The internet on the Continent is patchy at the best of times
and expensive all the time. For example
we have just paid 15 Euro for
200mins. Now this may seem like a long
time but let me tell you that once you have logged on, checked emails, checked
the news in NZ and Australia, checked bank accounts and rugby scores and caught
up on all the paperwork, before you know it those minutes have flown out the
window. Why am I telling you this – well
you may notice as you read this long overdue update that there are no photos
attached – this is because it would take a huge chunk of those minutes to
download and then upload them. I do
promise to update the photos as soon as possible – in the meantime you will
just have to put your specs on, find a quiet corner and read what has turned
out to almost be a novel.
Camping in King Arthur country was surreal. With the sun shining and the persistently
strong wind abating we put on our walking boots and set off from camp along the
magnificent coastal path towards Tintagel and the ruins of King Arthurs
Castle. We followed dramatic cliff top
paths that overlooked spectacular cave riddled surf beaches with crystal clear
water and white sand It was just breath
taking - a full 2 ¼ miles of WOW.
Once down at Tintagel Castle we explored Merlin’s Cave
before climbing up to the ruins of King Arthurs Castle. After lots of climbing our knees were
protesting and so we 3 girls let Daddy (who had found a reserve of energy from
somewhere) go off by himself exploring while we cruised along watching a seal
splash down below near the beach, lying on the grass making animals out of
clouds in one of the castles old rooms and eventually catching up with Glenn
again at the top of another hill. The
ice cream we had once we were back at camp was well deserved!
A daredevil squirrel ran in front of Swifty as we drove
through Devon – eyes bulging, legs scrambling.
It was like watching a cartoon.
For the record, he made it to the other side . . . . of the road.
In Exebridge we befriended a stray(?) ginger tabby kitten
who was deaf. He liked us so much that
he came up into the van and settled himself on the couch completely at home. Suffice it to say there were tears when we
said we couldn’t keep him and he had to go out!
Our last few days in England were spent gearing up to go
over to France.
We drove from Cheddar, through Bristol, across to London,
around the M25 and up to Chelmsford (to correct Cranhams sloppy paperwork so
Swifty was legit for the EU) and then back around the M25 past Lakeside (a
large Retail Park) and to our campsite tucked in a forest in Mersham, South
London all in one day! In other words we
had driven across England from coast to coast and then some. Then the next day we doubled back to Lakeside
and did a last minute shop including Euros, groceries and four scooters. We emptied, tidied and rearranged the van,
got our paperwork in order and made sure it was all accessible (including our
passports and the Channel Tunnel ticket).
We were now ready to soak up some sun in France – baguettes and
croissants here we come!
Our Channel Tunnel experience was just that – an experience! Upon entering the self-check in, before we
had even worked out what we had to do, the computer screen said “Welcome Mr
Sheers” and as we drove off “Bonjour Mr Sheers”. At the ‘terminal’ two machine gun toting
police with pistols strapped to their legs freaked the girls out. They wanted to know if the bullets were
real? This led to a discussion on border
security which became something of a joke as customs stopped us to check our
gas bottles and then just took our word for it that we had disconnected them
(Tilly then said “What if we had lied?”), and passport control waved us through
without checking our passports? How do
the UK know we have left their shores?
The tunnel itself was amazing and so fast. Within 35mins we were in France and gearing
up to drive on the right side of the road (which is actually the wrong side of
the road). Added to that was the fact
that it was raining, all the signs were in French and we hadn’t worked out the
international side of TomTom yet so we were relying on some handwritten
instructions found on the internet to get to our campsite, Camping la Bien
Assise. Yes we got lost, no we didn’t
let it stress us. We just threw a few u
turns on some French country roads and eventually found our way to the town of
Guines and camp. It was now time to put
some of our crudely learnt French to the test.
(At the border we had bought the girls some French speaking for kids
books and they were really getting into it.)
We pitched up for the next three days in lovely treed grounds with
people from all over the world. There
was a piscine (swimming pool) and a la toboggan (waterslide) which was a big
gold star for Mum and Dad. The girls weren’t
so sure about the unisex amenities block.
It was a little disconcerting going to the toilet with men standing at
the urinals right next to you. We could
see the toilet block from our pitch and we had to chuckle at the “newbies”
walking up to the doors and trying to work out where the Men’s and Women’s were
(just as we had)!
Having decided to wing it through Europe with no set plans
we headed along the top of France’s north coast and stopped in Dunkerque at a
municipal camping ground called Camping Licorne – a 400 pitch camp site on the
beach and frequented by all the French holiday makers (barely a tourist in
sight). It turned out to be a real eye
opener and an experience we are so glad we got to have. The French are not the cleanest of
campers. They smoke like chimneys,
shriek at each other, have very messy campsites, and their bowel movements are
eeek! (which we are putting down to all the red wine and cheese they consume –
which is not a stereotype by the way).
