locks that allow boats to be raised 21.5mâŚ..
Beziers was stunning – more from a distance than from within the city, as the views of the cathedral are sensational. However, the best part of the afternoon was finding a bar with a really talented musician giving it his all – I always think that the best way to find out about a place is to just sit and take it in with a coffee or a beerâŚ
But how could I have known that on the way back, just near the famous âneuf ĂŠcluseâ, I would find some live rock, all sung in English (the best language for rock, or am I just biassed? They did one song in French and it wasâŚ..well, lest said about the better!)
This did result in a slightly unexpected late-night ride home along the canal
Time to move on and I was at a bit of a quandaryâŚ..Catalonia and Andorra are now out due Coronavirus, my friends who were thinking of joining me couldnât risk the possible quarantine on return and Gloriaâs next co-pilots have had to move their flights from Barcelona to Valencia too. So, I had a fortnight stretching out in front of me with no plans. Is that scary or difficult? No!! I could truly be like a leaf in the wind and blow where it took me – the first place being a slight backtrack, as apparently Iâd missed out one of THE villages of the area. So, turning east for the first time this trip, I set off for Pezanas. And itâsâŚ.well, itâs quaint and pretty, but itâs completely packed with tourists and kitschy little shops and it is at this point that I realise that I just donât do tourism like other people; the tiny empty streets of the previous village were more beautiful to me, as they werenât surrounded by people or covered in signs directing you around.
Feeling a bit deflated, I fired Gloria back up and pointed her towards the mountains, along some beautiful country lanes with grapevines on every spare spot of soil and plenty of red (burgundy??!đ ) signs directing us to the local Domaines or Wine houses. I could feel my hands start to turn the wheel towards them, but Gloria was having none of it, resolute in her goal to get to a camping spot and stay put for a few days. So, reluctantly, I pressed on and ended up at the best campsite find of the trip in Roquebrun. Not only did was there electricity, hot showers and Wifi (weefee, as the French say!)âŚâŚbut thereâs also a washing machine, a tennis court and a mountain view to die for and I book in for 3 nights – my longest stopover so far. A quick recce of the village shows why itâs on the âtop villagesâ listâŚ..
Iâm in biking/hiking heaven, so take off the following day for a big expedition to Gorges DâHeric, apparently âa lovely 9 mile routeâ according to my Cyclemaps App. Now, this App, having led me up the garden (mountain!) path in Germany, has really redeemed itself and found me some great cycle rides in France – but, today it was up to its old tricks and had me pushing the bike along completely inaccessible routes (but they were stunning and off-roadâŚ..hence my love/hate thing with this App). After one particularly hard drop down along an old river bed, I arrived back on the road to find not one but two flat tyres. Where is Tall Bike Guy when I need him??!!!! And, unfortunately I hadnât set this bike up for this eventuality, so I was stuck. I tried sticking my thumb out for a while, but what happened next could only have been written by a comedy geniusâŚâŚa car turned into the lay-by, initially giving me hope, but only for me to find out that he too had suffered from a flat tyre. What were the chances??!! As he was taking up the spot where any good Samaritan could have pulled into (and shouting and swearing in French), I decided to cut my losses and start pushing my bike back to the campsite. Sweltering hot, it was going to be a long 8 miles with no sign of any of the infrequent cars willing to help – I was just going to have to get on with it. Then, coming into hazy view like a mirage in a desert, I caught a glimpse of a red (burgundy?!) sign in the distance. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes thinking I must be hallucinating, but soon, a large wine bottle came into view.
Well, if I was going to have to spend a couple of hours pushing a broken bike along the road I may as well be fortified by a bit of the local grape juice! So, I pulled in, explained my predicament (charades again!) and proceeded to tuck into their delicious Sred wine. It turned out that my two companions on this exercise (obviously less strict here than in Provence) were going in my direction – so, not only did I land myself a ride right back to my campsite, they very helpfully transported my 5L winebox which I had purchased for all of âŹ13 (yes, you read the right, not for a bottle, but for FIVE LITRES!) in their self-build converted âcamping-carâ. What a lovely couple and what another funny escapade for me on my crazy travels – last time I broke down within 20m of a bike shop, this time it was just a bit further to a wine cellarâŚâŚwhatever next?!
Having been delivered by my red wine saviours, I got on with replacing the inner tubes – and it was only when I had got them both out that I realised my spares are for my road bike (was the vin rouge âtastingâ responsible for this oversight??). Rookie error #3: bring lots of spare inner tubes!
Having the luxury of time and not liking to feel that Iâve been beaten by something, I set off the next day to cover the same route, but this time on my road bike, which means that I went byâŚ.ROAD! So, the interesting thing in going to the same destination by road is that I can see where the Cyclemaps App took me off-road and I realise that if I hadnât followed its path, I would never have seen the stunning village of Vieussan. An equally quaint, authentic, carless village that is clinging to a cliff like the more touristic version of Roquebrun where I am staying, but again I am the only foreigner in sightâŚ..just confirming the fact that I prefer the more off-the-beaten-track place. So, Cyclemaps moved back into the love zone!
Iâm so glad that I had another go at the destination, as the Gorges dâHeric are stunning and had a good 3 miles of uphill hiking alongside a river laced with huge stones and ideal cliff-jumping backwaters. This time I made it back home without any dramas and headed straight for the river waters of Roquebrun for a dip.
The exertions of the day must have really wiped me out, as it was the first time that I had slept through the townâs constant church bell chiming. There are three churches here – I havenât seen them, but my ears have told me that because they all chime out the hour VERY LOUDLY!! And they are all a couple of minutes adrift. Itâs a bit like being woken by your alarm and hitting snooze for a couple of minutesâŚ.and then a couple more. Then you know youâve got 55â before it all starts again – but itâs such a beautiful town, I forgive it!
