2. “Head South!”

April 14-16th, Little Bedwyn – Île de Ré

Day 1, April 14th.  66 miles, Little Bedwyn – Portsmouth.  13C, cloudy.

All overlanding adventures start with a whimper; this one is no exception. For all the excitement, nervousness and anticipation (including Laurie running round the house first thing in the morning shouting “It’s adventure day!”, and Ralph jumping up and down on the spot with a beaming grin), our first day’s driving takes us from home to Portsmouth Harbour, and onto a Brittany Ferries overnight service to St Malo.  Barring a heart-warming send-off at home, it’s mundane stuff.   

We arrive at Portsmouth early – very early, in fact. Prudent not to miss our first ferry of the trip, but it engenders a two-hour wait in the queue, to board the ship.  This gives us a helpful – albeit concerning – insight into Laurie’s patience levels.  45 minutes in and “we’ve been stuck in this queue for literally months” suggests work to be done in this area.

We entertain ourselves with a truly facile game of eye-spy, followed by an inventive game of hide-and-seek involving ‘Baby Sheep’ – one of the many teddies accompanying us on this adventure.  We round up by amusing ourselves with numerous ‘ferry’ puns “we’ve been here a ferry long time” etc… thank goodness boarding intervenes before this game gets legs.

Once parked on board, we make our way to the on-board restaurant; it’s 8pm and we’re hungry, and our cabin isn’t ready yet.  Despite mixed reviews, the on-board food is out-standing, and we treat ourselves to a celebratory four-course dinner, culminating in a Brie vs Camembert cheese tasting. (Conclusion: no difference.  Apologies to all French people reading this).  We then discover the self-service canteen at the other end of the ship.  Fiscal prudence must start tomorrow, otherwise we’ll run out of money before we reach Spain.

Our cabin is tiny, but comfortable.  Good practice for the innumerable nights ahead when all four of us will be cuddled up like sardines in our roof-tent (I don’t think a single person has looked at it and not said “are you all going to fit in that??).

Lights out 10pm (11pm French time). 

Day 2, April 15th.  64 miles, St Malo – Cancale.  13C – 10C, cloudy, rain, strong wind, deteriorating.

Why is the weather in northern France always so terrible?  Whatever deities the French worship in their magnificent, enormous cathedrals here, it hasn’t helped on the climate front.

We arrive in St Malo a little groggy, and hungry.  Not a vintage night’s sleep all round, unsurprisingly.  We drive straight towards ‘Centre Ville’ in search of breakfast.  Minor irritation that our car is too high to fit under any of the car-park’s height barriers, but soon overcome. 

Entering the city walls, appetites are sated in the first café we stumble across (with surprisingly excellent coffee, by French standards) before heading off for a bracing (wind-swept) walk around St Malo’s immense city ramparts.

St Malo is an impressive place - imposing, grand, austere – built on the vast wealth accumulated by successive generations of pirates (Corsairs) over the centuries.  What’s even more impressive is that it was almost entirely rebuilt between 1948 and 1960, after being substantially destroyed by Allied forces in 1944.  But its monolithic grey granite isn’t exactly charming, and it’s bloody freezing, so after two hours we gratefully climb back into the warmth of our car, and head to Mont-Saint-Michel.

Rising out of the mist, the monochromatic silhouette of Mont-Saint-Michel must be awe-inspiring in any weather conditions.  It certainly is today, albeit after two hours walking up, around and down this extraordinary abbey perched on a rock in the Channel, we have a new-found respect for the monks who founded the place and lived here for over 1,000 years.

Next stop Cancale, and our B&B for this evening.  Booked so as to ease ourselves gently into the trip, we’re mightily relieved – tonight would be the wrong night to test out our roof-tent for the first time.  Our charming French host shows us to our rooms and meticulously takes our breakfast order “Thé? Café?” but when we politely ask for a pot of tea for now, “Non”. We are in France, after all.

After a quick shower (drying via towels the size of dishcloths – see previous comment) we walk into Cancale, in search of oysters.  This charming, picturesque fishing port must be the unofficial capital of the oyster trade in France.  True to form, it comes up trumps, and we demolish several dozen between us, Laurie also devouring a whole crab.  After Nina, Ralph and I hit double figures, our lovely waitress turns up with another 6, having mis-heard our “encore des frites” as “encore des huîtres”.  Fiscal prudence must start tomorrow…

Day 3, April 16th.  137 miles, Cancale – to Île de Ré.  11C – 17C, cloudy, brightening.

“Head South! Find some warmth!” has been our mantra for the past few days, and today we’re finally doing it. 

A solid night’s sleep followed an excellent breakfast, and we’re all feeling more human.  We’re en-route by 9.30am, heading south on the autoroute past Rennes and Nantes, towards La Rochelle (remember Tricolor too?), for lunch.  No meandering through B-roads with cultural detours today, this is all about bombing away from the abysmal weather of the past few months, as fast as we can.  

Three hours in the car this morning, the squabble-to-hour ratio is running at approximately 1:1 at present.  Laurie did – in fairness – make it to day three, and 260 miles in before asking “are we nearly there yet?”.   The answer, needless to say, will always be “non”.

We make it to La Rochelle in time for lunch.  Only just, mind – as we walk into the market square at ten to two, the market is packing up and the restaurants are about to do the same.  The boys are learning many of the French idiosyncrasies already, including the immutable fact that most things are “fermé” most of the time.

La Rochelle’s old town is delightful.  Cream-pastel coloured, slightly crumbling terraces of elegant houses, interspersed with slate, timber frames and ancient arches, all lead towards the bustling sailing harbour, which today, is bathed in spring sunshine.  Hurray!  We’ve finally found warmth.

Nina and Laurie watch a mediocre street artist attempting to do backflips on his skateboard, Ralph and I meander through the backstreets.  But we don’t linger long – we head on to Île de Ré, over the impressive Pont de I’île de Ré, in good time to set up camp for the evening.

Very snazzy campsite.  Five stars apparently.  Nestled amongst the sweet-smelling pine forests and sheltered (to a degree) from the Atlantic breeze (gale) by delicate sand-dunes.  Having open the roof-tent and scattered our belongings about suitably, we walk down to the vast, windswept beach and nearly get blown away.  Ralph delightedly finds a large green shore crab – very aggressive. 

Back at camp, Ralph and Laurie take charge in cooking an excellent supper – onions, garlic, fresh tomatoes and lardons combing to make an excellent pasta sauce.  We retire to bed early, with the chill wind now blowing through the campsite, and huddle in like sardines.