The girls thought the unisex toilets were weird at Guines – at Camping
Licorne we didn’t have toilet seats or any toilet paper and the smell!!! Glenn had the privilege of having to wee
outside in the public’s view at the supplied urinals/pissoirs which was quite
confronting, liberating and awkward. But
the real jaw dropper was the fact that they let their dogs poop anywhere and
everywhere and wherever it falls, on paths, in the grass, on roads, in the
sand, in the sea – they just leave it there.
It was revolting. Despite all
this though we had a fabulous time in Dunkerque. Summer had arrived and it was HOT. We scootered into town along the boulevard
taking in as much as we could. Once in
town we found that the streets had been taken over by an enormous market and we
walked up and down the aisles looking at all the fresh produce and the locals
shopping. Tilly found 5 euros at the
first stall we came across and Glenn bought some paella and baguettes
impressing us all with his French language skills. We even managed a swim in the North Sea.
Our next adventure had as eating breakfast in France, lunch
on the beach in Oostende in Belgium and if we’d kept driving we could have had
dinner in The Netherlands – and all within 100kms. But we didn’t head for Holland, instead we
pitched up in a kampingcar carpark a very short walk from the old town of
Brugge in Belgium. We spent a couple of
days here walking around the old town, down cobblestoned streets and alleys,
browsing chocolate and beer shops, watching canal boats and people and horses
pulling tourists in carts – all headed for the Markt Square in the centre of
town. We sheltered under the Post Office
awning from an isolated shower with all the other tourists and then had a
picnic on a park bench in the middle of the square watching life go by. We saw Belgian cyclists get irate when
tourists didn’t heed the ringing of their bells to get out of the cycle lanes
and we saw couples strolling hand in hand past double bass and violin acts
playing on street corners. In the
evening we headed back into Brugge to see it all again as the sun set and the
lights came on. Wandering back to Swifty
through a monastery, beautiful gardens and along a canal. Brugge is a fairytale old town with its
unique architecture and cobblestoned streets with the horses and carts clip
clopping and winding their way through to the main square. It is a place that has stolen a piece of our
hearts and will be very hard to beat. At
no point did we ever feel unsafe – even walking deserted back streets and
alleys at night, through dark gardens and along barely lit canal paths. We found our way around without using a map,
although we saw plenty of tourists brandishing them. There are enough landmarks that you can get
your bearings and strategically placed around town there are YOU ARE HERE
maps. If you’re lucky like us an elderly
local gentleman will take pity on you and point you in the right
direction. Out of 5 stars Brugge gets a
6 – we all want to come back.
Gent and Brussels were in comparison a let-down. Maybe if we had visited them before we had
been to Brugge we might have looked at them differently – but I don’t think
so. Gent is a University town with a
definite Uni vibe about it. We spent
about 4 hours walking the streets – a highlight would have to be standing on
Sainte Michael’s Bridge and looking down at the 3 Cathedrals all lined up in a
row. What we did find ourselves doing in
Gent – which set it apart from Brugge – was walking all the backstreets
photographing graffiti. We even stumbled
upon a whole street/alley dedicated to the ‘art’. It was fabulous fun and the girls really got
into it. At the end of the day we found
the best frozen yoghurt bar in the world (so far) called Moochi – if you’re
ever in Gent it’s a must! We spent 3
days camped 15km outside of Brussels in a town called Grimbergen, only one of
those days we spent in the city. It was
33C each day and so very hot and stifling with no wind at all. Luckliy our camp was next to a local swimming
pool which when it wasn’t closed by the police for overfilling we used as much
as possible. When we managed to catch
the local number 232 bus into Brussels we found a big, noisy, dirty city with
beggars all over the streets - some shrieking for money on their knees. The girls dealt with this really well and
ignored it for the most part. The Grand
Place was just that, grand, and we sat on the steps of the Hotel de Ville to
eat our packed picnic before heading down a very touristy street packed with
chocolate, beer and souvenior shops to see Mannequin Pis (the little boy peeing
fountain). The girls were expecting a
giant fountain in the middle of a square, instead they were a little
disappointed to find he is actually only about a foot tall, fenced off from the
public and tucked away in a corner.
Still, they can now say that they have actually seen it ‘for real’. A highlight of Brussels was finally buying
some Belgian Chocolate and a cold beer which we drank as we walked back to the
bus (a totally legal thing to do in Belgium, although the girls were only allowed
water!)
We are now in The Netherlands – land of windmills, tulips,
the best hundreds and thousands in the world, flat roads for cycling and my
very good friend Alexis . . . but that’s
enough for now. You will have to wait
just a wee bit for these adventures.
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