So, have I really gone sauvage? In French, this means âwildâ or âferalâ and, though I know that in the blink of an eye I could put my uniform or glad-rags back on and re-enter the modern world, I feel as though I have just taken a moment out from modern life and am living in a completely stripped back, primitive way. No need for material things, eating very simply, no make-up and basic clothing – itâs nice to feel so in touch with oneself and, even if Iâve gone slightly rogue, my sanity is definitely still intact. I recommend it – everyone should go sauvage just once in their lives!
And now itâs time to get away from the campsite and go and find some more sauvage spots in this incredibly beautiful part of France
Thoughts so far:
Finally mastered bicycling with no hands – what a revelation!
Stay away from the recommended tourist spots – the next village along is probably far more authentic and just as interesting
I seem to be addicted to the Southwest of countries…..Germany, now France and, of course, the Algarve in SW of Europe!
If youâre stuck, just look for a vineyard
Wine in France is every bit as good as I thought it would be (and cheaper!)
The next leg of Gloriaâs Grand Tour is a gentle âpotterâ along the South of France and, having read A Year in Provenceâ many years ago, I couldnât resist a swerve in to visit Aix-en-Provence.
Biking along the main pedestrianised boulevard, with people spilling out of cafĂŠs and restaurants on either side, it was hard to contemplate that we are still midst world-wide pandemic – although, I must say that all countries I have visited so far have been rigorous with their Covid prevention discipline. Equally, I feel very safe and secure in Gloria who has proved to be a godsend, as I can still travel, but in a very self-sufficient manner, like a snail with my house on my back! đ (Sorry Glo, youâve been referred to as a hippo đŚ too, as youâre such a big unit, but you are still a beauty!). Anyway, I digress – back to Provence where it would be a big omission not to partake in a little winetasting. Gloria wasnât interested, being that sheâs a âdiesel onlyâ kinda gal, so she got parked up at the first vineyard, where I switched onto the bike in search of some decent âgirl petrolâ aka rosĂŠ (see previous post). My expectation was to be cycling through endless grapevines to find small growers who would allow me to sample ample quantities of delicious wine along with their olive oils and lavender essences, all whilst chatting to the assistant and other visitors. The reality? Mask on at all times except when âtastingâ, only one group at a time creating a long queue, no olive oil to taste and mask-police very strict even when I tried to smell the lavender!
Oh well, not an entire disaster, as I did get to buy a very nice bottle of the Provençal pink stuff and – the best part – on the cycle ride back to the first château, managed to seek out a track into an olive grove where I could spend the night. Yes, probably not technically legal, so all you fellow motorhomers out there please donât judge, but just completely irresistible and one of my most spectacular wild camping spots yet, right at the foot of a large escarpment. The slight anxiety that I might be asked to move on by the farmer (of whom, not a sign) was certainly worth the peace & solitude and especially the hike up the slope the following morning.
Next stop was the moonâŚ..or what it could look like, as I found a camp spot right on the waterâs edge near the large salt flats of The Camargue, an area better known for its white horses (none spotted – apparently a bit of a touristic ruse now)
The vibrant pink salt lakes produce over 500,000 tons of salt every year and thereâs a reason why the salt dries out hereâŚâŚitâs baking hot! đĽ So, onto the bike I jumped to cycle through the strange lunar landscape in search of the beach and what a disappointment that turned out to be, jam- packed with hordes of people and barely a space to walk. I made a quick U turn and biked back up the river and found a tranquil spot by the River Rhone with not a soul around – how much better and thank goodness everyone else doesnât like to be âoff the beaten trackâ like meâŚâŚ especially as I was able to wash my hair with no one else looking! Refreshed and clean, I celebrated by getting the barbecue out and enjoyed writing my blog watching the sun going down.
Just north of the salt flats is the old medieval town of Arles, full of Roman ruins and picturesque spots that are like a magnet to famous painters. It turns out that Vincent van Gogh spent 14 months here back in 1888/9 and in that time he completed 300 paintings – the guy was prolific!. Not being your typical tourist, I didnât fancy signing up for the Segway tour, but instead enjoyed a couple of hours completing my own treasure hunt by bike, trying to find the 10 paintings that have been put in spots where he regularly painted around the city. (Okay, so sometimes cheating when I spotted the Segways homing in on one!). In the process, I took in most of the extremely impressive Roman ruinsâŚâŚjust my kind of sightseeing!
I was parked up by the motorway for this visit, not a good place for the night, so headed off towards the beach – this turned out to almost be a complete disaster as obviously the Covid message hasnât reached these parts and I have never seen more people or cars near the beach, even at 9pm. I tried a few different campspots but they were all busy and so was very relieved to finally find an Aire next to another (full) campsite. (Aires are provided by towns all over Europe for motorhomes, normally for a fraction of the cost of a campsite). After my big bike ride the following day, I returned to hear constant âparty gamesâ over the PA systemâŚ..confirming my original thoughts that campsites are definitely not for me – yuk! And the big bike ride? Around a lake full of a multitude of different birds, the surprising ones being the flamingos (yes, flamingosâŚ..there was me thinking that they were for exotic climes only??!) and on to Montpellier.
This has definitely been another standout European city for me and one to which Iâd love to return sometime; it is full of narrow streets with atmospheric cafĂŠs and frescos on the buildings, along with architecture that rivals that of Paris- in fact, cycling through the âArc du Triompheâ I did feel as though the Eiffel Tower could come into view at any moment!
