Quinson (Day 2)

As we readied for bed last night, we could hear the nearby bull frogs having a late night conversation. In the distance accompanying them, the chatter of cicadas.

Today we are having a relaxing day, unlike yesterday! Whilst we ate our breakfast, we watched a group of walkers checking their rucksacks, walking poles, socks and boots, before eating the traditional banana for energy. Obviously, being in the Alps, there are many walks, and in our guide for the area, it says you should allow ten hours to complete one of them.

This morning, we walked once again into the town, to visit the tourist office, which is housed in an old chapel.

Then purchased a baguette from one of the two bars which sold bread, (unusually, there is no actual bakery in the town).

On the way back to the van, we decided to explore more of the narrow streets, passing by an elderly gentleman, tending his vegetable garden, he seemed unaware of our presence as we photographed him. The scene was a true depiction of France, serene and tranquil.

The temperature during the afternoon soared, so we decided to keep out of the direct heat of the sun, sitting under our sun awning, reading and planning our onward journey. Tomorrow, there is a chance we may run into some rain, so we're trying to keep South for a day or two, before turning northwards. Meanwhile, we must be entertained by our fellow van owners. 'Please don't try and empty your toilet through the waste water grid!' The Dutchman did, and of course it wasn't successful. Yesterday evening, a local man walked through the aire, and made a point of telling us we must not do this, which of course we never would, the Dutch however! You wouldn't believe the antics we see at the service points. Yesterday morning, we waited for absolutely ages, whilst a Frenchman, cleaned and polished his hosepipe, then packed it away in its special box. The German couple next in the queue seething, to be held up for so long. The favourite antic, is the rinsing out of chemical toilets, with water from the drinking water tap, and the most disgusting, the absence of handwashing, after performing this exercise. What is wrong with people? Fortunately, we are wise to these practices, and are always very careful where we fill up our drinking water containers.

At the aire here, the is no drinking water, and you have to walk up to the town to the old Lavoir, to fill your container, from the drinking water fountain. We know, all very quaint.

Mid afternoon, we braved the heat, and walked out alongside the lake, hoping the trees would shade us, and offer some respite from the oppressive warmth.

We spotted two large wild mushrooms on a tree stump, defiantly not the sort you should eat.

Further along the path, we came across the prehistoric village. In the town, there is a prehistoric museum. Two groups of school children were there, one group just having taken part, in an activity involving bows and arrows.

Walking to the top of the lake, we arrived at the hydro-electric power station. On the way up, we'd noticed the water was running faster than yesterday, the reason, water was being released from the dam behind.

Early evening, the clouds form, and then disappear, bringing back the bright sunlight. The humidity appears to be increasing, and we wonder if we may catch one of the thunderstorms, that are active a little further north during the night.

During the day, we saw a cat sheltering from the sun in the coolness of a waste pipe. We think it probably had, had a very good idea. No pipes to hide in for us, just cold beer and wine to cool us!

Quinson

(Parked alongside a Westfalia James Cook, the Mercedes Sprinter version of our van)

Walking out last evening, the fading sun, lit the pine trees at the base of the mountains.

High in the sky above us, five para gliders dropped slowly downwards, their pilots swirling the bright canopy above them, to prolong the descent.

Today we drove the roads of the Verdon Gorge. Now whose idea was that? Picture this, narrow, winding roads, (which we should be used to by now), rocks protruding from the side, rocks overhanging above, 'will Marge fit under there?', and then, throw around one hundred impatient motorcyclists into the mix! Oh, yes, we must also mention the single lane tunnel, where we didn't know if someone was already in it, and heading straight for us.'Right whose going to back up then?'. Sorry Marge, it looks like it'll be you, easier said than done, with yet more impatient motorcyclists, trying to squeeze between Marge and the rocks. We were really starting to question their mentality! The drive was real white knuckle, having to switch to the opposite side of the road on blind bends to avoid the protruding rocks, despite adopting our 'slow and careful' approach, we needed to stop for Marge's driver to rest her shaking legs, re-hydrate her dry mouth, air her wet clothing, soaked from perspiration, and to generally take a breath. We'd thought we'd left all this drama behind in Italy. But we mustn't forget the words of the young American man, we met the night before we crossed the border into Italy, 'I like to call all this drama, living!'. We stopped again, just past Point Sublime, the views were impressive, and striking, the strata and height of the rocks, and the trees on the valley floor stretching upwards. But the sheer drop frightening. Sometimes the sheer drops were right next to us as we drove. Advice from the driver, 'I can't look at the views, why don't you help me watch the road!'. There were a few English vehicles on the road, and we sounded our horns, and waved to each other, offering moral support for the journey ahead. But for all our nerves, we both agreed, the hair raising drive had been well worth it.

