Well, here’s to plans going wrong! My original intention was to go to Fontvieille, the Huttopia site there; near the Med and the Camargue with its flamingos, white horses and fighting bulls, and close to a windmill made famous by Alphonse Daudet. I wanted some stories for Lily really. Maybe I was a bit tired; but after taking a wrong turning, I was pointing North up the A46 I needed to be on the other side; seeing a sign for a service station, which seemed to be at the junction I needed to correct myself, I soon realised it was just after the junction. What the hell, I needed coffee, it was apparent. And what’s a 20km detour between friends? The weather was nice, and I realised maybe I didn’t need to go so far south as I’d planned; so after consultation by WhatsApp with the family, who made encouraging noises, given my doubts in the last blogpost. Plan B was to go into the Drôme Provençal; the nearest being Crest. The town and its area looked lovely; the campsite, behind the closed gate, looked promising. But Oh what false promise was there.

Returning to my mental checklist, and to the magic of Google maps, I remembered there was a Huttopia site in the Ardèche; which turned out was an hour further south. Despite them not responding to my phone call (a cautionary action), I put the coordinates in the Satnav; rebooted the phone which seemed to have gone on strike; and headed off an hour south, cross country. If they were full , unlikely given the end of season (but anxiety is anxiety), I knew the Ardèche was riddled with campsites.

At reception, Lena offered a warm welcome; insisted on me choosing a pitch from a list of about ten that were available, saying you must go see them, making the fingers walking sign. Pitch 126, closest to the bar, despite needing my longest electric cables, was where I ended up, under the shade of a gnarled cypress. The soil was sandy; the roads gravelled; my English acquaintances said that Sunday it will all be awash, give the forecast is for thunder, lightning, 75mm of rain, and hot hail from Ming the Merciless. But as you’ll see from the photo, the sky is blue, it’s nigh on 30deg, and Sunday I can hole up and shelter. Not only that, the bar is open, and they’re making pizza. That’s tea sorted then. The clientele is mix of German, Dutch, Swiss, and French with a couple of English. Talking to dogs is always a great ice-breaker; even if Rambo the Airedale is a bit boisterous. I apologised to his Anglophone German owners, they apologised too, and all is good.

Warm weather means time for laundry. Saturday dawns fine, and I’m there with my jeton and my Magic Leaves; no arguments with angry French laundrymen, and weather warm enough to clothes dry. Time then for a stroll into the town. It’s a beautiful day, pleasantly warm, with a gentle breeze. my route takes me past a canoe hire place, advertising round trips. My canoe adventure days may well be over. well, they never really began. My English informants spent yesterday on a 15mile canoe trip, but I won’t imitate them. The path continues along the riverfront, with a range of bistro/ice cream parlours. I popped into the Tourist Information for a chat; the lady (from Bruges as it happens) spoke far better English than my French, though I kept slipping into it, my brain having become attuned. She suggested a number of activities, and also posted out the less obvious restaurants. One of which I came across, and wandered into.

Suitably fed and watered (there may have been wine too) I retraced steps. There’s a connexion here with Max Ernst – as it’s the National Heritage Festival this weekend, the Mayor is going to give a talk on the subject, in the church if wet. An Inundation is forecast, as we know. My route came out by the town beach – “The water is very clean, also fresh” by which I take it it’s bloody freezing; nevertheless, some folks were in there. They were also out on canoes. I was particularly taken by a new version of doggy paddling. I met the lady, and dog, later in the campsite bar: Carola and Hildegarde (the dog) whose first experience of canoeing it was. Hildegarde did very well; Carola and I were able to share the photo.

The day was finished off by watching England vs France at Women’s Rugby in the bar. I was eventually joined by two French families, and we shared the highs and lows of the match. (England won, the edge given by the brilliance of Ellie KiIldunne. Canada in the final next week.)