The standout moment of the visit to Montpellier resulted after cycling through a narrow uphill street, changing gear and getting that sinking feeling, knowing that the chain has come off. This has happened a few times on Scottie (Emmaâs bike), but could always be solved – however, this time, after lots of tugging and even releasing the entire back wheel, it could not be budged. You would have thought that a maiden in distress with black oil all over her hands would have elicited more help, but everyone walked on byâŚâŚuntil, finally, a French man start talking to me. Was this my knight in shining armour? No, it was just someone who told me (in perfect EnglishâŚ..I must improve my French!) that there was a bike shop just around the corner. Only I could break down and find that less than 20m away was Tall Bike Guy who really knew his stuff and straight away whisked Scottie onto his rack for diagnosis. Judging by the fact that all the cogs were on the floor, I ascertained that this was something that I could not have done myself! Tall Bike Guy was so nice and helpful, telling my all about the big bide ride that he was about to do to Britanny, sleeping in a hammock enroute (and I thought I was mad!) – it only took about 20 minutes to fix, but I could have sat and watched him fix it all afternoon!!!
Onwards to Frontignan – my reason for stopping here was to try and book up some kitesurfing lessons, but the forecast is for light slack winds for the week and this, along with the sea fog and more horrendously busy beaches (think Margate on steroids!), helped me decide to break camp and move on again. Shame, as I had been asked out for a drink with the nice Kite Surf instructor that evening!! However, the village that I moved to (Bouzigues) was in the sun and absolutely gorgeous, being right on the shores of all the oyster and mussel âtablesâ. I am happily enjoying this trip solo, but drew the line at sampling the local oysters that were available for degustation everywhere. HmmmâŚ..maybe I should have called Kite Surf Guy to join me??!!
Thoughts so far:
Vincent van Gogh only sold one painting in his life and painted his most famous one (Starry Night) in an insane asylum. Also, he only cut off his lobe, not his whole ear!
Camargue horses are used to herd bulls that are raised here for bullfighting
A flock of flamingos is called a flamboyance!
The University of Montpellier is one of the oldest in the world (and WHAT a city to be a student!)
The absence of tides in the Med mean that coquillage (shellfish) can be farmed on large âtablesâ
It appears that bullfighting is still ongoing here – the only thing stopping it is Covid-19!
Two weeks solo, completing 1,000 miles through 7 European countries, itâs time for me and Gloria to have some company and Iâm hovering in a car park outside Milan airport waiting for the phone call to be a most unusual airport pick up vehicle. Welcome onboard daughter Emma, fresh from completing her Superyacht course in the UK, who didnât need much encouragement to come and join mum to go job-hunting in the South of France. Along with Superyacht-Seeker is Just-a- friend-Tom who, as the name suggests, is just a friend from school and, having inter-railed with Superyacht-Seeker last summer, jumped at the chance to upgrade from a hostel bunkbed to one in Gloria!
The pair were introduced to wild camping straight away with a spot near the Certosa di Pavia, Lombardy and we were treated to a superb sunset over this intricately carved monastery before dinner onboard. We discovered that weâd been a bit too late pulling across the mosquito netting over the doors and windows, so it became like the killing fields inside Gloria as we tried to rid her of all the bugs. Added to that, it was HOT đĽ , but that didnât prevent the teenagers from managing to sleep through my morning ride into the local town, coffee in a cute cafe and visiting the monastery, also known as the Charterhouse.
By the time I returned and it was time to go, the fan had been on for over 12 hours – against my better judgement, I had relented and let the teens use the fan, thinking that it came off the Leisure battery. However – youâve guessed it – it must have been the vehicle battery as, when I went to start the engine, she gave a momentary splutter before completely dying. Gloria was NOT happyâŚâŚand we were in the middle of nowhere đą Reluctant to call my Breakdown services straight away in case they took ages, I decided to go off in search of some jumpleads; my first victim was the local road sweeper, dressed top to bottom in fluorescent orange and totally bemused by my initial attempt at explaining my predicament with the aid of google translateâs Italian words for jumpleads, as he simply pointed to the sky (what on earth did it say??!). After some theatrical charade-worthy âengine not startingâ actions and sounds, he finally got it and headed off into the residential neighbourhood. So, I found myself following Fluorescent Orange Man to the home of a man boasting an enormous belly covered solely in a pair of braces. After much gesticulation and rapid-fire Italian, Fluorescent Orange Man indicated that his big belly friend would help me, so I returned to Gloria wondering what would happen next. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Mr Big Belly (fortunately covered in a T shirt now) manoeuvred his own little Fiat close to Gloriaâs nose and, in no time there was the glorious sound of Gloâs purring engine. What a relief and certainly worth the bottle of wine that was handed out as our thanks. Rookie Error #2: always keep a set of jumpleads onboard and donât leave the fan on all night!
It was lucky that we didnât take on too much of a delay, as today was a big old schlepp from Pavia all the way down south and along the coastal road to Antibes. Normally, Iâm not a fan of huge long drives, but somehow, behind the wheel of Gloria, with great tunes blasting out and the most incredible scenery to ogle over, it has become something I actively relish. Having lost my (limited) unlimited data 10 days ago and been subject to a continual music loop, having the kidsâ playlists (and data!) meant that we could really change things up on the music scene. Just-a-friend-Tom turned into DJ Man and we all took it in turns to choose a track – obviously, I had to educate them with the likes of Pink Floyd and Meatloaf, whilst they educated me with some more off the wall modern stuff – and before we knew it, we were parked up in Antibes.
Superyacht-Seeker had arranged to meet up with a girl from her course, so after a bowl of moules and a quick visit to the underground Absinthe bar, we found ourselves in the midst of a group of similar jobseekers all celebrating the fact that they were starting work on the Royal Qatari Superyacht the following day. We had a fabulous night out finished off in style by a 3 mile bike ride home to Gloria along the beach at 2amâŚâŚor was it a 2 mile bike ride at 3am??!
