Beyond glamping

So far as campsites are concerned, Rochette Camping and Village, where we're parked at the moment, is so swanky it pushes beyond the boundaries of what might be reasonably described as 'glamping'. I mean it's got a hammam in the toilet block, that has to be about as far away as you can get from the simple pleasures of getting away from it all slumbering in some draughty biivouac under the stars.

Most campsite sanitary facilities have been built rather than designed, ease of maintenance and minimal cost being the priorities rather than comfort, or indeed in some cases, hygiene. The ones here were definitely designed, having a vaguely Levantine air picking-up, I suppose, on the Turkish bath theme. The showers and toilets were in seperate blocks connected by wooden walkways, the roof was a series of conical tent structures and the entire area was full of ferns, palms and flowering plants. The facilities themselves had a contemporary feel - dark tiles and glass, you have to admire the ambition.

One downside to the design is with all the intersecting walkways and shrubberies it was very easy to become disoriented. I stopped momentarily, which way was the exit, which way were the showers I

 wondered. Help was on hand. A twentysomething German girl came to my rescue. "You have lost the showers", she informed me. "I take you!" Which she duly did. Maybe I reminded her of her slightly demented grandfather. It was one of those moments in which you are reminded that from a personal perspective there may be some truth in the adage that 'you are only as old as you feel';  however, how other's treat you depends upon how old you look. I thanked the girl for her assistance; inside I felt a little crushed.

The camping area itself is prettily situated in an area of mixed woodland, mainly umbrella pines, but edged by an area of deciduous trees. They are still green, but yellowing, it's still early autumn here. 

There is one tent, a scattering of permanently parked Italian caravans - the usual thing, small van, big add-on favela-style shack and massive tarpaulin tied between nearby trees to shade the outside kitchen. 

These bring a touch of out-doorsy authenticity to the place, which otherwise is entirely occupied by motorhomes and campers, mainly German, a few Dutch, and of course  ourselves, still the only Brits south of the Alps so far as we can tell.

The number of pitches is small in relation to the total area of the site, which mainly consists of bungalows and erected tents. These are hidden away among the trees each with their own small plot separated by hedging and flowering shrubs. Again a lot of thought has gone into the design of the place, with meandering paths through the trees connecting the accommodation to the pool, restaurant and shops. Cars are excluded, with separate numbered parking spaces all along the perimeter access road. The whole place is surprisingly busy, through German motorhomes filled the camping pitches, it seemed in the self catering accommodation Swiss families predominated. You rarely heard an Italian voice, apart from at reception, the cleaning staff appeared to be Eastern European mainly. Though we were in Italy it did not feel like it, similar to the way resorts of the Costa Blanca are only nominally Spanish.

The central 'piazza' borders on the magnificent. A stylish modernist inspired restaurant overlooks a pool area of epic proportions, nearby a is smaller square with shops, beyond there a whole range of sports facilities. 

I can see why families might love it here, for us though the place had significant downsides. From the miniscule entrance gates to the roadways winding through the forest, everything about the layout made manouevring a 7m vehicle a hair-raising experience. 

We are here because we want to be beside the sea. There is a footpath a nearby beach, about half a kilometre through a neighbouring campsite. However, all the beaches are private, owned by either campsites, hotels or big private seaside car parks. It's a shoreline of serried rows of sunbeds rather than empty soulful sands. 

We unloaded the bikes and pedalled along the coast road in the hope of finding an emptier beach.

The way the coast has been privatised reminded me of our trips to New England and Maine, hundreds of miles of coastline, much of it only accessible on a 'pay-as-you-go' basis. Dispiriting.

Still, even when strictly rationed the sea remains hauntingly beautiful, but I yearned for wilder, more open coastlines, Greece, Portugal, Finland, Wales even! I wondered  when we might be free to wander them again. A second wave of Covid looks inevitable across Europe in the coming months; travel restrictions are likely to become more severe, certainly not relaxed any time soon. It's depressing.