Every trip begins with a neighbourhood 'bouchon'. In all honesty we are not directly affected by it compared to our neighbours because it's our motorhome causing the bottleneck.
The difficulty arises from the way the estate was designed in the first place - as a series of interlocking cul-de-sacs connected by narrow serpentine access roads. It does make the layout more pleasing than simply plonking down identical houses in serried rows, also it slows traffic to a snails pace - good for pedestrians and safer for kids playing outside.
The estate was built forty years ago and reflects the social mores of the time. Our kids did play about outside, but it doesn't happen now. Partly because relatively few people have moved away, and like ourselves their children have moved on. Now the street is populated mainly by older couples rather than growing families. Even so, the children that do live hereabouts don't seem to play together outside. Either they are indoors glued to TikTok or a games console or have been taken to a parentally approved pre-arranged play date or organised activity. Just messing about outside with other kids on the street is no longer a thing. I think that's a pity.
So my excuse for causing a minor traffic hazard every time we head off is that it is not my fault but result of historic sociatal forces beyond my control, so other people will just have to put up with it! In truth no-one has ever complained, and since we only take a few long trips each year our moho is an occasional local hazard rather than a perpetual annoyance.
Our neighbours are used to our van packing rituals. They edge past the moho respectfully in their bulbous SUVs. Not so the Amazon delivery guys who bomb past our treasured vehicle with inches to spare. This hazard too is the result of a change in social mores. Our youngest daughter, now in her late twenties, has quit urban life and moved back in with us, working remotely for a Japanese games company. As the
rents in London went stratospheric she, like many millennials opted to move back in with their parents. The unforseen consequence of this in our street - due to Laura's presence alone, Amazon deliveries hereabouts have increased by 150%.
It took two half days to pack the van, thankfully after weeks of horrible weather today and yesterday have been relatively benign, a blustery 7° but dry. We aimed for an 11.30 start but it was noon before we actually departed. With the ferry sailing from Portsmouth at 22.30 we had no need to hurry, but I don't particularly enjoy driving the moho in the dark so wanted to get as far south as possible before sunset.
The A515 south from Buxton is scenic, running parallel to the upper Dove valley most of the way to Ashbourne. However, it's not a relaxing drive in a larger vehicle. Sections of the road are bendy with dry stone walls on each side. It has deteriorated over recent years. Because of the big quarries around Buxton the town has developed into a hub for firms specialising in bulk haulage. On the narrow bendy A515 you are faced with a procession of massive trucks thundering towards you. They swish by with inches to spare. Drop below the maximum 50mph speed limit and you can almost guarantee that the truck just behind will loom large in the wing mirrors, tailgating you in the hope of chivvying you along. To make things worse, Derbyshire County Council is going bankrupt, highway maintenance has been reduced to emergency pothole filling. Today there were two short sections under repair, but it's a drop in the ocean, the road is potholed everywhere.
The option of avoiding the small craters by driving around them is stymied by truck after truck hurtling towards you often, straddling the white line. You have no option but to tuck into the verge and simply plough through the potholes - clunk goes the suspension, clink go our glasses and crockery, a small thud from the rear garage signals you've hit a particularly deep hole, big enough to jiggle the random junk stashed in there.
I now dread the first twenty miles of our trips south. Maybe we should just head east instead towards the M1, we wondered, even if it does mean driving though the middle of Chesterfield.
Still, we reached the relative calm of the A50 without mishap and the rest of the journey was pleasingly uneventful. Near Newbury a pyrotechnic sunset exploded over the Downs. It persisted for twenty minutes or more working through a colour palette of pinks, reds and purples with odd wispy grey bit thrown in for good measure.
We arrived in Portsmouth at least three hours before boarding. How many hours over the past few years have we spent staring aimlessly at hi-vis garbed traffic conductors waving their arms about valiantly attempting to load a random mixture of vehicles onto a ferry? There is something about it that is both mind numbingly tedious yet oddly fascinating.
With a departure time of 22.30 we headed straight to our cabin, the Channel was flat calm so we got a good night's sleep.
Next morning we had a new boat to explore. Previously we have sailed on the 'Galicia,' this time we are on its sister ship, the 'Salamanca'. They could be twins! Exactly the same layout, the differences are largely cosmetic, but the decor and vibe is subtly different.
Previously I have been quite snarky on our blog about Brittany Ferries' inept attempt to create a slightly quirky, left field ambiance on the Galicia. The Salamanca is similar, but maybe the attempt here at being 'on trend' is marginally less risible. Whereas the Galicia's decor makes a failed attempt at being a bit funky, the Salamanca's pitch at the 'artsy' doesn't entirely miss the mark.
The public spaces are full of tabloid pastiches of twentieth century paintings, bad late Picasso-ish here, Kandinsky-lite there, interspersed with jollified abstract expressionism and the odd outbreak of misunderstood cubism. However none of it is actually ugly or unpleasant, it is just a tad patronising, presuming a fair degree of ignorance on the part of the viewer.
The walls next to outside seating areas are covered with murals by the Spanish graphic designer, Ruben Sanchez.
They are excellent and actually achieve the bright, optimistic contemporary vibe that the interior decor of the Galicia and Salamanca aspire to, but fail to achieve.
We paused to admire an ovoid picture window on the landing overlooking the tall two storied bar area.
It seemed to me to be a tad 'Jetsons', evoking a future which never actually happened. The style has been dubbed 'hauntology', I believe.
Overall today's experience on Brittany Ferries 'long haul' to Spain has been the best so far. We have become wiser, taking lunch supplies with us in a small cool bag. It meant we weren't entirely dependent on the mediocre fare on offer on the ship.
Avoiding the nightly French farce that unfolds in main restaurant was a smart move too. Instead we simply opted for a main course in the tapas style cafeteria - pork casserole with rice a mixed veg. It was just about ok.
The cabins are comfortable, we slept well, and now we are back in the van waiting to disembark at dawn. Goodbye M.V. Salamanca, next stop Salamanca!
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