So I left you in my previous blog with my au revoir to the lovely family on the farm to the south of Nantes. It was 9.30am or so and beautiful day was ahead. Temperatures started at 28 degrees and by the time I had reached Bordeaux (via La Rochelle) at about 3pm, it was a steaming 37 degrees! The day was full of charm and beauty that commenced with La Rochelle as mentioned, followed by a glorious ride through remote countryside from Hiers-Brouage, a 16th Century walled town, to the Gironde Estuary. The area was cluttered with Oyster and Mussel Farms cultivating their slippery beauties in the plentiful, natural waters and the air was spiced with their sea-salt aroma. I passed many a roadside stall and small village restaurants advertising this local produce at increasingly competitive prices and even now don't understand why I didn't stop for a decadent dozen.
Anyway, I arrived in Bordeaux an hour or so later and decided against stopping for yet another cup of consistently perfect French coffee but instead headed for the coast ... Mimizan,to be precise. Why? Because the name seemed to stand out as I scanned the map.
Mimizan, was a classic, pine-enveloped, coastal small town with a campsite set amongst the trees, exactly what I was looking for and within the hour (having already purchased provisions en route) I was pitched and ready for supper.
My experiences of travelling alone are that you are often not alone as there is always a friendly someone, as per the evening before and last night was no exception.
Idris (sorry if I have spelled your name wrong) was tented in the adjacent pitch and was there to work his summer holidays before his final year of IT study.
It wasn't long before we were sharing cigarettes and wine, discussing French politics, the meaning of life and as it got dark, generally flailing our arms in a Tourettes fashion fending off the invasion of mosquitoes. Then, without warning, the air changed from completely stagnant to a fierce wind, which reminded me of Romania and those very hot, dry days dissected by stormy nights. With this in mind, I suggested we call it a night and as I packed the last item away, a flash of light and crack of thunder confirmed the change of weather to come. And come it did ... It was so loud inside the tent that I recorded the rain on my phone but I can't find a way to load a file that isn't a pic or a video. Anyway, it was weirdly yet wonderfully comforting and cozy in the tent with all that lashing loudness outside.
The next morning, I thought I'd woken in the England I'd just left; cloud-clad sky and the temperature had literally halved overnight, 18 degrees at best! Idris had already gone to work for a 6.30am start so I missed that au-revoir, frankly, the whole campsite was pretty quite and empty anyway. From what I have witnessed on my travels so far, tourism is definitely down from last year. One owner of a previous lodging I stayed in said his bookings were down 40%!
I set off and decided to hug the coast toward Biarritz, a firm favourite of mine due to previous visits but as I scanned maps on a coffee break about half way there I realised two things ... Firstly, it was Thursday and secondly I was still a long way from my destination in the Portuguese Algarve.
What I haven't mentioned yet is that this trip, at least initially, has a purpose and that is to join a very good friend and his small group of guests, at a villa he has rented for a week, to celebrate his 50th year. They all start gathering from tomorrow (Friday) and I've quite obviously been in a relaxed, touring mindset. So down went the espresso in one gulp, I entered my final destination in the SatNav and then hit 'Fastest Route'. Yup over 1,300 kms to go, so off I went. Within 10 minutes I was on a motorway which became my rolling home for the next 8 hours. Over 650 kilometers later and 100 kilometres short of the Portuguese border, the only thing I've seen in Spain has been petrol stations and toll booths. No worries, I'll have time after the celebrations. Besides, the weather was cloudy in France, fog bound in the Pyrenees and it wasn't until 200 kms into Spain that the eventual sun drove temperatures back to the expected norm for this time of year (mid-30's).
So no good stories for you I'm afraid and as I've still got some 700 kms to go, it's all going to be 'autovia' i.e. boring.
Oh and before I forget, a little vignette ... had a great, gesturing conversation today with a sweaty, bearded, middle-aged, Spanish petrol attendant, fag hanging out the corner of his mouth (in the parking area at this point) who was pointing to all the flags stuck on the bike of the various countries I've visited and after realising that I was riding on my own ... slapped one hand on his forehead, the other firmly grabs his balls, Michael Jackson stylie and he shouts "grandé, non!" Funny guy, loved him ... yet another great character on the road.
OK, gone mid-night by a margin again, buenos noches xc
No comments:
Post a Comment