Moissac, France

Why do they always park next to us? T.V. on until eleven-thirty. Then rearrange the interior of the van. Leave van at thirty minute intervals to smoke right next to us. We have a roof tent, in case you hadn't noticed! This morning John asked the Dutch lady not too smoke so near to us. Her response. basically do one. Fortunately, soon after they left. The husband looking a little sheepish. In the community centre adjacent this morning a ladies exercise class. One lady outside managed to smoke a king size cigarette in record time before entering the building. At least her lungs were warmed up ready. Each day we hope the weather will be kind. Yesterday morning shorts. This morning long trousers.

We didn't set off until late morning, after walking into town to buy a baguette and taking yet another look around streets familiar to the local people, but interesting to us. It was cool and misty. As we drove church steeples stood ghost like amongst villages we knew were there but could not see. Today was supposed to be 22 c and sunny. We hadn't signed up for this. However by the time we arrived at Moissac, the murk had cleared and the sun burst forth. 22c and sunny.

As forecast. As with all the other towns and villages we have visited recently, we have course been here. Twice before in fact. Moissac is a UNESCO site.

The abbey with its striking carvings as you enter, a stopping off point for pilgrims walking the Way of Saint James, of which there were a few today. A walk around town and the charming canal side, stopping in the Street of Artists to watch a glass blower at work.

We'd have loved to purchase a couple of items from the shop, but were worried they may not survive the journey back home. Once again the French dominate. Around seven a man from Belgium arrived and parked in the bay next to us. Oh God. He has a satellite receiver for his television. Not again please. We were O.K. though. He greeted us by waving a cuddly Scottish highland 'Coo' he'd bought whilst travelling in Scotland. As you do. Angela tactfully mentioned last nights Dutch couple, and it soon became apparent we had nothing to worry about.  The Aire here is on the site of the old public swimming baths. Let's hope they filled in the pool beneath us properly, or it'll be 'goodnight Vienna' for us and Marge!

Visiting Glaswegian vessel in town.

Grisolles

Why would you need a fire exit sign on the inside of your motorhome door? We'll leave that one with you. After two nights of respite from Marge's 'issues', it was time to once again set off, but not far, just a few miles along the canal to Grisolles. The young couple opposite seemed sad we were leaving. We stopped packing up to talk to them for a while. It seems they have lived in their big old Hymer van for a year and a half now. Can you imagine. Two adults and two young children all housed in such a small space? Her family lived over Avignon way, and they had friends in Toulouse. She was a tatoo artist, probably a give away as she was adorned in quite a few herself. At the moment the husband was unemployed. Their circumstances financially weren't great, but a lady in Grisolles, of all places, had agreed to perhaps allow them to rent a property from her. They seemed such a nice family, we hope everything works out for them. They waved frantically as we drove off, but not before gifting us two slices of chocolate chip cheesecake. Well Angela wasn't going to refuse that.  Our first stop, Norauto of course. We couldn't leave Toulouse without ensuring Marge had a large container of coolant onboard. John is convinced she'll be O.K. now, as long as we go slow and steady. Do you hear that Marge?

Grisolles is a small town that sits alongside the Canal Lateral de la Garonne. The Aire is just near the road bridge that crosses into the town, right by a picnic area we stopped to lunch at many years ago. This Aire is free. 'Freemans' as Angela's father would say. Why? We're not sure. More and more of the Aires in popular areas are becoming payable. We think that maybe they are being taken on by private companies, instead of being run by the municipality. Because we are still relatively close to Toulouse, and the Aire is free it is busy. We arrived early afternoon and took a spot really more suitable for a larger motorhome. But hey, the early bird catches the worm. and in Marge's case, the early bird catches the rays. After being on the campsite at Toulouse with not much sun for two days, and no electrical hook up, and only driving a short distance today, our leisure battery needed a top up, from solar. As the vans began to arrive we soon realised we would be outnumbered by the French. Besides us, there is a Dutch and Spanish van.

The Spanish camouflaged in zebra print probably should have been on safari. Late afternoon, yet another huge French van arrived. Out jumps madame, stands at the rear nearside and with a limp wrist waves her hand about. And that signal means what exactly what? Monsieur, as they always do, ignored his wife. There was a reversing camera on the rear of the van, and we thought he just let her feel useful by helping out. When the van didn't stop reversing when she wanted it to, she tried to push the van forward. Excellent! We have seen this scenario unfold time after time, and wonder how many of these woman end up in hospital, or worse. Next, as we expected, the  television aerial goes up, then the husband cleans the windscreen. Job done, step inside van and close door until the morning.

As for us, well a walk into town this afternoon.

Then an evening walk alongside the canal. We're just simple folk, with simple needs.

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.