Camping Le Rupe, Tolouse (Day 2)

This morning we cancelled Marge's planned surgery for Thursday. After a restless night John wasn't convinced that fitting a new thermostat when she seemed to be running a lot better now, was the right thing to do. Angela had been a little unsure about the procedure. He was a very nice helpful man, but there was something that worried her, John felt the same, worried that changing the thermostat might accidently cause more damage. Damage that would probably be costly to repair. So we're going to risk everything will be O.K. Take the advice given to us and drive Marge only two hours a day, at no more than 50 mph. The forecast today was for warm, but windy weather, with the risk of showers. So we abandoned the idea of cycling to Norauto to buy coolant, and decided to take the bus and metro into the centre of Toulouse. Opposite us on the campsite are a young family. Dad is German, mum is French. They too were heading into town, so we tagged along behind them to the nearby bus stop to ensure we caught the right bus and boarded the right train. We'd mastered the bus and tram travelling in Bordeaux, and now it was time to try the bus and underground train.

With the help of the family, instructing us like a couple who needed, care at our ripe old ages, we made it. All we had to do now was remember how to return back to the campsite. We consider  Toulouse to be a city of two parts. The Toulouse where smart apartments overlook bustling streets of expensive retail outlets and restaurants, and the idyll of the live aboard Dutch barges that are moored for miles along the canal. Then there is the Toulouse that a lot of visitors don't see, but we have, because we've cycled the canal here a few times. Tarpaulin city, is how Angela describes it. Tents, and make shift shelters in amongst the trees and under the road bridges. Where disused pallets provide platforms to fend off the wet and cold that creeps into your bones from the ground below. Where, if you're lucky a supermarket shopping trolley houses your worldly goods. We remember the very first time we came to Toulouse and how saddened we were to witness how these people lived. We can't imagine what it must be like, and how unsafe it probably is. 

Today though we were tourists, here to take in the sights, visiting convents and chapels, crossing bridges, window shopping and lunching at a Vietnamese street food restaurant where we ate the best meal out so far on this trip.

As one of our grandsons would say, 'it was delicious'. Tomorrow we will set off again, travelling just an hour up the road. As always we will have everything crossed that Marge hangs in there. 

Camping Le Rupe, Tolouse

It was late when we arrived at the Aire last night and we weren't sure if it was a suitable stop. But sometimes first impressions are wrong and by this morning we realised everyone was O.K. and friendly. We didn't plan to drive too far today and as we were heading in the direction of Toulouse John wanted to stop off at BRR, a Land Rover restorers. Then we would book onto Camping le Rupe, a campsite alongside that canal that we have stayed at twice before whilst cycling. Marge is draining us mentally and physically. Everyday revolves around her. Is there no end to your woes Marge? As we drove through a patchwork of freshly ploughed fields we spotted two deer sat among the clods of earth 'catching some rays'.

The yellowing canopy of the plane trees screened us from the morning sun. the weather today seemed to be looking good. The man at BRR gave Marge the once over. He seemed confident that her engine may not be damaged, and if it was, it was probably not as bad as we thought yesterday.

We have booked her in with him on Thursday to fit a new thermostat. This evening many people, including ourselves sat outside to eat. Short sleeves and shorts the dress code. Tomorrow's temperature is set to rise to 27 c. We will probably allow Marge a rest day tomorrow and cycle up to Norauto to buy ten litres of coolant ready for her procedure on Thursday. Honestly Marge, you need to cut back on this stuff.

Salles sur l'Hers

Yesterday evening Mr & Mrs Orange went out for a meal with some friends who arrived on the Aire in a large motorhome. Not a splash of orange on it. Mr Orange gave Marge a look of contempt as he walked by. Obviously didn't like Marge flashing him her orange wheel arches. Oh, for the record we have an en-suite inside our vehicle. Bet you have an orange porta-potti in you outhouse tent. By the way nice orange cups in the holders on your dashboard, and just hate that orange gonk, but the orange flowers strewn across the bottom of your windscreen aren't too bad. At this point we must confess. John is wearing an orange T-shirt. His cup, bowl and plate are orange. Marge has orange trim on the outside, and all her wooden interior is orange. And he bought an orange walking jacket just after buying Marge. Let's say no more about orange shall we! This morning dawned in a mizzle. Great. John contacted a Land Rover restorer, in Toulouse to see if they had a viscose fan that would suit Marge. No. But the very helpful gentleman telephoned another Land Rover mechanic just near to us to see if he could help. Yes. He'd take a look at Marge.

Upon arriving at his one man garage, where he restored classic Land Rovers and Range Rovers, we were told Marge's problem wasn't the fan. O.K. What's wrong with her then? We'd have to wait until after lunch, two o' clock here, to find out. Marge being 'hot totty', needed to cool down before he could handle her. After biding our time whilst the man took his lunch break we parked by a pretty church that sat across from the garage. It was decided that Marge's thermostat should be disabled by drilling a whole into it. Her radiator was cool when we arrived, and it should have been hot, which pointed to the coolant not accessing all areas of her coolant system. So began the dismantling of rubber hoses. Coolant ran out like a river of blood out under Marge.

