Another day another dollar, or as they say in these parts, another ay oor o. As you can tell we arrived in France, the journey from Lands End over to Cherbourg was fine, no different from the Stranraer crossing, wave wise!
On entering the port, Cherbourgs streets are laid before us like a huge metropolis, I had imagined it would be around the size of Larne or possible Belfast. Anxiety crept in as I pondered my baptism of driving Helga, on the wrong side of the road, through streets with no names, or at least none that we knew. Thankfully Norman Navigator was with us, yes the trusty, sat nav just sitting there and calmly telling us to turn right at the Rue Charles de Gaul, yes!
Just thought, it might have been better to take pictures at this stage, even though the last batch failed. But sure, just imagine it.
We had told ourselves, that upon disembarking our liner, we would turn right and drive. Was this an omen, all the traffic had to turn left, and with the heavily armed gendarmes looking sullenly on, we went with the flow.
The main plot was to get safely out of the city unto open country roads, cruise past vineyards, smell the bread and garlic in the air, smile at the young smiling maidens throwing flowers at Helga.
We got out of the city, and unto open roads, but that's where the dream ended. No vineyards, no buxom maidens, just road, and lots of it.
We had bought books with details of where to park up, camp sites, Aires, even grassy knolls.
Brilliant, I'll just drive and Norman can guide us. Margaret could even go to bed for an hour! It was dark as we neared our first location, it didn't seem right. Strange places indeed, the French choose to have camping spots, I thought. It was really dark as we turned into or last road. Are you sensing dread yet, dear reader? The road turned into a muddy track down the side of a field with a hedge on one side and a bank on the other. The rain that had drenched the countryside for the past few days had certainly left its mark. I stopped, Margaret I said, this isn't good. I got out with the torch and squelched forward for a couple of hundred yards. Oh dear, we're in trouble. I could not get turned in what was a very muddy dead end. Only one option, reverse out. Several hundred yards, up hill and round corners it had to be. Just as I was beginning one of the sharper corners the nearside front wheel got stuck in the cloying mire that was the grass verge. Try as I might, there was no movement. I pictured us staying the night there, which in itself is no hardship. But, to go and find a French farmer in the morning and ask to borrow a tractor! That was a bridge to far I thought.
Then in a flash of inspiration I'd remembered the anti slip thingies I'd bought just before we came away. Never thought I'd use them, but as they took up so little space........
The issue was resolved, slowly we got back onto the road, our coordinates had been put in right maybe Norman was tired. We'd driven about eighty miles more than we planned so we decided to go further down the road to Le Mans. Another set of numbers given to our nifty colleague hiding in the dash board and away we went.
Le Mans is a big city, but quite quiet at eleven at night
Thank goodness we had the sat nav to guide us safely t our home for the night. Far away from lowing cattle, and further from inches of muck.
"You have arrived at destination bla bla bla", Norman cried in the dark.
Destination my arse I cried in the dark, and Margaret just cried in the dark.
Well not really cried, more yelled and put her face in her hands muttering some new language.
The best thing about a motorhome is the fact that you can get out of your seat, make coffee, have a drink, go to bed, whatever.
We did two of those, and around 02:35 a car stopped and somebody got out. Whoever it was walked round Helga and then drove off again.
Oh my god, this is going to be a long night.
When the first fingers of light were streaking the night sky I got up. Looking out the window I could see the outline of houses and a sign that I couldn't understand. After checking it out the sign stated we were in the farming community of some folk and farmers get up early.
We'd driven one hundred and ninety five miles yesterday, and after a cup of coffee we'd be on our way to drive even more. Well that's what we're here for
Today we'd head for Perpignan, or somewhere along the road that takes our fancy.
Let's hope its not a cow clap infested mud packed lane, that leads to nowhere.
As I sit and write this we're in Spain, we've left our initial navigational blunders behind us.
Or, have we....