Back the way we came

I suppose the question 'how do we get home?' is marginally easier to answer than than the one at present more uppermost in our minds, 'Why on earth do we want to?' The latter a more a 'crie de coeur' than a matter of practicality .So back to the first, more mundane one. With only five days to drive the 750 miles from Tossa de Mar to Dieppe then there were only two practical options. Either to simply retrace our steps and go back the way we came, or vary our route through France by turning northwest at Narbonne and using the A6 towards Toulouse. The A20 heads directly north past, Cahor, Brive, and Limoges, to Vierzon, then the usual - Orleans, Chartres, Rouen, Dieppe. In terms of distance there was little to choose between the two, in terms of cost the latter is slightly more expensive because it includes more toll roads. In the end we decided to stick with the way we came but for different reasons. All motorways are equally boring, I asserted, Gill adding, that taking the same road in the opposite direction is a different journey. I felt there was some kind of profound truth behind her remark, it sounded a tad zen, so back the way we came it was to be.

.

1. Cala Llevado to Mèze.

This turned out more a back the way we came moment than we planned. Before we reached France we needed one last Mercadona shop. The supermarket specialises in doing more delicious versions of ordinary things, like their crisps, chocolate crunchy muesli and a new product - Kalamata olive flavoured humous. All life essentials. We identified a big Mercadona store on the outskirts of Girona, Streetview intimated that it had ample parking and no height barriers at the entrance. In heading there we broke one of our golden rules, don't drive a motorhome unless you have to through urban sprawl. We arrived at precisely the moment when most of the inhabitants of Girona were heading home for siesta time. Then we discovered we'd put the wrong Mercadona store into the satnav and had to make a detour around the traffic choked ring road to find the right one. There was a queue to get into the car park, we gave up. 

Instead we took a detour back to l'Escala Mercadona which is easily accessible, haa big car park and a Lidl across the road. This pleased us inordinately because at the moment Lidl in Spain has a deal on Sorrento DOC. limoncella at €3.80. We bought two bottles a few days ago, but having made significant inroads into one of them we took the opportunity to buy two more. We celebrated the deal as a minor 'beat Brexit' triumph, the price of a 50cl bottle of Limoncella in our local Morrisons having rocketed to over £11.00.

Then it was back to France and a return to the Mèze area, not Loupian Municipal campsite this time, but the Campingcarparks aire on the edge of town. The place itself was fine, well designed with a good service point; it's location however is somewhat quirky. 

Reviews had prepared us for the fact that the access road was narrow and the aire was adjacent to the town's olympic sized skate park. No one mentioned the the rest of the 'recreational area'. It had been developed around two lakes created for coarse fishing, footpaths circling around them for runners or people simply taking an evening stroll, as we did at sunset. It should be lovely, but the place is a former salt flat and the lakes a haven for mosquitos.

One 'plan d'eau' had been drained, reduced to a bed of cracked mud with a somewhat redundant sign planted in the middle of it. 

To add to the uncanny ambience, striped hazard tape had been stretched between the ornamental trees, some months ago seemingly, for it had snapped and now wafted forlornly in the wind. Maybe the area had been placed out of bounds during lockdown, we speculated. Anyway, in an area that specialises in delightful public spaces we happened upon one that wasn't.

We spent two nights back in Meze, squeezing out the last of the warm autumn weather. By now we were in 'endishness' territory. Somehow despite there being dozens of perfectly nice places to have lunch the next day we failed to find anywhere we liked. We simply wandered about, taking bright shiny photos and muttering about not being able to do this at home.

In the end, no matter how many times you attempt to capture the Midi's scintillating light, you cannot bottle it and take it home. The prospect of two and a half months of dull chilly days depressed our spirits. Maybe we should change the date of our Santander crossing to earlier in January, we pondered.

2. Meze to Massiac.

Returning to Gill's assertion that taking the same road in the opposite direction is a different journey, there is no greater proof of this than the section of the A75 motorway a few kilometres north of Lodeve. On the way south the spectacular descent of the Cirque de Navacelles signalled our arrival in the Mediterranean. Heading north geology rather than geography predominated as the spectacular arc of limestone crags and cliffs filled the windscreen.

Then it was a rollercoaster drive 120 miles north to Massiac, the motorway undulating across the Massif Central. A fabulous day for it - bright sun, deep blue sky,  the horizon ringed by dark hills of the Auvergne. Hours ticked by, cruise control set 85kph, truck speed - there was something oddly absorbing in the beautiful monotony of each moment - is there such a thing as timefullness?

We reached Massiac in the late afternoon. A fortnight ago the trees in the camping municipal had been mostly green, tinged here and there with the first signs of autumn. Now they blazed in the late afternoon sun, yellow leaves carpeting the ground .

I wrote previously about the villages of the Cantal and Auvergne having a severe demeanor. I wonder now if this reflects that it has been overcast mostly when we have crossed the Massif Central . Despite Boris's assertions to the contrary uplands are rarely sunny. Today was an exception and Massiac looked lovely. 

We walked into the centre in search of a boulangerie. As well as a baguette we bought some macaroons. Unlike most other places in the Cantal, macaroons not cheese are the town's speciality. Though it does have a very good cheese shop too. 

Late afternoon tea with artisan macaroons! We live the high life.

3. Massiac to Le Ferté-Saint-Aubin.

A journey of two halves, the first forty miles or so were re-run of yesterday, if anything even more spectacular as the A75 skirts the edge of the Volcan national park and you glimpse the conical peaks of Puy de Sancy and le Mont Doré to the west. 

The remaining 180 miles north of Clermont Ferrand is quite tedious, at least if you stick to the motorway. We drove towards dullness which  deteriorated into drizzle as we neared Vierzon. Luckily by the time we reached the aire at La Ferte Saint-Aubin the sky cleared.

Gill took the opportunity to wash the windscreen which was splattered with dead insects, why does everyone else's vans appear pristine and ours looks as if we just completed a particularly muddy stage of the Paris to Dakar rally?

4. Two hops and home, La Ferté-Saint-Aubin to Buxton via Mesnières-en-Bray motorhome aire and a car park in Newhaven

It was twilight by the time we arrived back. The drive from Newhaven had taken eight hours, almost twice the time predicted by the sat nav. Insulation Britain activists had threatened to bring the M25 to a standstill. We were unaffected by them, but really as protests goes it was somewhat futile, the M25 can halt itself quite readily, which it did often, bringing its mates the M40 and M45 out in sympathy. I felt frazzled. 

I was relieved to get home. Before I switching off I picked up my phone and took a photo of the trip counter.

Not a long trip really, but we had covered over 900 miles in the last 5 days and it had been over a week since we had stopped in a campsite. It is possible to live 'off grid' in the van, but eventually you do feel the need to use a bathroom that is bigger than a telephone kiosk.  

So, two screen shots  covering a thousand miles. 

A long drive through autumn...

Winter looms, the clocks change next weekend. "What have we look forward to?" Gill mused. My response - "It's day two tests tomorrow, yet another opportunity to stick a cotton bud up both nostrils." This was not what my beloved wanted to hear. "Only 92 days before we are back in Spain," I added brightly.

Silence.