It turns out that Absinthe isnât the best way to start jobhunting, so itâs lucky that weâd organised to visit my Virgin pilot friend Andy, last seen in May 2019 at the end of our Airbus330 course. Little did he know that Iâd actually take him up on his offer of visiting his family at their beautiful home near Nice and we had so much fun playing with his 4 year old âmini meâ and dogs in the pool. While the kids enjoyed the comfort of Gloria, I was treated to Airbus Andyâs sumptuous spare room with the most incredible view down to the French Riviera – and, not only was the view incredible, it was such a treat to sleep in a proper comfortable bed after 2 and a half weeks on the road (sorry Glo, you are comfortable, but there was no comparison!!). Definitely a 5 out of 5 on Tripadvisor, Airbus Andy!!
Back on the road, we headed off to the village of Gourdon – thank goodness for all that practice driving mountain passes in Switzerland, as it was yet another edge-of-the-seat drive. However, the village of Gourdon was more than worth the vertiginous drops, perched on top of a rock and with views down the valley.
There followed more âexcitingâ driving along the Route Napoleon until we reached Castellane, a village in the shadow of a huge rock topped by a monastery. The three of us were joined by Airbus Andy and Mini me for one night and we all enjoyed a bike ride to and a paddle in the river the following day.
Left with just the kids that afternoon, we thought that weâd go on an adventure to find the nearby lake and, of course, didnât take the road but a far more interesting routeâŚ..
The lake was the most extraordinary emerald green and was even better swimming in than looking at……
A week had flown by and it was time to drop Just-a-friend-Tom at Nice airport before returning to Antibes to help with Superyacht-Seeker on her mission to land a top job. She had one interview that afternoon and a second one in Cannes the following day – transported to both by faithful Gloria who joined me in crossing everything to hope that she would be offered one of them. And she wasâŚâŚnot one but both, presenting her with a dilemma. However, if you check out Yacht Norfolk Star, it turned out to be an easy decision – itâs out of this world.
So, having navigated the marinas of Antibes and Cannes, the newly employed Superyacht Stewardess jumped out of Gloria in the centre of Cannes, briefly stopping the traffic once again. Now itâs just me and Glo, heading west across the lavender fields and vineyards of the South of France for the next leg of my trip.
Thoughts so far:
Donât trust Google Translate
Always carry jump leads
Absinthe is strong!
France has the most extraordinarily varied landscape
A motorhome is acceptable transportation for job seeking
I was in a dilemma: I really wanted to take a detour to spend some time in St Moritz but I really did not want to be reckless and take on the Swiss mountain passes unnecessarily. What to do? I know – put the question out to the nice people on the Motorhomefun forum and see what they thought! The answer was a resounding âGo for it, girlâ so, with my heart in my mouth, I pointed Gloria in the direction of St Moritz and her first mountain pass. My eyes were resolutely glued to the road during the heart-stopping hair-raising hairpins, as I couldnât bring myself to look over the edge and see how far it was to the valley. I took my time, pulled over plenty to let the faster cars through and…… found that I actually quite enjoyed the whole experience! The scenery was utterly breathtaking and the engineering of the roads, tunnels and bridges was worth every cent of that vignette. I stopped for lunch beside a gorgeous lake (oh, the joy of just being able to stop and open the fridge and make lunch!) which was when I realised that it was the first time that I had really breathed. There was one more pass to go which was the steepest one yet before descending down to the Engadine lake plateau, a stunning plateau at 1800m that has four large lakes, one of which is St Moritz. The beauty of the plateau has inspired many poets and artists and it’s clear why, as the combination of snow-capped peaks, emerald green water and chocolate-box pretty Swiss chalets and hotels is unrivalled.
The first surprise on arrival, was finding myself watching the polo game that was being played right beside my camping spot…..not quite what I was expecting in a glamorous summer spa town/two-time Olympic host winter town! Although I couldn’t follow the game, it was a magnificent sight at the foot of the Alps and the polo horses were beautifully prepared, all shiny and muscly – and the jockeys weren’t bad either!!
I biked off around the lake and found myself in a weird kind of folk festival with even weirder dancing taking place…..
And finally cycled off to find the original reason for wanting to come to St Moritz…….the airport! I know how bizarre that sounds, but bear with me here, as in a previous life I flew executive jets and remember a pretty sporty, spectacular approach flying down the valley and landing with snow all around. But the one thing that really stuck with me from that day was seeing a level crossing barrier with cross-country skiers waiting for us to backtrack the runway before they could continue on their way. I was wondering whether my memory was playing tricks on me, so wanted to go and see it for myself . Clearly it hadn’t been a figment of my imagination and it was a great focal point for my bike ride.
The following morning, I biked to Post Muragl for a crazily steep funicular ride up the mountain for one of the most spectacular views down the Engadine valley and a great hike up to a lake at 2750m.
Finally, the big moment had arrived…..what goes up must come down, so there was nothing for it – Gloria and I had to negotiate the mountain pass back down again. The Mujala pass is one of the steepest and most famous and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having had a sleepless night worrying about it – not because of the manoeuvring around the 180 corners, but because I had read about a motorhome that had suffered brake failure that just filled me with horror. And, without wishing to be rude about the old girlâs weight……she is a big old unit!! So, with great trepidation, lots of engine braking and with my heart in my mouth, Gloria and I poked our nose over the top of the pass. It was a bit like finding yourself on a double black diamond run as a novice skier and having to traverse the whole mountain doing a snowplough before plucking up courage to turn back the other way, knowing that at some point during that turn you will be facing completely downhill. However, once we got started, we got into our stride and before we knew it, the worst of it was over…..which is a good job, as I didn’t see anywhere to pull over or, more importantly, a run-off area in case of brake failure.
