Norden

Marge is on the road again!

This morning after topping up Marge's fluids, coolant for the engine, water in the tank and wine in the cupboard, we hastily packed a few clothes, our warmer duvet and essential food items, and set off for the south coast of England.

On route we passed a field of sheep, naked without their warm fleeces. We were also surprised to see lambs at this time of year.

After leaving the A34 at Newbury, we crossed country towards Andover, forgetting that Marge would have to negotiate the hill out of Hurstbourne Tarrant. The first time she climbed this hill, smoke emitted from her steering column, but today, toughened up by the mountains of Spain, the hill seemed little more than a bump in the road.

Heading towards our beloved Dorset, we bathed in the bright sunlight, and soaked up the afternoon heat. As we passed through Corfe Castle, the spectacular ruined castle, (thanks to Oliver Cromwell and a lot of gunpowder) showcase by a bright blue sky, stood proud over the village.

Late afternoon, we arrived in Swanage, a town we return to again and again. Across the bay, we could see the seamless cliffs of the Isle of Wight blending into a sky of uninterrupted blue. After a walk around the town and along the seafront, the invading sea drove us to an upper level, where across the bay we could see the first signs of the sun dipping.

As we drove back towards our overnight stop, the opaque light, cast by the late afternoon sun, lit the heathland across Studland.

The sight of vibrant orange pumpkins along the way, and with Corfe castle now bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, we could tell the night would be cold.

Tonight we are at The Halfway Inn at Norden, just outside Corfe Castle.

It is a lovely, thatched, olde worlde pub, and a couple of drinks in their cosy bar were most welcome. We stayed here earlier this year in July, and we know we will return many times more in the future.

Tomorrow we will travel Eastwards along the south coast, our destination at the end of the week should be somewhere around Brighton.

Newhaven - Home

As we crossed the English channel yesterday evening, there was a beautiful cold purple sunset to the west.

Arriving at Newhaven, a large flock of seagulls flew back and forth across the bow of the car ferry, the spotlights of the ship lighting them, so they looked like giant snowflakes passing by the windows. Their attraction, the food source being churned up by the ferry's propellers.

As unloading of the vehicles commenced, we were a little envious of the young cyclists we saw, who had just returned from completing the Avenue Verte, London to Paris cycle way. Having cycled this route ourselves we recognised their elation at having completed it. As they bid farewell to each other, new friendships forged, we prepared to disembark behind them. Once off the ferry, we headed for our night stop, the staff car park, next to the lorry park at the front of the terminal. Living the dream, we had the comfort of the check in area with toilets and a cafe, so what was there not to like!

This morning, up early despite a late night, we set ourselves up with breakfast in the terminal cafe. Yet more cyclists arrived, on route to Paris, and there were even a few camper vans in the lanes waiting to embark. With the weather set for rain later in the morning, we stopped at a nearby B&Q to purchase some silicone sealant to put around the front of the van, just above the windscreen. Marge proved to be a little leaky when we suffered a thunderstorm in Spain, and not wanting a repeat of this, a temporary repair was necessary.

As we left Newhaven, a town of mist and murk, we were already missing the fantastic daytime weather of the continent. After a slow journey around the M25, Marge picked up speed as we moved onto the M40, in familiar territory she headed for home.

Arriving back early afternoon, the past month seemed like a dream. Over thirty three days, we had travelled a total of 3692 miles, and Marge had surprised us in her capability.

As we unloaded our stash of wine, we vowed to raise a glass to her this evening.

After emptying and securing the van, we set off to see our new grandson, now nearly seven weeks old.

Whilst the sadness, worries and problems that were with us before we set off are still there, we'd like to think that our trip in Marge has given us a clearer focus. We hope you have enjoyed our blog and have in some small way experienced our holiday with us.

Who knows, perhaps we'll manage another cheeky trip in Marge somewhere in England, before the end of the Autumn, and if we do, you'll all be invited along.

Dieppe/DFDS ferry Cote D’ Albatre

The sun rose quickly over the trees this morning, a ribbon of mist, cutting through the ever changing colours of the leaves, today they are red, orange and saffron yellow.

Whilst we prepare to leave the aire, the coaches are arriving one after the other, with yet more visitors for the world on Monet. Two of the coaches contained school children, their excitement piercing the air as they snake their way off to discover about the great man himself.

We consign the, ‘where to stay aire’s book’ for northern France back in the drawer. Freeing Marge of her waste water, the sun warming our legs while we wait, the French motorhome owners gather in their usual clan. As they talk, they release their dogs to freely foul the ground, a common practice in France.

When we leave we feel a little sad. Today, our destination is Dieppe ferry terminal. We’ve had a real adventure, mere tourists, holding up the everyday lives of Spanish and French people, why they try to go about their daily business.