As we dropped down from the roads above the gorge, we drove through the lavender fields of Provence, the fragrance from the bushes subtle, not yet at their full potential.

Tonight's aire is right by the river Verdon. Upon our arrival, we talked to an English couple who'd arrived yesterday, and were planning to stay a few days. We discussed the drama of driving the roads of the gorge, and our cycling trips in Europe. The man's mother had been a cyclist, winning competitions. She had lived to be one hundred and two, after suffering a stroke, as our Marge did. The conversation brought back some sad memories. Saying that though, Marge is with us on our travels, After all, her name is emblazoned across the bonnet of our van, and almost everyday, we remember her fondly in conversation, as we drive or walk out.

We are planning to spend two nights here at Quinson. We are about five minutes walk from the canoe hire, and tomorrow plan to hire one, and paddle the blue waters of the river Verdon.

On our usual walk into the town, taking in yet another French church, we saw a swallows nest in the porch, the parents dashing in and out with constant vittles for their noisy young.

At one point a large insect 3"-4" long which we thought may have been a locust, but think now, was probably a member of the grasshopper family, flew by, skimming John's shoulder, and giving him quite a start. Following it up the road, we found it on a piece of dead wood, its colouring, hiding it well.

As we walked back to the van, we stopped to photograph a three wheeled British kit car, powered by a Citroen 2CV engine. Tonight, whilst typing the blog, we can hear the pleasant notes from an accordion played by the Dutchman behind us.

St - Andre - Les - Alpes

Yesterday evening, after dinner, we walked out along the river, and then into the older part of the town. Beside the river, two short - eared bats flew above our heads.

The sun was setting over the mountains, above them hung a orange, purple sky.

Up on the rock, we could see the chapelle, lit by soft lighting.

As we were sorting ourselves out this morning, the German couple next to us, took an interest in Marge. She's starting to attract quite a following from this nation. At lunchtime, we stopped alongside the Lac de Castillon. There was another van there, from which the man was swimming nearby in the lake. After he pulled himself out, up the bank, his wife was dispatched to ask about Marge, her husband too shy to come over himself. Marge is catching the eye of the Germans big time, the confusion of her driving position, British registration plate, with the name of the German garage she was imported from, causing scratching of heads. How could this be? Within a few seconds, the husband had joined us, and as he was so taken with Marge, was given a guided tour, she would have loved all this male attention! The couple were interesting to talk to, and they seemed to know the area well, so could advise us places to visit and stay. The lake was beautiful, its green, blue water almost translucent.

After our lunch, we drove further on, following the side of the lake, the views stunning. Whilst driving near the mountains, it is important not to be distracted by the spectacular views, and the same applied to the lake.

When we reached the dam, we pulled over, as did many other people. The hydro-electric station, belonging to EDF Energy, provides power for over 31,000 people. Flying over the dam were sand martins, their homes in the crevices of the nearby rocks.

Further along we stopped for John to photograph the lake, whilst doing so, he thought, he saw a wolf?

When we arrived at tonight's aire, we noticed the young German lady from lunchtime was there. We'd seen her husband set off on his road bike, whilst we were eating our lunch. She had driven, to meet up with him. After settling Marge, we walked into the nearby town, visited the church, as always, and after an invite to the Bar du Commerce ' I'll pay, if you order', we studied some information we'd picked up from the tourist office, where as always the member of staff was very helpful, showing us the route we should take to the Gorges of Verdon tomorrow.

Local edible snail, just need a few more......