The rest of the journey through the beautiful Swiss and then Italian Alps was full of spectacular views and before I knew it, I was parked up by the shores of Lake Como. Wow -,gorgeous! And I knew I had descended a great height, as I had started off the day wearing two fleeces and was now back in T shirt and shorts, sipping on my first Aperol Spritz of the trip.
A relaxing day was spent chilling out beside the lake the following day with the inevitable bike ride before setting off on my journey to Milan to pick up my two VIPs. In my mind, I had pictured the journey down the lake shore to be picturesque, but it was completely different in reality. Almost straight away we were in a tunnel over a mile long with almost no room between Gloria and the tunnel wall and the other lane of traffic. Whereas the hairpins had given me sweaty palms, these tunnels definitely made me grip Gloria’s wheel more tightly than usual. Every now and then, we would emerge into sunlight with a little glimpse down a ravine to the lake before, like a mole going back into its hole, we would go back into the darkness for another mile or so of tight-grip tunnel torture!
And now I find myself near Milan airport waiting for my Gloriaâs guests and contemplating how quickly two weeks solo has passed and given me so many extraordinary memories.
Thoughts so far:
Switzerland has the densest rail network in all of Europe, despite being 70% mountains
You are never more than 16km from a Lake (partly because Switzerland has 1500 of them!)
There are more banks than dentists
Swiss trains capture and store the energy produced in downhill braking – every four trains going down produces enough power to send one train up – clever!
Switzerland produces the most chocolate in the world
Coffee in Switzerland costs more than a beer đş đŽ
The great thing about planning a roadtrip âon the hoofâ, is that you can go where the wind takes you and not be confined to a route due to pre-booked campsites. The downside to this is that it sometimes takes a few attempts to find somewhere to park up for the night and there are occasionally obstacles along the way you may not have anticipated (low bridges, for example đł). So it is that I find myself outside Konstanz, near the shores of the Bodensee in a gravel parking lot just a few minutes walk from the third campsite that has turned me away. As it happens, there is a huge silver lining with this as (a) it costs âŹ2 instead of âŹ25 and (b) the campsite, when I bike down to it, is my absolute worst nightmare being that itâs jam-packed with with hordes of campers leaving no chance to enjoy the beautiful scenery in peace. So, feeling as though I had got the better end of the deal, I continued my bike ride along the lake and round a small island where I took refuge in a delightful Yacht Club while a huge storm erupted all around with a large glass of rosĂŠ (well, why not?!) Konstanz is yet another absolutely gorgeous and enchanting German city, emanating a distinctly romantic feeling with endless characterful old historic buildings and views of the Bodensee or the River Rhine around every corner. I know that I have been waxing lyrical about the beauty and intrigue of Southern Germany; as you can probably tell, I have completely lost my heart to this area and would thoroughly recommend to anyone to put it on their holiday list. The post-storm skies added to the charm of the place, as shown in the photos belowâŚ.
So, back to planning âon the hoofâ; whilst sitting on the lake shore near Konstanz, I realise that itâs only a half hour detour to go via Austria. So obviously I decide to âpop inâ for a coffee the following morning, as you do. First of all, the Swiss border had to be negotiated and, once armed with my âvignetteâ (what a great idea to avoid toll roads – a one-off payment that lasts for the year), I head to Austria. What happened next is going to stay with me for the rest of my life and is still making me giggle/quake at its memory. Following my Satnav along a very narrow but acceptable road, I came face-to-face with a bridge that had a ROOF (why?!) which Gloria definitely couldnât pass through. By this stage, I had built up a nice little trail of traffic behind me and there was certainly no room to do a 3 point turn, as the road only just allowed for 2-way traffic. I WAS STUCK!!! This is obviously a fairly common occurrence here as, just as I realised that I had run out of ideas, up popped a very nice Austrian policeman! As much as I was surprised to see him, I think that he was even more surprised to see me and, once heâd had a good look in the back of Gloria, trying but failing to find the man who could take the wheel and thus save the situation, he looked back at me with perplexity and then dismay when he realised that I was the only option. He indicated that I needed to reverse back to the previous junction. WHAT???!!! He had managed to get the numerous cars behind me to pull over to each side of the road, generously leaving me just a few centimetres either side with which to negotiate this tight manoeuvre. I think that Perplexed Policeman was even more surprised than I was that it all went smoothly and soon I was back on my way. Phew! Needless to say, I didnât spend much time in Austria, as I was too worried that I might commit another faux pas and run into Perplexed Policeman again, so I just had a brief look around Bregenz and got myself out of there and back into Switzerland pronto. You will also be pleased to know that I have now downloaded some software that will advise me of any low bridges enroute – rookie error! Although I would like to apologise to all those Austrian drivers who were late because of me, the look on Perlexed Policemanâs face was almost worth it and makes me giggle every time I think of it đ Also, itâs nice to know that I can still stop traffic at my age!!!!
The fourth country of the day was Liechtenstein. This is a country that has been on my bucket list for years, as I was fascinated to know more about this little country and, added to that, I wanted to see in person why it always comes up in Pub Quizzes (itâs one of only two double landlocked countries in the world, for example). I found a great parking spot part-way up the mountain in the middle of nature which turned out to be the local tennis Club – I did check in to see if anyone wanted a game, but there was no one around. My âcoffee – bike ride – castleâ routine that has worked so well for the past week was an absolutely winning combination here, as it was just a short ride to Vaduz CastleâŚâŚand then a very long 2:30 ride completely uphill to witness the most stunning view of this little Country. It was hard work but worth it, especially with the speedy long drop back down again into the valley!
