Don’t know why, there’s no sun up in the sky….

The forecast was for rain, and so it proved. About 9am the clouds rolled in; the morning stayed overcast, with the odd spot of rain. In the afternoon, the sky darkened, and it came down in stair-rods. It eased for a bit, then we had the thunder, rolling around, and more heavy rain. This was the pattern into the night. Nothing for it but to settle down; read books; watch videos and sleep. At least we didn’t lose electricity, so my microwave meal was OK.

During the gaps, I’d gone for a wander and said hello to other British campers: Julie and Paul from near Harrogate in a Swift 4-berth, and another couple in a camper. Later, Otto from a nearby pitch (actually from Åarhus) came over, and wanted to talk about solo camping. His wife had recently been diagnosed with dementia, and he was assessing his future. We also chatted about the Rosskilde Viking museum, which got flooded recently. There’s an irony. But the upside was, they found more longships. He encourage me to go to the Gokstad museum in Oslo, where Thor Heyerdahl’s Kontiki is also on display. I love these random encounters.

Today, having found there was a tiny convenience store in the village, I decided to replenish milk, bread, yogurt, and muesli supplies. The got carried away a bit, walked over the bridge and up the hill to the next village. Tourist info had said it was another of the plus belle villages de France. About a mile uphill, along the edge of the Ardèche gorge.

The place was worthy of the designation, with a small castle (a tower really) and a pretty church spire. A few icecream shops and restaurants and a couple of craft outlets. I chose a Boston for lunch, and was presented with a menu that only had sharing plates. Asking the patron whether it was possible to have a sharing plate for one (!) I was subjected to a torrent of very friendly and rapid instructions in a strong Provençal accent, which I didn’t understand, and thought that even if they were repeated I’d be in the same boat. (I think he was directing me to the blackboards, but he might have been inviting me to bathe in sewage.)

So erring on the side of caution I ordered a cheese plate and a glass of red wine, all of which was lovely). He was proud of the local provenance of it all; the wine was from 2km away, and even the salt (from the Mediterranean) and pepper (local supplier) and local olive oil which he insisted I apply to the tomme and the goats’ cheese. He was, of course, correct. The service was excellent. the two men at the next table mentioned they’d not brought hats for the sunny weather. He quickly returned with sombreros and a joke or two. I was touched he asked about my WOMAD jumper after paying.

Stopping only to buy a bottle of the local stuff, and making the shopkeeper put her ciggy down for a moment, I trekked back. Downhill is easier. And I stayed well away from the cliffs. Crossing the bridge was interesting – there’s a width restriction of 2.7m, traffic light control, and no footpath. Mmmm.

One of the purposes of coming south was to make comparisons with Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne. Talking to the other British campers, this is another site, like Bs/D, where people keep returning. There are pluses and minuses: both are Huttopia, a brand I’m fond of, having been now on five of their sites. This one is green and leafy, perhaps more so. It has more wilderness areas; the beach is there, and sandier, but small – I went exploring, and found only pebbles downstream. The bar area is nicer, and was keeping better hours until this week, but that may just be the season. Outside, the village is pleasant, but it is quieter – fewer restaurants, and further to the shops (There is a SuperU over the bridge, but quite a walk. The shop in the village was sparsely stocked.) The climate here is beautiful, with the clear light of Provence and warmth to match, and of course in the Côtes du Rhône wine region.

Tomorrow will be the second anniversary of Rosie’s passing. I will be raising a glass of course. It is still a little tricky explaining why I’m a solo camper, and I quite often wonder why Im doing it with no-one to share it with. I see the other snowbirds, two by two, and feel a small pang of envy; the emotion also compounded with my own health considerations. Carola (with Hildegard the navigator dog) I suspect were also solo, as I saw them leave this morning. I’m now thinking I must make a more concerted effort to contact others in my position. Last year the wedding anniversary was harder than the death date for some reason: this year I also laid flowers at Dungeness, including one from Jennie’s wedding ornaments.