La Flotte Aire, Ile de Re

At lunchtime we left the campsite and drove back up to the aire a minute away. Making sure before leaving this morning we each had another shower. 'Get your monies worth', Angela could hear her father say. At the Aire the Brompton bicycles were brought down from Marge's roof box and unpacked. This would be our first time cycling since we returned from France last autumn. Oh dear, it looked like cycling today would be cancelled. We'd not checked inside the bags the bikes were stored in, and had forgotten we'd taken the saddles off to put onto two of our other bikes at home.

So we spent quite a while down in the town trying to buy saddles from one of the many bike shops. Only one sold saddles. The problem here is everyone wants a 'big bum' saddle for comfort. Comfortable that is, until the chaffing begins on the inner thighs. Us professional cyclists, we prefer something a little more 'sporty'. Whilst in town we visited the post office to purchase stamps for postcards. 'Stamps for Great Britain for two postcards'. Angela launched straight into her best holiday French and was congratulated by the lady behind the counter for her effort. In fact she said it was 'perfect'.

Cycling off the agenda we decided to walk out along the coast path to Fort La Pree, which dates back 400 years.

Along the way, we stopped to look across at the ruins of the Abbaye des Chateliers.

 Angela had told John there might be a coffee shop along the way. There was not. So we trekked back to La Flotte, a brisk onshore breeze pushing us back as we walked, and treated ourselves to coffee and hot chocolate sat outside one of the many restaurants that overlooked the harbour.

People watching is fun, and we wondered what comments were made about us when we walked by yesterday. As always, the Aire is full tonight, as is the campsite next door. Angela has found she still has the controller in her pocket for the campsite barrier. Well, well. What use could it possibly be?

Breakfast omelette this morning included sliced up Chicken of the Woods mushroom (Laetiporus sulphureus), much tastier than it looks!

Camping Bel Air, La Flotte, Ile de Re

John is unwell. During the night Angela administered him paracetamol, vapour rub, and one of her 'Jakemans' cough sweets. The medication did the trick and he settled. So a late start to this morning, and cycling today abandoned. Instead we took the short walk into town to buy a few grocery items, and use the free wi-fi at the tourist office. The fine warm weather had brought out locals and tourists alike and the narrow streets were busy.

As was the flea market. Before setting off, we noticed the pitch we'd been allocated on the campsite just down from the aire had been vacated, so asking at reception, we were able to site marge earlier than the 2 pm arrival time which was great.

The site is four star, with of course toilets and showers, wi-fi and the luxury of a washing machine. All for seventeen pounds a night. The weather warm, the breeze brisk, we loaded up the washer. To hell with the six euro cost, it was worth it not to have to hand wash. Marge is located right by the reception, near to the entrance. So everyone passing in and out of the site has the pleasure of seeing her. And much admired she is. We can see you all pretending not to look as you shuffle pass.

 Sausages and roast vegetables cooked outside finished the day of nicely. The weather this evening has turned, and once again rain falls steadily. The forecast for the next two days is good, so hopefully tomorrow we'll cycle out along one of the many cycle routes on the island.

La Flotte Aire, Ile de Re

Yesterday evening the clouds thickened. Their formation that of a mountain range. The sky turned orange and purple, as we witnessed yet another stunning sunset.

 Darkness fell around nine, and all was quiet until, disco music emitted from the nearby town. Really! By ten thirty when we retired to bed the DJ was really 'pumping up the music'. Angela put her pillow over her head. But not for long, realising she might just suffocate herself. After an hour she warmed to the tunes and drifted off to sleep, only to be re-awoken by the DJ shouting. Groan! Shut up you annoying man! And miraculously he did. The evenings entertainment was over. Thank God. Thank God indeed, as we needed to rise early to cross the bridge to the nearby Ile. de Re, a pretty island close to La Rochelle.

We stayed on the island in 2022 and vowed we'd return. The problem on the island is space is limited on campsites and the aires. We really wanted to return to the aire at La Flotte. It is easily within waking distance to the pretty town and harbour. Today was market day and we were keen to visit this also. On the approach to La Rochelle the needle on Marge's temperature gauge rose into the red area. Not again Marge. We pulled onto the hard shoulder and gave her a minute to calm down, then we set off. A short while later the same thing happened again. Oh dear. We still had the toll bridge to drive over to the island. Don't you dare Marge. Luckily she didn't. There were a couple of spaces awaiting us at the aire. Our neighbours are a very nice English couple. In fact there are three other English vehicles here. Normally it's just us and fellow Europeans from various countries. After conversing a while with the neighbours we walked into the charming town with its pretty white washed houses with green painted window shutters and brightly coloured Bougainvillea mixed with the green foliage of wisteria and grape vines. 

The market area with its cobbled paths, a bustling vibrant area impressed us with its variety of wares. The smells an attack on our senses.

Despite a heavy downpour from a storm that hung overhead for well over an hour, the weather today has been pleasant.

This evening we ate pizza at an Italian restaurant. The perfect end to the day.

Tomorrow, we will move onto the adjacent campsite for a night, and if the weather is fine cycle out on one of the islands many cycle paths. As for you Marge. Take a well earned rest.

Marsilly

This morning, after yet more rain during the night, the damp air gripped us. The forecast for this afternoon was for an improving picture, and we hoped that it would be. Our journey from Monbert, along roads we've both cycled and driven a few times before brought back memories. It was 17c, hardly the temperature you'd expect in south west France in early September. In Oban, west Scotland, today's temperature was set to hit 25c. Perhaps we should have travelled to Europe during May and June, and saved Scotland for the autumn. Who knows? The sunflowers, that stretched as far as the eye could see, also seemed a little miffed by the weather. They hung their heads low, also praying for some much needed sun. Marge has performed well so far on this trip, until today, when she decided to have a hot flush. Giving her a minute to compose herself we were soon on our way. We topped her up with fuel, the forty five pounds worth we'd filled her with before leaving Poole had taken us south of Nantes, which we were very pleased about. We hope there will be no more incidents. Do you hear us Marge? Our destination today was Marsilly. A small village on the Atlantic coast, and right on the Velodysee cycle route, which nine years ago, to celebrate John's 60th birthday we cycled. Beginning at St. Malo, and finishing below Hendaye where we crossed just into Spain. It took us eleven days. We'd allowed thirty. So, not bad going. Last year we cycled a section of the route again. We have also driven this way on a couple of occasions. Ask Angela where she loves to visit whilst in France, and in no particular order she'll tell you, Camping Rural les Relais des Garennes, Monbert, the Atlantic coast, the Loire Valley, and of course Mayenne, home to Chateau de la Motte Husson, where we may stop off on our return journey to Cherbourg. Tonight we consider we have the best spot at the park up.

The other vans, all French, are in the main parking area. Marge has her own secluded spot in the 'English section' right at the end on the edge of a field. The golden stubble of a ripened crop awaits the plough to bury it deep into the sandy soil below, and wild fennel, with its distinctive aniseed  aroma wafts around us. Behind us are views of the open countryside. In front the Atlantic ocean, and the coastline stretching towards La Rochelle.

The suspended huts of the shrimp fisherman line the foreshore. The sun has been shining since we arrived mid afternoon, and the temperature rose into the low twenties. The whole area looks beautiful. We are hopeful of a beautiful sunset. Let's hope we are not disappointed.

The Blogger at work!

The local mussels abound.