So now I find myself back in Switzerland in the gorgeous little town of Chur. I have 2 nights here and spend the intervening day going up the cable car (a weird experience without ski gear) and hiking up the mountain. I knew the weather wasnât good, but it was either hiking in the mist and cloud or going to a museum, so it was an easy choice and definitely the right one, as it felt like so much more of an adventure climbing into the mists. I had the mountain to myself along with about 10,000 cows who provided a great musical accompaniment with their cowbells. I had just one hairy moment when, after a staring contest with a cow directly on my path that had horns, the cow won, mainly because I wasnât entirely sure if it wasnât masquerading as a bull, and a detour seemed the best option…..
I am writing this sitting beside the River Rhine (rivers are second only to castles on this trip as the best memories to collect – so far, the Neckar, DanubeâŚ..) with rather shaking legs, wondering if this was from my big day hiking yesterday or the prospect of a hairpin mountain road to my next destination, St Moritz. Wish me and Gloria luck for this one!
German bike paths are plentiful and âwunderbarâ – a bike is essential
âŚ..but is it time to upgrade to an e-bike?!
Austrian policemen are very friendly
Leichtenstein is the worldâs leading manufacturer of false teeth
Can cows have horns?
Footnote: this is being sent late due to (a) my unlimited data turning out to be limited (?) and requiring me to find coffee or beer spots to send anything (not a hardship!) and (b) because I was genuinely so worried about getting down the mountain pass from St Moritz and wanted to ensure that I hadnât stopped traffic in Switzerland too….the next post will definitely feature âsweaty palmsâ in the title!! đ
Sitting by the River Danube, I realise that I have finally reached “castle fatigue” stage, as I was relieved to find that the castle I was due to visit tomorrow is actually closed! This is really no bad thing, as it’ll give me time to process some of the glorious sights and views that I have witnessed over the past few days. It seems an age ago that I woke up on a farm in the middle of nowhere and got on my bike for a big day out – biking just seems to be the best option, not only because I enjoy a bit of exercise and fresh air, but also because it reduces the number of places I have to navigate to in Gloria. She’s quite happy to sit and chat to the pigs and horses while I go and do my stuff on two wheels, before gearing herself up for another outing on the roads (one scary detour and two birdstrikes, but more on that later).
First stop is the incredible Ludwigsburg Palace; the important lesson here is that expectations and reality can sometimes be poles apart. Why? Well, what I should have seen is the imposing, huge Baroque facade of this mighty Palace complex; what I actually got was a building covered in scaffolding đđđ. However, the gardens were completely magnificent and the whole experience of the “Blooming Baroque” was so impressive that scaffoldgate was soon forgotten. The whole town is so well laid out and it turned out to be market day, so I was able to soak up the atmosphere of the Town Square while having a coffee (my “go-to” way of getting to know a place and picking up on its vibes…..that, along with endless bike rides!).
Next stop on my bike tour was Porschplatz – I had seen the signposts on the autobahn on the way in and just couldn’t resist. This is one of the best things about a road trip (and, dare I say it, travelling solo?!)…….you can just make up your plans as you meander along. I know that the Porsche museum wouldn’t be high on many girls’ lists, but being a bit of a petrol head (that’s vehicle petrol, not “girl petrol” as my local Landlord likes to refer to rosĂŠ……although I am a bit partial to that stuff too!), it was a no-brainer. Just the building alone was worth the visit, as it’s really futuristic along with a few cars on ‘stalks’ on the roundabout outside – photos just don’t do it justice…..
The sexy, aerodynamic lines of what makes a current Porsche instantly recognisable were immediately clear from the first prototypes and they are rightly proud of their history and heritage. The stand-out cars for me were one of the many cars that had won Le Mons along with all the dirt it had accumulated over 24 hours, the new E-version sports car and, of course, the best Porsche in my opinion(!), the gorgeous Boxster,
Final stop of the day was Stuttgart and, if I was expecting a busy, industrial German city, I could not have been more wrong. At its heart, it has huge parks by the river full of frisbee throwers, picnickers and people just generally enjoying the German summer. On the way back to the campsite along the river, I was surrounded by hillsides bursting with vines and hops – in fact, the big bonus of biking is that you really appreciate the countryside and this area of Germany is extremely agricultural with endless fields of maize, corn, sunflowers and vegetables.
It had been a busy day on the bike, so I just had a short drive to the historical city of Esslingen where I found my first truly wild camping spot beside a river, completely on my own. Thanks to the recent installation of a top-of-the-range alarm system (Outsmart the Thief – thanks Carl!), I had no qualms about settling down to sleep in the middle of nowhere. Having set the alarm off inadvertently a couple of times (sorry Carl! đŹ ), I know that my phone is ringing within 20 seconds and that gives me the peace needed to get a good night’s sleep.
An early morning cup of tea by the river was good preparation for a bike ride up the steep hill to see Esslingen castle…..those of you who have been following so far will know that I’m a bit partial to the odd castle and I’m even beginning to understand the difference between a Schloss and a Burg . Turns out that this one is a Burg and what an unexpected bonus it turned out to be!
Next stop…..a Schloss that is also a Burg (confused? – so am I!). This one is Lichtenstein, meaning “light stone” (obvious, really!) and not to be confused with the country of Liechtenstein (but that will come). The first car park was full, so I managed to tuck Gloria into the very last parking spot in a lower car park (to be fair, it probably wasn’t even a parking spot, but we were the biggest thing in the car park, so no one was going to argue!) and had a lovely walk up the hill through wildflower meadows and woodlands containing 11 superb zipline and high obstacle courses (right up my street but sadly not enough time). The views from the castle were spectacular, however seeing inside was an interesting experience as I thought that I would be able to wander around at leisure, but it turned out that it could only be viewed on a tour. I was the only non-German-speaking visitor marooned on a fully German tour and I was trapped!! Fortunately, the (ridiculous) face mask meant that no one was fully aware of the expression of boredom on my face!
