France Inward Leg

France (south) inward leg

It’s with mixed feelings that we leave Italy. The Dolomites were fantastic. Venice was binned due to Michelle’s illness and Lake Irdo and Iseo abandoned due to there being nowhere to park but otherwise it’s been great!

So Viva La France.

We land in the Haut Alps nearly 6000ft up at a Ski Resort called Vars Les Claux. The weathers great, Michelle feels better and the scenery is superb. Oh and the Aires free!

Pig takes us up to 7000ft at the top of the Col de Vars and on the way up we find a small Alpine lake and of course I have to swim in it. There are loads of people watching but nobody swimming. I have to dive in as it’s too steep to wade in. It’s absolutely freezing. My body goes a bright shade of cooked lobster pink as I get out.

At the top of the pass we ride past about twenty British Bikers parked up having just reached the top. As we fly past I give them a toot and a victory V. This just attracts some bemused looks from the bikers. It’s then of course that I realise that we have passed them and the victory V sign is the wrong way around!

Marmot hunt.

We haven’t seen any Marmots at all on this trip. We saw loads in the Pyrenees and we have certainly been high enough (marmots tend to habitat rocky treeless ground above 4500ft).

From the Aire I decide to climb one of the unused ski slopes up the mountain behind us in search of the little furry critters. It’s a steep slog but eventually I start to hear their calls. Sort of like a cross between a bird and a monkey. Actually shout Alan! Just google or YouTube “Marmot Alan”.

Sure enough eventually I see one calling out an alarm, stood up on its hind legs. I get quite close until eventually it sees me and just drops down immediately out of site.

Lake Serre Poncon

We stay in the hills a couple of days but then head off down to Lake Serre Poncon. The top end of the lake is a bit busy and commercialised and it’s stinking hot.

We manage a swim and find a few places to sit by the lake in the shade but I’m a little disappointed. One of the issues this time of year (mid to late August) is a lot of the reservoirs and lakes that are used for water supply are getting very low and they start to look ugly. Not to mention accessing the water gets more difficult.

In the end we head up the hills on the opposite side of the lake and find up at about 5000ft at one of the most superb wild spots for a view ever. We have the place to ourselves away from the madding crowd and the lake is a short 6 mile bike ride back down the mountain. In fact you can see it from the van.

I love it when we find spots like this. It’s not that we constantly seek solitude but sometimes when your away a long time and especially over the peak season it’s a blessed relief just to park up on a mountain top away from the crowds. It’s not that I constantly crave peace and quiet either as this is a great opportunity to get the guitar out, sing and make as much noise as possible although this behaviour is rationed to times when Michelle is either out walking or cycling alone or for as long as she can stand it before threatening to toss the guitar over the top. I bet Eric Clapton doesn’t have this trouble.

Little Pig, Little Pig!

Apparently there are twenty packs of wolves in this area. There are more in Italy but as we didn’t know about them we didn’t give them a second thought. A Few years ago a farmer was actually attacked by one not far from where we are and every year the government pays out millions of Euros in compensation for wolf attacks on sheep although these are grossly exaggerated (apparently). So here we are 5000ft up in the Alps, near the top of a huge valley where you can hear sounds from miles away in the quiet and in the dead of night (as usual) when I’m out having a fag I hear the distinct howl in the distance. Twice! Eeek. Every time I go out for smoke I expect it to get closer just like on American Werewolf in London on the moors where just before the American boys are attacked they hear the low growl suddenly really close! Nothing happens though. I just scare myself silly and a whole cig is burned away in about ten seconds!

The unruly Italians.

We check out the bottom end of the lake imagining it to be less commercialised and more scenic. It is indeed. The little sleepy village of Breole offers a nice enough free little Aire and it’s a short scooter ride down to the lake.

We spend a lovely afternoon in a quiet spot which is very hard to get to enjoying the water and sheltering from the blistering sun under an old jetty.

Back at the Aire we settle in for a quiet evening with just us and a handful of French vans. I have noticed that the main road around the lake and back over the pass to Italy is very busy. I guess as its getting towards the end of August that the Italians are returning home and vice versa the French. Around 7pm three Italian vans arrive and park all around the service point which they occupy for two hours. The peace is shattered as they offload about 100 cocky and very loud children. There is a football field right behind our van and the three other French vans that are backed onto it. The kids rather than play down the other end of the pitch decide to kick their ball around the goal that faces our vans just twenty feet away. Of course within minutes the ball is being bounced off our Window and the French vans.

