Saint-Nazaire, Loire Atlantique

Angela knew it would be raining this morning, so she rose early to prepare Marge for breakfast. Her living space is a little compact. So organisation is key, especially when it comes to cooking inside. Our English neighbours hunkered down in their vans. Perhaps they didn't have far to travel today. The French van owners watched us, walked up and down behind us, and realizing we were watching them, decided to 'bonjour' us. Stare at Marge as much as you like. She's used to it. To be fair Angela stared a little as well. Honestly, don't believe chic is associated with the elderly French. Is a well worn coat, one we would once have called an anorak, joggers with a white stripe down the outside of the leg, and formal black lace up shoes a good look?  Well here, it's definitely a look! Today we drove Marge steadily, which means it takes us a while to arrive at our destination.

A late lunch stop at the Intermarche supermarket in Redon, an ideal place to take refreshment at the cafe bar before picking up a few items from the store. The problem with French supermarkets is they are sometimes they are fascinating, so they become a source of entertainment. Needless to say, by the time we'd lunched, we'd been there quite a while. Keen to be on the Atlantic coast by late afternoon we trundled on. Go Marge, go! The aire at Saint-Nazaire is just above the sea. We stayed here a few years ago in Marge II. Then the vans were allowed in the main, flat car park. Now, an adjacent piece of sloping land is all ours! Whoopee doo. Might be a pain for the larger vans, but our Marge loves a bit of rough, so she's parked in one of the more rugged spots in the aire.

Keen to stretch our legs after the travelling of the last few days we prepared to take a long walk along the beach. Angela using the facilities inside Marge could her John outside conversing with a French lady. Between her French, and his Franglais, she didn't have a clue what they were talking about. As she stepped out of Marge the women began telling Angela something about the monsieur's. Seeing Angela was a little baffled she proceeded to assume a squatting position multiple times whilst repeatedly saying monsieur's. After realizing we were probably a lost cause, she departed with a cheery wave. Angela decided she was either saying, the men squat in the bushes, or to John, don't sqat in the bushes. No fear of that, we have the trusty boxio toilet. Besides us, there are a Dutch couple here, everyone else is French. Say no more!