At last, the great day has arrived……the entire trip has been based on visiting Hohenzollern Castle – though Germany is full of gorgeous castles, this is one of the largest and grandest Iâve ever laid eyes on. It is a true Disney-esque masterpiece, rising up out of an outcropping of rocks on the top of a hill with glorious views all around. In typical fashion, I didn’t do the “normal” thing and drive to the top – no, that would have been far too simple. My approach was to set off on my bike and take a path that led virtually straight uphill – perhaps not the easiest way to get there, but it all added to the adventure. I will let the pictures do the talking here, but let’s just say that I certainly wasn’t disappointed by this magical castle. I mean, this is Impressive with a capital I!!!
Germany has 20,000 castles to explore, so for a castle geek like me, there’s literally one around every corner and it turns out that the next one is my nightstop. The journey there provided me with a “heart-in-mouth” moment, as there was a 4 mile detour; I even had to resort to getting google translate out to see what the sign meant! I set off on a single track road, not knowing if I was going to have to reverse the entire length of it if I encountered a tunnel. There was one, but fortunately it was just big enough…..I think that detours are probably the scariest thing in this big vehicle! I am on a gorgeous spot next to the River Danube in the town of Sigmaringen, another exquisitely preserved historic German city. As alluded to at the start of this post, the castle is actually shut, but that is absolutely fine with me, as I think that I have had my fill of suits of armour and German-speaking tour guides. Anyway, being an outdoorsy type, I would always prefer exploring the outside of these sights – preferably by bike……which is exactly what I did the following day.
Finally, what I know you’re all waiting for; how did emptying Gloria’s glory hole go?! Well, on one of the journeys, I accessed a town’s motorhome service station (they’re so well set up for motorhomes over here) and got on with decanting the onboard ‘waste’ (God, this is so much easier on board a yacht or an aircraft!). You can see how it went below – actually, much easier than expected and a big relief all round! I even managed to fill up with water, so more wild camping is ON!!!
Thoughts so far:
A birdstrike on the Groundbus isn’t nearly as bad as on the Airbus
A Schloss is a palace unless it’s more fortified in which case it’s more of a Burg (and just to confuse things, a Berg is a mountain)
There’s so much to learn about history, especially what happened to Prussia đ¤ˇââď¸
Don’t wear white when emptying Gloria’s glory hole
I LIKE MY OWN COMPANY!!……lucky, bearing in mind I’m on a solo roadtrip. At least I laugh at my own jokes! đđ¤Ą
It’s the start of my big European road-trip and Gloria is nowhere to be seen. I’m squeezed between huge artic lorries walking along the vehicle deck, just about to arrive in Calais and there’s still no sign of her; she’s used to crossing the Channel, but is generally the bigger vehicle, surrounded by smaller cars. But this is a post-lockdown world and there are still very few passengers onboard, so Gloria is feeling a bit intimidated by all these enormous lorries all around her. However, once located, she is keen to get off the ferry and head off to our first stop in Belgium, Ghent. The advantage of the lack of passengers is that there is no queue for food and, more importantly, there are tables available at the front of the ship to watch France come into view whilst eating my boxed fish&chips. The disadvantage is having to wear the mask everywhere…..
Perhaps I should backtrack a moment here and explain who Gloria is, how did she end up with such a monniker and why we are on a ferry in July 2020. Gloria is my 3.5 tonne Fiat Ducato Lifestyle 696 motorhome and, as a grounded Airbus pilot, she is also affectionately known as the Groundbus696. She started off in life as a male called Fenton, being driven around the UK and Europe for kids sailing events. We had a wonderful time in him, parking at reservoirs or beside the sea and he did a great job in not complaining about being draped in wetsuits and being taken over by marauding teenagers. However, life moves on and when the kids left school and I got divorced, Fenton became mine and was used initially to go to Festivals with girlfriends in a very luxurious way. With a lady owner, Fenton began to feel the need to switch to the female gender, so after his sex change, a flamboyant new name was chosen: Gloria, and she loves it! Now to the last part of the explanation – why are Glo and I heading off on a European roadtrip? Well, as my furlough period continues, it seemed like an ideal opportunity to hit the road, especially as she will be used a whole lot more from where I now live in Portugal……our ultimate destination. The plan is for me to meet daughter Emma and friends in Nice in two weeks time for some South of France beach action, so plenty of time to potter down through 7 different countries!
First stop on this roadtrip is Ghent, also known as “the Venice of the north”. It is beautiful and especially good to explore by bike, as most of the canals are lined by small lanes or bike paths. The architecture is stunning with plenty of old characterful houses, as so much of the city’s medieval architecture has remained intact. Gravensteen, which sits between two branches of the Lys river, was my first castle of the trip (castles are my new obsession, along with bike rides, so it was lovely to be able to combine the two!). A beer looking out over to the castle was a good way to finish up the bike ride…..
Next stop, Brussels – a real step back in time for me, as I used to fly cargo here almost 30 years ago (where did that time go?!), so had got to know the city reasonably well. There’s always the worry about returning somewhere after so much time and find it not as beautiful as you remembered, but the central square has been sensitively renovated and completely surpassed all my expectations of it. The weather has been pretty poor, with a lot of intermittent rain – fortunately, I seem to have been lucky in dodging most of the showers, but it sure is noisy at night on Gloria’s roof!
As for the MOVAL, that’s me! I’ve done some pretty mad and crazy things in my life, but a solo European roadtrip in a big machine like Gloria is probably right up there with them, making me a Mad Old Van Lady (or a complete nutter as one of my friends said!).
