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Published: September 26th 2015
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After a well earned break in La Tranche, the merry band looked at their map to look for their next well earned break !!! It was found at the foot of Mont Blanc and a town named St Gervais les Bains, and looked a bloody long way to drive!! The site here had been recommended by Philippa and Allen, so we knew it must be worth going to.
It was decided to split the journey there into three parts. This was specifically decided by your correspondent, as there was no way I was driving all the way across France without beer. South of Limoges, south(ish) of Clermont Ferrand and north of Lyon were the lucky recipients of our custom, so let’s go through them in that order.
First off was a camp site named Montreal, in a small village called St Germain les Belles. I am sure many of you would like to know why these places were so named, but I forgot to ask, so we will have to never know. The journey took almost six hours, although without the aid of our satnav, it would have taken four. There was a slight hold up on the autoroute,
so the bloody thing thought it would be quicker directing Claude down some roads so small, they didn’t even have a number. This meant that when we arrived we hoped for a warm welcome and a good pitch.
The site was run by a Dutch family. During our travels we have always made the point of not judging people on first impressions, which was just as well for our Dutch friend as he would still be buried in the ground, in a sealed sack, smothered in Ebola virus. He was already into the third round of a screaming fit with an unfortunate French lady when we pulled up. Cusco had already gone into a frenzy at the sight of a huge lake and I was slumped over the steering wheel with my intravenous beer drip just kicking in. This left Wendy with the challenge of checking in.
Between bouts of battling with other campers, he told Wendy that although she had emailed saying we would be here three nights and he had confirmed it, that was not a booking. Very confusing. We just drove in and found a good pitch by the lake and hooked up there. His
wife was a charming and polite lady, while, I think he must always live on the wrong side of the bed when getting up.
We had a great few days here. Cusco developed his swimming skills, drawing admiring looks from nearby fisherman as they packed up as all the fish had been scared off. W swam in the lake – still hot and sunny, while I didn’t do all the chores I had been meaning to do for months.
Next on the agenda was St Sauves d’Auvergne, a lovely town close to the Volcano Region . We were desperately hoping that none would suddenly erupt, as we were meeting with Charles and Sue and all that lava would simply spoil the occasion. The campsite was peculiar. As Wendy pointed out, it did not seem to know exactly what it wanted to be. There were newly built chalets and shower block, while at the same time very old and overgrown areas. Almost as though they didn’t want to invest too much money as people didn’t stay there anymore due to the state it was in. It didn’t worry Cusco as there was another lake to be conquered.
Town
was set atop a hill and had beautiful views of the area. A small market gave W the chance to sample many of the local cheeses that this area is famed for, and we booked Charles and Sue into a small hotel/bar in the centre square. The decision to use this hotel was based on the fact it was the only one there. We also reserved a table for dinner that night, although I was still fretting over the threat of volcanic disruption. The fact that they were extinct and had not erupted for over seven thousand years, did not dispel my worries.
Dinner was a fun affair. The hotel was run by a French lady who had a wicked sense of humour. Charles used his French vocabulary to great effect by describing himself as yellow rather than young (jaune not jeune) , which she corrected by grabbing his beard and telling him he was actually white!! Our food was of the highest standard and we shared many stories and laughs all night. Charles and Sue as stated spent the night there, only interrupted by the bells from the church right beside the hotel and a rather large fete/party
going on into the small hours. We had not noticed either when booking – honest!!
My dear readers will be pleased to know that there were no noted volcanic eruptions.
Trevoux, north of Lyon, was to be our third and final stop before the mountains. The campsite was set on the banks of the river Saone, where Julius Caesar crossed in to France. Your correspondent was very excited about this and rushed to the tourist information centre, and asked if our campsite was the very one the Roman army used. The assistant there just gave me a look that said “go away. Never come back.”
It had turned very hot again, so my colleagues were delighted to see a river and a water world park so close to the site. I will let you work out who went where. One morning before taking Cusco to the river (damn, have spoiled the quiz) , a local lady stopped me and gave me dire warning before the crazed hound leapt straight in. Apparently there were river sharks which had been known to go for dogs. I looked her in the eye, thanked her and backed away slowly, keeping a
lookout for sudden movements from her.
She did of course mean pike, but we never saw any of them. A few days were spent meandering around the town centre. Many of the buildings had poignant signs relating to WW2 , one in particular pointing out a house where a Resistance leader was executed by the Gestapo. Made your correspondent realise how recent these things actually took place.
Sun tan topped up, we packed Claude and headed to the mountains……
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Taffy
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More French frolics
Good to have a blog again