Mortagne sur Gironde

The French seem to know we are English even before we speak. How is that? Perhaps it's our features or the way we dress. Today after three nights, we left the campsite at Rochefort. At breakfast John had company.

A young pigeon which had flown the nest sat under the table, not knowing what to do next. It's fractious parents along with its sibling sat on a wall above. Lots of flapping of wings warned us not to venture too close.

By lunchtime we were at the beautiful town of Mortagne sur Gironde and met some cyclists we'd met whilst at Rochefort.

Like them, we watched the vehicles pull in from a rally drive, including quite a selection of old tractors, cars and motorbikes.

Then later in the afternoon, we could hear the sounding of car horns approaching, which as we know in France symbolises a wedding procession, and soon the bride, groom and their entourage passed us by. Early evening, the temperature still 21c, we sat in the warm evening sun alongside our Swiss neighbours to eat. As the sun faded, it lit the masts of the many sailing boats moored nearby. The sunset was amazing. 

Rochefort (day 3)

A reminder this morning we are now into Autumn. The air was a little chilled, but once the sun broke through the day soon warmed. We have decided to stay another night at Rochefort. John spoke to the company who supplied the gas struts for our pop up roof, and they have arranged to courier two more out to us at the campsite at Bordeaux where we will arrive on Sunday. Angela isn't too well. She appears to have contracted John's virus.

So at lunchtime we walked up to the transporter bridge and ate lunch, then sat a while reading. The warmth of the sun helped ease Angela's ills.

Then a stop a the supermarket on the way back to Marge to stock us up with food for the weekend. Tomorrow we will head a little south, and stop about halfway between here and Bordeaux.

Rochefort (day 2)

As promised the sun shone brightly today. We had come to Europe in search of it, and hoped we would have many more days of fine weather ahead of us.

The French love Marge. she's a real conversation starter. The man pitched across from us waves at us everyday, and looks adoringly at Marge. Perhaps it's because Angela told him she was worth fifty euros and not fifty thousand euros. Numbers in French are not her strong point once she gets above forty. She persists with her French conversation though, and  seems to make most people here understand her. Or perhaps they're just being kind to the crazy English lady who wears Christmas socks in September. Each evening the cyclists arrive. This evening one of them speaks perfect English. The man he is travelling with thinks nothing of baring all, dropping his trousers and underwear whilst standing outside his tent. We have spent a quiet relaxing date here at Rochefort.

Visiting the Arsenal in the town and just generally mooching around. The day was topped off by an excellent meal cooked outside on the grill.

Rochefort

This morning didn't start well. Light drizzly rain meant we had to breakfast inside, which is always a little challenging. Then, when John pulled the roof down one of the longer gas struts bent.

Come on. This isn't fair! It's going to be one of those days is it? Our next stop was Rochefort, about an hour away. We know the campsite there is always busy, but Marge being a car with a tent on top and not a campervan or motorhome, meant we should access the site easily. No. The site was full to camper vans. So when the reception opened at two o' clock Angela was first in the queue. Sorry, no space. But we are a car with a tent and do not require a electrical hook up, Angela explained. She showed a picture of Marge, and the young lady seemed to warm to us a little. John took her outside to show her our vehicle. We really need to stay her a couple of nights, Angela exclaimed. Our vehicle needs attention. We were in.  Thankfully, the day had improved. We have stayed at the campsite at Rochefort many, many times whilst cycling.

Early evening as the cyclists began to arrive we felt a little pang of jealousy. Two male cyclists pitched across from us are cycling from St. Malo to Bilbao. One is from Blandford, near to where we live in Poole. John helped him resolve a problem with his tent. By now time was getting on and we decided to heat up a tin of chilli for dinner. Whilst eating, a couple from Australia stopped to talk. They were much travelled, and we enjoyed hearing about their trips. Tomorrow we will sort out a temporary fix for our pop up roof, and spend the rest of the day  catching up on washing and relaxing. The weather forecast is looking good for the next ten days and we are looking forward to the wall to wall sunshine it promises.

Le Bois-Plage-en-Re

Last night the cicadas did what they do best. Make a noise! Although we like to hear them, hidden in nearby greenery, they are not so pleasing on the ear in the middle of the night. Today we'd decided to move further up the island and as space on aires is limited we set off early, stopping along the way at Decathlon to buy bicycle saddles. John, is very fussy about where he places his posterior when cycling, and for him only a Brooks saddle will suffice. the thought of spending twenty five euros on a inferior saddle pained him. So with Angela's saddle chosen, he enquired as to whether there were any old saddles out back. Yes, sir, we have one. Result. It didn't matter how comfortable it was, it was free! By lunchtime we were parked with two French couples. language no barrier we conversed about our front runner folding chairs that folded down so small they were easy to store inside Marge. Then we set off on our much awaited cycle to St. Martin en Re. Angela had loved it here when we visited before and was keen to return.

The town was very busy, but we secured a table at a waterside bakery and bought hot drinks and cakes as a reward for our pedalling. Late afternoon, back at Marge, our legs nor buttocks were complaining. We haven't cycled since mid October last year. An early evening walk along the vast sandy beach, picking up jus a few shells and shards of sea glass along the way ended  the day. Tired and tucked up in Marge we fell asleep to the sound of rain and an onshore wind buffeting the side of the tent.