I shout at one of the kids and suggest they take it to the other goal but just get a cocky look and a half arsed apology. I have never heard such a racket that descends on us from the service point. We can’t see what the adults are doing as all three vans have hemmed it in. We assume the women inside are doing two weeks’ worth of washing. When the ball eventually bangs off our window for the third time one of the parents apologises but I’ve had enough now and tell him in no uncertain terms that they should send the kids down the other end of the pitch. He clearly takes affront to this. Parents seem the same the world over these days. God help anyone who suggests their little darlings are doing anything wrong. He sulks off presumably to tell the other adults about the intolerant Brit. The next thing we know is all the Adult males are now shouting encouragement to the little sods!

We try to ignore them and then the music is turned on. The idiot I had words with thinks it’s now cool to put his sound system on in the motorhome at full whack. You can actually see the sides of his doors vibrating.

Thankfully ten minutes later they suddenly pack up their kids and are off. Thank god. They are not staying. I know the Brits are renowned around Europe for unruly behaviour but if I was an Italian on that Aire I would have been mortified at their behaviour. Peace is restored. Err. Not for long. Unusually some French kids come out to play till around 1am and just as they leave an Air conditioning unit starts up nearby until morning. Lovely.

Hank goes over the roof of Europe.

We spend a couple of days trundling through the Alps. Strangely when we left Italy I supposed the French Alps would be smaller but none of it and as I do a little map reading to find out a bit more it appears we are heading into a region with some pretty big mountains and some very high passes. In the early days this would have sent me scuttling back down to sea level but not anymore. Oh No. Hank (and Pig) have earned their mountain goat status now and we are simply prepared to tackle anything European roads can throw at us.

The wheelie bin theory

My theory now as far as attempting mountain roads, passes or streets that might be steep, high or narrow is if there are wheelie bins of any description on them then a bin wagon must have been down there so boldly we will thrash on!

We find ourselves at the lovely little town of Barcelonette which is kind of coming back round south in a curve back towards Italy. We want to head south to the southern end of the French Alps but there are just three options.

Option 1. The Wusses way. Go back over west, then south and then east taking us miles out of our way but no serious climbs or narrow roads.

Option 2. The goat track pass. Over the Col de Allos which is very narrow and about 7500ft

Option 3. The highest inter valley road in Europe and the highest pass in the Alps. The Col de Bonette otherwise known as the roof of Europe. A little wider (but not much) than the Col de Allos but air starvingly high at nearly 9500ft!

Well option 1 is right out. Way to easy. This leaves option 2 and 3. We take a preview on pig and have a ride up the Col de Allos just a couple of thousand feet. Its ok but flipping narrow. Later I watch a few YouTube videos of bikers and an idiot in a sports car flying up both as a bit more research. We decide on the narrow Col de Allos as it’s going to take us where we want to be but I think will be the most challenging.

We get an early start but not early enough. As we reach the start of the pass we are stopped by the Gendarmes who tell us that the pass is closed until 11am as the cyclists are using it. Helpfully he goes over all the options which I know off by heart now as I spent most of the night both awake and asleep going over them in my head.

No choice then. Back to Barcelonette and over the Roof of Europe! This is way higher than anything we have done before. What a drive! The road although narrow is a tad wider than the Allos pass and with care we have no problems passing other vehicles. On the way up we stop at the view points and seem more Marmots. The tree line gives way to bare rock, shale and alpine grass yet still we climb higher. Now remember I do suffer from a bit of vertigo but I only once get in a slight panic as we approach the summit. Suddenly the road splits and I find myself on the right hand ledge of the summit facing a straight up climb that just seems to disappear up ahead off the edge. Have I gone the wrong way? Is it a one way system? There is no way I can reverse back so just press on. It’s narrow now so I’m hoping it is a one way system and there are no crash barriers! A mechanical failure here or a careless wheel put out of place and it’s good night Vienna!

The road curves and bingo. There we are at the top. Hank gets a rest although to be honest I’m starting to think that as far as going up is concerned nothing is beyond his capabilities and we spend some time marvelling at the views.

Hank takes up smoking.

The route down is the old Alpine route down to the Med (Nice). It’s pretty much a 50 mile decent all the way to the coast but we are not quite going that far. All the same we will be descending almost to sea level. Descending from 9500ft in a large motorhome with a motorbike on the back, all our stuff on board, diesel, water etc means it’s going to put a bit of strain on the old brakes. The idea is to use them as little as possible. On twisty windy narrow descents this is usually easy as its second gear most of the time and sometimes first. If you just rely on your breaks within three or four hair pins they will fail.