Good job we had a full container to replace it with us. The man at the garage spoke very good English, which we were very grateful about. A lot of swearing in French and Marge's rubber hoses were reconnected. After a test drive we were wished 'good luck' with our onward journey. Our onward journey now meaning driving back to Toulouse, then Bordeaux and then up to Cherbourg. With the words cylinder head gasket and cylinder head ringing in our ears we set off, worried. The repair Marge needs is costly, and we just hope she will hang in there now until we return home. To think around ten days ago we'd be able to drive her over the Pyrenees. Angela felt sad. This trip had been jinxed. The thought of just seeing the flamingos in the lagoons a few hours drive away, and then a couple of nights in Avignon, where we'd stayed last year after Angela had her cycling accident was going to be enough for her to save this trip. Obviously Marge didn't agree. We still have just over three weeks of our holiday, if you can call it that left. We have the same amount of miles to cover whether we rush back to Cherbourg or not. So Angela thinks we should try and make the best of a bad deal and take it slow. Perhaps revisiting Bordeaux and the Ile de Re, La Rochelle, Nantes and other places we enjoy visiting. As for the weather, well, it is what it is. We ask one favour of you Marge. Please hang in there until we arrive home. 

Carcassonne, France

This morning the sun filtered through the trees. Leaves of yellow and russet quivered in the breeze from the mistral which in turned chased clouds across the open fields. Shuttered windows of peeling paint, only adding to their charm, opened. Yesterday evening when we arrived at the canal, an elderly local gentleman asked John to sit beside him on the bench seat in front of Marge, exclaiming in French, that we understood, that the view was nice. We couldn't disagree. language is no barrier we've discovered on our travels. John and the man both sat and took in the scene unfolding before them. This was 'real' France. This was the France we loved. This was the France we had cycled many times. Words were not required to enjoy this moment.

A young magpie joined us for breakfast. We couldn't decide if it didn't really know how to fend for itself or not. Its behaviour was most peculiar. It was more interested in pecking at all things plastic, than the crumbs we offered it. It found Angela's notepad particularly tasty. Enough was enough! She's very protective of her words of wisdom and it was shooed away. Mid morning we left the magpie pecking away at the plastic roof vent on the motorhome next to us. Perhaps it was on a mission to make us aware of the harm single use plastics can make. We were only going a short distance today, around an hour to Carcassonne. The sun made a weak attempt to break through as we drove past fields of corduroy. The crops now harvested, the dry arid thirsty soil was churned by the farmers plough in readiness for the planting of a new crop. Although it was Sunday, and normally a good day to travel in France, we were tired and decided Carcassonne would be far enough today. We have stayed on the aire here before.

Two spaces away from Marge is an English VW transporter van in grey and orange. Alongside a toilet tent in grey and orange. The man who owns it is wearing a orange hoody and orange crocs, Come on. Now you're taking it all just a little too far.  A walk along the river and up to 'the citi' for lunch was all we had planned for today. Too many days now have been taken up with Marge's woes. Looking back yesterday evening at photographs from the first ten days of our holiday, we desperately wanted those times back again. Carefree and happy. No worries. The day has been cold. In contrast to yesterday, when it was a shorts and T-shirt afternoon, today was long trousers, jackets and scarves. At least it was dry, and we were able to enjoy our walk around the city.

The medieval city of  Carcassonne is a real tourist trap. We are in cassoulet country, and a lot of shops here were selling it.

 Buy two tins and get the earthen wear dish to cook it in free. When we buy cassoulet in the supermarket we don't skimp, always happy to pay for the more expensive tin with nicer ingredients. More importantly for a nicer Toulousain sausage to be in the tin. There was no guarantee that the tins being sold with the dish would be of that quality. We were in a tourist trap remember, the sausage was probably going to be one of those hot dog types made from some kind of slurry. Too late. Twenty-two euros paid, we'd been reeled in. We're sure the meat products will be of the highest quality! Perhaps we should have consulted trip advisor before purchasing? The earthen wear dish is nice though.

We took a quick walk out this evening to see the city lit up by floodlights.

Port du Segala, France

O.K. Marge, what are your plans for today? It would be quite considerate of you if you didn't play up, you're starting to put a real damper on our holiday. Last night it was cold. Even Angela was cold, which is unusual. We sympathised with the French couple who'd spent the night in a small tent who were now wrapped in all their warm clothes cooking breakfast on a nearby bench table. Poor sods. Too think we have also camped out in France at this time of the year, for fun. John cooked a mushroom omelette, but hey, what are the French preparing. Oh, a vegetable omelette. Who eats courgette for breakfast? We made a decision to carry on driving south. John was confidant all would be alright. Hear that Marge! We really wanted to return to the Med and see the pink flamingo's. We have twenty six days of our holiday left, and need to make everyday now count. Time to stand up to Marge, and tell her we wont tolerate anymore of her antics. We needed to choose our onward route very carefully. No more hills.

So we trundled slowly along quieter roads to the outskirts of Toulouse where we had planned to stop at yet another Norauto store to purchase coolant, hose clips and a 8 mm socket. Just in case. The weather is warmer again now. This afternoon a comfortable 22 c. A cloudless seamless blue sky lifted our spirits. If it wasn't for the deep red of the Virginia creepers and a pallet of yellows, browns and pale greens from the  autumn trees, you'd think it was still summer. The drive around the Toulouse ring road was a little stressful, and we were glad it was a Saturday. In the distance we could see the mountains of the Pyrenees, Blue and mysterious. Don't worry Marge we're not going over them. From now on, we'll be checking the contour lines on the map before we set off.

Tonight's stop is right beside the Canal du Midi. It is idyllic, but spoilt by boy racers driving a circuit in their 'fart' cars. It's Saturday night, and we always try to be away from large towns and cities to avoid just this. But it seems these days, there is no hiding place from these idiots. Behind Marge ruins the cycle path. We of course have cycled it in the past when we set off from St. Malo on the north coast to Narbonne. There are two French motorhomes here with us. Both have had their windscreens washed since arriving. Sorry Marge it wouldn't be good for your image not to be rough and dirty in appearance. This evening we prepared for the cold. Changing to our thicker feather duvet. Early evening the temperature was 18 c. We'll probably be 'roasting' tonight, as the Scots would say.