On route to Dieppe, we pass by fields, split into market gardens, the rows of lettuce, cabbage, leaks and onions, a pallet of green. At Rouen we stopped off at a large supermarket, to stock up with wine (as we didn’t get the chance to yesterday).

Then we travel the last few miles, arriving at the ferry port in good time, allowing us a chance to take a walk along the quayside. The church on the hill was clearly visible in the afternoon sun. The temperature was 30c.

Down at the fisherman’s dock, the familiar sight of the scallops in their fluted shells , were being unloaded by the sack full, from a fishing boat that had just tied up.

It was nearly check in time for the ferry, so we took and deposited one last book into the free library by the car park, and joined the vehicles already in the queue for the waiting ferry. After we passed through passport control, it had to be Marge who was stopped by immigration. Happy that we were not smuggling anyone out of the country, they ignored our hoard of wine and waved Marge on.

We were one of the last vehicles to be loaded, but Marge’s heart sank when she saw we were to drive up the ramp to an upper vehicle deck. Luckily, John waving and pointing, managed to convey to the load master, that Marge was old and her clutch a little worn (a little white lie there). Result, Marge was reprieved, and we were given the end space on the lower vehicle deck.

Installed on board, with a much needed coffee in hand, the ferry slid away from the dockside. We remembered our arrival in Dieppe 32 days ago. It was dark, windy and raining. All in all, we have had very little rain, so count ourselves lucky.

We got talking to two English lorry drivers, a campervan is a lorry drivers nightmare, but I (Angela) have driven since we set off on our second day in France, and know how to drive to be the lorry drivers friend, but we won’t miss them. Saying that, there’s still the M25 to negotiate. But tonight, we are staying in Newhaven, we have Marge’s electrical problem to be aware of, where if her headlights are on, her cooling fans don’t work, so we will wait until daylight to set off towards home.

As we admire the setting sun, we raise a glass to Marge and the adventures she will take us on in future.

We are back in England, ''The Margery has landed" as Neil Armstrong would have said had he been with us. We are tucked into the port staff car park behind the lorry park, and ready for a good night's sleep.

Giverny

Last night, we tried to recollect all the places we have stayed overnight whilst in France and Spain. We were glad we decided to head (in most cases) to less touristy destinations. But that aside, tonight will be at Giverny, the home of impressionist painter Claude Monet.

A beautiful blue sky greeted us this morning, and as we watched the dew slowing evaporate from the grass, we set off for what was to be our last full day in France. Outside our van, the French were hovering, desperate to take our place, for want of the free electricity to power their televisions.

On route, we stopped at the town of Vernon, which lies on the banks of the river Seine. We took a look at a building, that was being reconstructed to look like a small chateau, a modern piece of sculpture named ‘group’, and a medieval house, perched precariously on the end of what was left, of an old stone bridge.

On the opposite bank, some river cruise boats were moored, and as we left the town, we met buses and a land train ferrying the visitors back and forth to Monet’s house and gardens.

Tonight’s aire is at the rear of the coach park in the village. A swarm of flying ants, over a nearby picnic area waiting to greet us when we arrived, after a while they dispersed leaving only the less adventurous behind. We have sited ourselves on the end spot, which overlooks a field of sweetcorn still waiting to be harvested, behind a back drop of trees, their colours changing as the sun moves.

Opposite us, is a large display of mauve and purple Michaelmas daisies, a particular favourite of our Margery and her father.

Later this afternoon, we joined the visitors, thin on the ground at this time of year, and of which most were Japanese, and took a walk to discover beautiful flowers and plants, streams, waterfalls, buildings, and yes, another church, possibly the last we’ll visit on this holiday.

In the churchyard, besides the Monet family grave, there is a memorial to seven British airmen, whose Lancaster plane crashed just outside the village in 1944. The bodies of the seven crew are buried together in one war grave at the rear of the church.

As we walk back along the verge, bruising the glut of horse chestnuts under foot with our shoes, we stopped, under the trees, to look at a bronze bust of Claude Monet. We found it both enchanting and mesmerising.

The late afternoon sun, produced a, sweltering, temperature of 31c. So we broke with tradition and drank a cold lager from our fridge at 5.30 pm. We have a feeling that when we arrive back in England tomorrow evening, we will receive a sharp wake up call with regard to the weather. We understand, that the weather on the south coast of England today is cold and wet, information supplied by our elderly tenant who contacted us, with yet another boiler problem!

Sipping sangria, watching the sun dip behind the trees for one last time in France this year, we will spend yet another evening enjoying one last paella, whilst reminiscing.

We have now travelled over 3500 miles.

Tomorrow, destination Dieppe