So it’s a nice steady descent for about an hour all the way down to the village of St Etienne de Tinne which is at the bottom of the pass but still quite high up in relation to being back at sea level. We have done it! The Roof of Europe. Wahay! As we pull into what seems like a makeshift Aire a chap comes up to my window and starts telling me where to park (I guess hes a fellow motorhomer) and that the road will soon be closed for the cyclists! Oh and do we know our wheels are on fire?!

Sure enough as I look down and behind the rear wheels are smoking! Flipping heck I considered carrying on. So even with a great effort not to use the brakes they are still almost in flames. No matter, we have a walk around the town to let them cool off a bit and get rewarded with free Roof of Europe stickers from the tourist information office for making it over alive. One for the back of the van and one for Pigs top box although to be fair although technically he did go over the pass he did do it with his wheels three feet off the ground.

I’m proud of our Hank though but I have to say although it was the highest pass in Europe it felt like nothing compared to some of the places, roads and passes we encountered in Austria and Italy.

We end up spending a lovely couple of days around the Gorges de Daluis staying at charming Aires at Annot, Guillaumes and up at 5500 ft at the sky resort of Valberg. The Gorges are well worth seeing if you’re in the the Area but I wouldn’t go out of my way.

Some old Favourites

Last year one of the highlights was the Verdon Gorges and the old Favourite Lac st Croix de Verdon. They are on the way west so we decide to visit both again. This time we hope to be able to get the dinghy out and row up the gorges at the top end of Lac st Croix.

The problem with revisiting old places is expectations are high if you really enjoyed them last time. Often though it doesn’t always work out as expected!

The Aire at Trigance on the Eastern side of the Gorges is as charming as ever and the trip around the gorges on the bike and around the Route des Cretes as awesome as ever. When we leave for St Croix though we are filled with that sense of anticipation. There are really only three spots on the rather cramped Aire worth having and readers of last year’s blog will be well aware of our major achievement and my near cock up when we bagged the premier spot with its own bit of space and a superb lake view. The alternative is a pretty cramped mash up of vans down the bottom of the aire.

We are within a few miles of the St Croix Aire and a Cronky old German van pulls in front of us! This is disaster! He has to be heading for the Aire. What are the chances of two of the three premier spots being free? If we get there and we are pipped to the post by the Germans I will never ever forgive myself. Have to get past him. It’s too late though, we are nearly there. Just a mile from the Aire though on one of the hair pins he stops for a few seconds to look at the view!!! You snooze you lose!!!! We are passed in a heartbeat and sure enough on the Aire is just one premier spot left (the rest of the Aire is surprisingly nearly empty at just before mid day). Shock horror though. Some complete twonk has parked a large motorcycle trailer between his van and the one in front. This is outrageous behaviour on any Aire but to do it here is in my opinion is a motorhoming crime that should carry the death penalty!

This might explain why the spot isn’t taken. The distance between said Twonks trailer and the other van in the Premier row is about eight metres. We are seven and a half with the scooter on the back. It’s going in though even if I have to push it in sideways and with some serious forward and back shunting we manage eventually to get in with our rack actually sitting above the trailer!

Spread out! Enjoy, look smug, Watch all the other late arrivals squeeze into the mash up!! HA HA!!! Looooosers!

Then we notice the Belgians. There are at least three and one Dutch van near us. The Belgian in Front is one of these people who makes it his mission in life to pester everyone else on the Aire. I’m happy to explain all about our wifi antenna which he seems to think is some kind of Witch craft but after another twenty questions about one thing after another he becomes annoying. I could live with the questions but the other past time of the day is for the occupants of all three Belgian vans and the Dutch van is to shout at one another all day long from their various positions of which sadly we are now in the middle.

This drives Michelle barmy. Last year it was so quiet. There was always a little chatter and a lovely community spirit but this lot are just downright irritating. We stayed a week last year but can stand it no longer after just two nights. Well that and the fact that the Mistral arrives which can apparently blow for days or weeks!

We find a wild spot on the top of the cliffs above the lake but its just way too windy. We head off to the top end of the lake and find another Wild spot which would be handy for the Gorge row but its crap and the gorge is closed anyway as it’s too dangerous in the wind!

Eventually we find a quiet sheltered spot away from the lake courtesy of Pig our little wild spot scout and spend a quiet night there but then leave the next morning.

