So said Al, driving down an almost non-negotiable alleged 'camper route' in France. A semi-trailer - articulated lorry - was coming at us head on. Al clipped - haha - the hedge with the passenger side mirror. Very squeezy.
We set off at 9.30 this morning from our sublime chateau camping with its manicured lawns and shady trees and wonderful restaurant, La Ferme, just outside the gate. Al had, through the campground manager, he thought, made a reservation for us at Vermenton, a five hour drive away. He wanted to 'break the back' of our return trip to Munich. (Break the back of our marriage?) Van and bikes need returning in about four days.
Well we did our drive. Yet, no matter how splendid the countryside with forests, fields, vineyards and 12th century villages, it can be overdone. As it was today.
We'd stocked up with bread, cheese, pate and wine at Super U, this morning. We had filled the gazeole - diesel. But when it got to lunchtime we could not find a place to pull over to eat.
By this stage - about 2pm- I was ready to chow down on my own elbow. Sugar-free Fisherman's Friends weren't doing it, other than giving me wind.
Eventually we pulled over in an asphalted lay by. I put the kettle on, grabbed the small goods and bread. But by jeeze I wish I hadn't opened the door to see that dump of human excreta and soiled loo paper just outside the van door. Put me right off my mousse aux canards.
At 4.30 we arrived at our camping to discover that we didn't in fact have a reservation and that the camp was suffering from 'l'inundation' - flooding- so we had to find another place.
Here we are now, a few k up the road in a 2 star joint. Squat toilets, bring your own 'papier' and 'les moustiques' - mozzies - up the wazoo. Which is why, despite the warmth, I'm wearing a hijab, long pants and socks.
Meh (love that expression) I've got everything, and wifi if I sit by the l'accueil - reception.
Not looking forward to being back at work.
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