First week on the road

Quite a lot to catch up with, as we've not had much access to the internet...

4 September 2010
First stop Camping Mont Des Bruyères, Saint Amand-les-Eaux.  A beautiful quiet site set in acres of beechwood, an ideal spot to catch our breath and repack (we weren't as well prepared as we might have been).

It's situated in Nord Pas De Calais, not far from the Belgian border, an unfashionable corner of France that Britons tend to pass through on their way to somewhere more sunny, and French people tend to overlook.  The stereotypical view of this area in France seems to be that it's a cold, grey, dark place where it always rains, inhabited by people (called Chi'tis) with peculiar accents who live on beer, chips, iron and coal.  Somewhere, in other words, where a Welshman might feel at home!

Unlike Wales, it's flat; on the same flat plain as Jacques Brel's 'Plat Pays'.  The Mont Des Bruyères is the tallest thing for miles, but not tall enough to get good TV reception or to show above the treetops. Unlike Wales, they eat mussels with their chips and spell saveloy 'cervelau'. It also has towns full of beautiful seventeenth century gabled buildings, endless beaches of fine pale sand and huge silent forests of beech, oak and hazel.

Recently there seems to have been something of a good-humoured 'Chi'ti Pride' movement.  There's Chi'ti beer, Chi'ti postcards and in 2009 a hit film 'Bienvenue Chez Les Chi'tis'.  We watched the film on DVD while we were there.  It was good fun, but as much a defence or advertisement of the region as anything else.  I've got mixed feelings about their attempts to encourage tourism, it is a great place just as it is.

… and another thought... Calais was English until the reign of Mary Tudor.  How much of the surrounding territory was ruled by the Tudors?  Was it culturally English or culturally French? Could the Chi'tis be descended from Britons stranded by the French reconquest of the region?  Does that history explain any of their distinctive language or accent?  For example their local word 'bray' means 'to cry'.  English donkeys still bray, but it's not unimaginable that it might be a surviving scrap of Tudor slang.  If anyone reads this blog, does anyone know?

7 December 2010
Second stop, Camping Les Praries, Le Crotoy, on the bay of the Somme.  Another region with an image problem; “We went camping, it was like the Somme”.

In our experience, 'like the Somme' means gentle hills and wooded valleys, low painted houses, some half timbered, pear and apple orchards with neat rows of tiny trees heavy with fruit.  On the other hand, it did start to rain heavily during our first night and intermittently during the next day.  It wouldn't have taken much artillery fire to turn the whole landscape into mud.

Le Crotoy is a genteel seaside town.  The town centre is ancient (Joan of Arc spent some time in prison here) but much of the town seems to have been built in the early years of the twentieth century – a lot of ornate seaside villas with turrets and coloured tiles.  It faces the broad muddy bay of the Somme estuary, a rich environment for shellfish and birds. 

Like all French seaside resorts they make the most of their local produce, every restaurant proudly sells D.O.C. Saltmarsh (pré saleé) lamb, local mussels (moules), whelks (bulots), brown shrimp (crevettes grises), samphire (salicornes) and various fish.  Try finding a menu like that in Crofty.

The esplanade area, since last April, has been plastered in signs banning dogs from the beach, and is also closed to motorhomes, so not a great welcome for us.  We took local advice and headed to the seaward end where Scooby could run free and no-one seemed to mind.

While we were on the beach, a parade of tractors appeared heading inland, trailers laden with sacks of cockles, cockle pickers and bicycles.  A year sitting opposite the Environment Agency Wales fisheries  team has given me a keen interest in the cockle industry, and I'm pretty confident that bikes have not been incorporated into the harvesting system in Wales.

On the evening of 7th we celebrated Stella's birthday with a delicious meal in Restaurant Mado, on the waterfront overlooking the port.  After the meal I mentioned to the waiter that I'd seen the cockle pickers and was surprised that cockles didn't feature on the menus.  He explained that the artisan collectors sell the cockles directly to the public from their doorsteps.  An unlikely story, given the quantities we'd seen landed.  My suspicious were confirmed as we left the town, when we saw a fleet of Galician trucks parked up by the cockle pickers' tractors.  The Spanish appreciate cockles more than the French and will pay higher prices, but still it's surprising that they aren't in the restaurants locally.

9 September 2010
France has an extensive network of free or cheap places where people can stay the night in a motorhome.  These areas aren't available for people in tents or caravans, but due to a happy accident of history, or clumsy drafting of legislation, sleeping in your motorhome is treated the same, legally, as dozing off in your car.  Local authorities, hoping to bring in some tourism revenue, make a real effort to be welcoming, and often provide a place to empty waste water and refill freshwater tanks, sometimes even a place to plug in and recharge batteries.

Our first 'Aire de stationment' was at Honfleur, and what an aire it was.  Motorhomes of all nations (except Bhutan, obviously) stretched as far as we could see.  There must have been well over a hundred.  Honfleur charges 9 euros a night, but for that you get waste disposal, fresh water and free electricity.  It's not a luxurious environment, but it's good value.

 ... it helps to have a blue one.

We walked a few minutes into Honfleur, where smart shops surround the old harbour basin, and smart people parade around looking at the smart yachts.  We found a sunny table and bought a couple of beers which ate up all the money we'd saved by staying on the aire.  Still good value.

10 September 2010
If free aires de stationment weren't enough, in France the campingcariste is also treated to the France Passion scheme, under which landowners let motorhome owners stay on their land for free.  They hope to sell some of their produce to the visitors, but there's no obligation to buy.

We headed  for Les Vergers de Ducy, an organic cider farm near Bayeux, expecting something a bit rustic and Worzel-ish.  What we found was an immaculate farm yard surrounded by beautiful old buildings where a visiting Belgian coach party was tasting the produce.  The ambience was much more like a wine chateau than a normal farm. In addition to several grades of cider, they make several grades of calvados (we bought some of the ten year old), apple jelly, honey, creme de calvados, pommeau (calvados and apple juice aperitif). I can't imagine anyone leaves empty handed.

We parked up on the edge of the orchard; a glorious quiet location, surrounded by this year's crop (to be harvested next month).  The apples were surprisingly imperfect, but presumably the aesthtic qualities don't matter when you're going to mash them up for the juice.  Certainly the product couldn't be faulted; clear, sparkling with a complex appley flavour.  A world away from Cripple Cock.