Working our way west the wind eases and we spend a lovely two days chilling out on the little Aire at St Michel L’Observatoire which has a huge Observatory nearby but of course its closed when we are there. In the little town of Mane I decide I’m long overdue for a haircut. The last time I had a haircut abroad was in Turkey where part of the near hour long procedure involved setting fire to my nose and ears and being massaged by a sumo wrestler to the point of having two dislocated shoulders so as you can probably imagine I’m a little reluctant to let Johnny foreigner (well in this case little Mademoiselle Foreigner) lose on me Tete but its France not Turkey. What could possibly go wrong? Anyway the prospect of having a young French girl talking quietly in my ear for twenty minutes sells it to me. She can ask me where I’m going on holiday for all I care.

Mademoiselle speaks no English and being able to order sliced bread or enquire about Mr Mayor eating his breakfast in the Garden is not going to be of any use in here. I manage to get across that I want a number 2, or is it a number 3? I can never remember back home. She seems a little worried but starts shearing away. Michelle who is watching from behind starts laughing. Clearly a number 2 (or 3) is military / skin head length in France. For some reason rather than try and communicate to mademoiselle I insist that Michelle says something! She speaks less French than I do! Anyway it’s too late and I just let her get on with it. I’m pleased I do as the bill is €15, three times what it is at home but looking at the length of it I won’t need to go back for a year!

We revisit Gordes which is stunning and a few other Provence villages and then I cock up the whole trip.

The wrong town

I seem to remember last year Michelle wanting to visit Ales. I’m sure she complained when we went to the Ardeche that she wanted to go there and missed out. She doesn’t have any recollection of this. We haven’t had the internet for a few days so can’t do any research but yes I say that’s where you wanted to go.

The nearest Aire is at Anduzes and it’s quite a long drive across what’s left of Provence to get to it. When we finally arrive there is a fair on it and a small bit of scrappy land set aside for Le Camping Car. It’s pretty grotty so we end up on a Campsite!! Shock horror. At least its cheap season now and it’s only a tenner a night with wifi and all services and it’s quiet if a little shabby. Weather is superb again though and it’s nice to have an empty swimming pool. Of course as we get online I discover Ales is a dump and I suspect it was Arles she wanted to go to which is 100 miles in the other direction.

Well one route cock up in over three months can’t be bad.

The Hippies

We head south west to Lac Du Salagou near Clermont L’Herault where we hear tell of a superb wild spot right on the beach by the lake. I’m sceptical about these places now and as we arrive I clock the no motorhome sign between 10pm and 7am. Despite this there are a lot of vans here. There is tons of space though and as we discover later vans are parked all over the lake, often under the no motorhome signs! There is a small Aire outside the campsite which is full and another bit of wasteland half a mile inland from the lake that the authorities have allowed motorhomes to stay in. Nobody is on it though, they are all by the lake where you’re not supposed to be.

A lot of the vans are huge self builds that look like they have been there all summer. One looks like a full size lorry with a train carriage on the back. I love these sorts of vans and they remind me of my Glastonbury days but I can’t get too jolly about it all. Clearly the authorities don’t want us here but here we all stay.

My general wild camping rule of conduct is not to occupy spots with hordes of other vans. It just ends up turning the place into a gypsy camp, pisses off the locals and spoils it for other visitors. I’m ashamed to stay we decide to stay though but just for one night as I’m too knackered to look for somewhere else.

The place is beautiful but for me it’s spoilt by the fact that it’s over run with motorhomes and vans of all descriptions that really shouldn’t be there so we leave first thing in the morning.

An old Favourite comes up trumps.

As I write this we are sat beside Lac du Lauzas which is just inside the Tarn border. We spend four days here last year and tonight will be our fifth. Its Mid September, it’s been between 25 and 28c each day and our stay here has been perfect. A superb Aire right by the lake and my arms ache from rowing every inch of the lake.

We even found a better beach this year than the one on the island and spent a lovely private afternoon with the place to ourselves.

All the occupants of the Aire are like minded quiet individuals who are very friendly.

When we arrived there was no hook up points left but the French chap next door to us shared his with us. I gave him a couple of bottles of Leffe for his trouble.

Talk about laid back. It’s horizontal here. The bike didn’t get used for four days until this morning for a six mile run to a market which turned out to be two stalls selling army surplus overalls!

There is nothing up here. No shops, not even a bakers but we love it. Sadly I believe the weather is due to change tomorrow so we shall be off to pastures new or pastures old.

We have one rubbish day of bad weather but decide to stay on anyway as its so relaxing here. In the end we stay for six nights which is our longest so far in one place on this trip

On our way into France