Thoughts so far:
Even a big motorhome can look small surrounded by artic lorries
Travelling post-lockdown is safer if you have your house on your back (and means there are no queues for food on the ferry)
It can still be cold in Europe in July……..and rain (a lot)
Rain on the roof of Gloria is very loud. It is definitely NOT white noise and it doesn’t help me get to sleep!
Opening the tent, I am greeted by a smiling Tanzanian asking if I want tea or coffee……not really how I expected my first morning on the mountain to start! But tea in bed proves to be the only luxury granted to us, as life on the slopes of Kilimanjaro takes shape – itâs also at 5.45am which is certainly no laidback holiday lie-in time. But we have a huge task ahead of us and if weâre going to make it to the top of the Worldâs tallest freestanding mountain, then we need to follow the guideâs rules and be dressed, fed, packed and ready to go by 7am. Surprisingly for a group of almost 40, thereâs not one straggler and this is partly due to the huge energy and motivation of this super group of Virgin Adventurers.
After our first day of navigating the rainforest torrential rain (a good way to discover just how waterproof our âwaterproofsâ actually were!), we were treated to a beautiful clear sky and views of Mount Meru for Day Two. The views were breathtaking which made the 5.5 hours of uphill hiking much more palatable – as did the hot lunch of chicken and chips which greeted us on arrival at Shira Camp. Our entire group were in total awe of the stupefying strength and athleticism of the guides and porters who supported us on the mountain; most large loads were carried on their heads and yet they were still able to race up ahead to set up the tents, mess tent and have a hot meal waiting for us. Quite extraordinary! What was also so wonderful about these Tanzanian mountain men and women was their smiles, chanting and their SINGING! To hear 115 voices singing in Swahili was something never to be forgotten and certainly very motivating on the mountain.
Day 3 was a gruelling 5 hour hike up to Lava Tower at 4600m followed by a descent back down to Baranco Camp (3950m). Now that we were all beginning to understand the effects of climbing at such height without oxygen, this strategy of âhike high, sleep lowâ gave us all the best preparation to combat altitude sickness. Well, that and Diamox which along with giving us tingling fingers and toes, made us pee like donkeys – not so fun when itâs -5 outside and you have to put your boots on to go to the loo at night! Once we reached camp after a very long dayâs hiking, we had another great treat in store for us. The chef had discovered that it was Martinâs birthday and had made a cake – yes, at 13,000â with no oven and it was DELICIOUS! We never did quite work out how he did it, but the occasion gave the support team the perfect excuse for more singing, so the Happy Birthday song went on for at least half an hour. Certainly a birthday to remember!
Day 4 and the dawn of our so-called âeasyâ day – no uphill gain at all, just a traverse across the mountain to Karanga camp, also at 4,000m. What the guides had omitted from their morning briefing (perhaps on purpose?!) was that there would be PLENTY of ups and downs, just no overall gain! Also, we had to traverse along the Baranco wall which is also known as the âkissing wallâ – at one stage, the only way to cross is to face inwards and leap to the other side, giving the rock a little kiss along the way! So, another tough day, but the summit was now within reach and we had the most beautiful sunset to keep us all going.
Day 5 and this is it, Summit day; this is what is all about and this is the moment when we discover if we have the mental strength to overcome our physical pain! We have a rare lie-in (6.45!) and short 3 hour hike to Base Camp, situated at 4600m. Our acclimatisation is going well, as we are less out of breath than at our high lunch stop a couple of days earlier, but even so, the most simplest of tasks leaves us all out of breath. The worst part is lying down, when you can feel your chest heaving, trying to find more oxygen, but to no avail. Unfortunately, this is exactly what we have to do all afternoon, as we are meeting at 10pm for dinner, ready for our Summit attempt at 11.30pm. We all struggled to sleep, but rested our bodies and tried not to worry too much about the nightâs endeavours. After the best mashed potato and bean stew Iâve ever tasted (not that our taste buds perform at altitude, but it was the perfect fuel!), we all assembled with our headtorches on and wearing all our layers to combat the cold. We set off from Base camp, a long line of lights traversing up the mountain – and by up, I really mean up…..this was the steepest terrain weâd encountered so far. And it just kept on going……and going. I tried not to look up too much, as it was almost beyond belief that the torches I was seeing above me were on the track that I must climb myself – it seemed as though they were in the clouds! At no point did I ever feel that I was going to allow myself to stop, so I had no choice – it was just one foot in front of the other, one âzigâ and one âzagâ, one chunk of the mountain at a time. The guides really came into their own on this night and were full of songs and motivational chants to keep us going – they also regularly checked up on us to make sure that we werenât suffering from altitude sickness. It was a change for the, as for 5 days theyâd been wondering how this group could still find things to chat about, but now we were mostly silent, conserving our energy for what lay ahead. There are moments from this night that will stay with me forever; the moon rising to help light our way; the twinkling of lights from the towns and villages in the valley; the stars in the sky shining so brightly with no light pollution to dim them; the endless line of headtorches snaking their way uphill and coming up from the valley. We were instructed to go âpole poleâ (slow slow) and this was the only to go – it just seemed endless and we were really beginning to draw on our reserves. We only had 3 stops on this entire night, as the moment we stopped the cold set in, so it was best to just keep going. As we got higher, our water bottles turned to slush and frost could be seen shimmering on our packs. The dawn could not come a moment too soon and was such an incredibly beautiful and inspiring sight, beginning to take the edge of the chill and help us see that the end was almost in sight. So, after 7 hours of the most gruelling, intensive slog, made doubly so by the rarefied air, we made it to Stella Point, on the rim of the crater.
Lucy's Logbook 