Campervan, Day one (survived!)

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Geo: 44.8071, 4.79118

Monday, July 1, 2013

Though we didn't have a lot of time in Montpellier, we did have enough time to wander around looking for a bite of breakfast to take on the train with us, and maybe some lunch as well. Found both (though finding a market in which to buy lunch supplies took an inquiry to the hotel front desk, and a 2nd journey out), and hopped on our TGV to Lyon. We had to (politely) boot 2 girls out of our seats. They were probably disappointed to learn that their 2nd class seats weren't quite as nice, or quiet.

Once in Lyon, we had a fair amount of time to kill before we could pick up our campervan, so we grabbed a spot on a bench in a little park area just outside the Lyon train station, and had a sandwich (or rather, yet another sandwich) for lunch. When we thought it was about time, we hailed a taxi to take us out to the industrial park where the campervan rental place was located. We were about 3rd in line, and we asked (just to be sure) if the others were waiting. Far be it from Team DEJO to cut in line, yanno.

Once of the men there detected a faint American accent in our French, and struck up a conversation. This fellow, Noël, was very friendly, and a serendipitous friend to make, it turned out. Once it was our turn to be helped, we were taken up to an office where a very nice lady helped us out, with us making do with the legalese in our poor French. When she asked for our international driving permits, we said no, they weren't necessary (because we had checked, in general, and gone over the contract we'd been sent in detail). She insisted they were needed, and we were panicked that we were going to find ourselves without a plan. Dejo ran off to find this Noël chap, to see if he would help us interpret things. By the time they were back, the signing of things had been done, and apparently it wasn't the rental place that needed the permit, but they wanted us to have them in case we got pulled over for some reason. We thanked the very nice man profusely for his trouble, took a few deep breaths, and carried on with the rental process.

Dejo agreed to drive the first bit, for which I was most grateful. He's much better at the big cars than me (I drive a smart, after all). We needed to head back into Lyon to pick up our rental bikes. The place was a teeny-tiny alleyway shop in the heart of Lyon, but we lucked into a side street parking spot that required no backing in or other navigation. Got the bikes, couldn't figure out how to get them secured onto the bike rack, so we maneuvered them into the van and headed off. We'd pop into a shop later and pick up a stepstool to make working with the bike rack easier.

Into Lyon.

In rush hour.

Have I mentioned how much I love, adore and otherwise respect my husband? Enormously, and more so after that little adventure.

We finally made it onto the highway, and headed south, as we wanted to be in Nice the next day, for the team time trial. We decided to try to make it about halfway there before stopping for the night.

Campervan lesson #1: The fastest routes are usually not free. They pay for those A8 and A5 type highways with toll booths.
Campervan lesson #2: Toll booths have particular tastes, and American-style credit cards without the little metal chip ("puce"😉 on the front are not favorites of these machines. They spit them out at you with a message that I don't fully understand, but is probably something like "Pweanyh. Thees tastes like your Americain plastic cheese. Come back when you have somezing more tasteful." These machines quite like the taste of cash, though aren't interested in making it terribly convenient for you pigs in the campervans to feed it to them. Their little mouths, open for the coins, are way down there where the normal car drivers can hand-feed them. “You in the campervan, you will put your vehicle in park, and contort yourself out the window to feed me. Or your passenger can get out and come around to hand feed me, and my master will shout at you.”

Having learned that most stores aren't open past 7 or 7:30 pm, we pulled off at Vienne to find a Carrefour (a national grocery store chain) to stock up on a few essentials (like dinner, breakfast, paper towels, and beer). We were too late to get an actual baguette, so we settled for a packaged focaccia.

We were aiming for an aire that I'd identified from our book as being near the route, but not a highway rest stop – La Voulte sur Rhone. After a case of mistaken identity (no, that abandoned grocery store parking lot wasn't the right place – it was the still-in-business grocery store parking lot down the road that we wanted), we pulled in for our first night in our campervan. Maybe we need a name for the van.

It was by no means luxurious or cute, but it was quiet, and we had a couple of neighbors, so we felt a tiny bit safer. Dinner was an underwhelming sandwich on what turned out to be a very dry focaccia, but our dessert was lovely. I'd grabbed a basket of the best tiny strawberries I've had since my parents moved away from the house I grew up in. I could have gorged on those, but I stopped myself at about half the basket. Upon turning in, we found that the bed isn't a cushy pillowtop, by any stretch of the imagination. We may find ourselves in need of a massage and a chiropractic adjustment by the end of this trip.

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Photos

Pleasant little area outside Lyon rail station
There's a little park-type area with some benches, just across the street from the Lyon gare. When you have time to kill between trains, this is a better environment than waiting inside the station.

Our home for the next 2½ weeks
A Globescout conversion of a Fiat van. Much bigger than the smart we're used to driving at home, for sure! But considerably smaller than many of the campervans we were to see in the coming weeks.

The first of many, many péage stops
Péage is the French term for tollbooth. We would become much more familiar -- and frustrated -- with these as the trip went on.