10 Weeks in a Box - Day 5

Entering the Perigord - 13/07/2007


We awoke the following morning to find the Donkeys had lost interest in us, wandering over to the far side of their field. Fair-weather friends! We quickly fell into our usual routine, Miki out of the Boomobile and painting boats on the water, Kevin lounging about eating breakfast. By way of my defence, can I just say, it takes me a little longer to ease into functioning mode…Anyway, we took our time, eventually packing up and heading off,
lazily following a rural route passing into the Dordogne, which is in the greater area known as the Perigord, on Friday, 13th. Unlucky for some, but not for us, as we found the cheapest diesel so far, and the first branch of Lidl since we left Albir, allowing us to stock up on necessities, like chocolate!
You will hear occasional mention of the retailing marvel that is Lidl throughout this journal. In the UK, it is generally synonymous with the patronage of the “council house” great unwashed, indeed, I even published a poem on the site called Lidl Dreams which says it all! But I must confess, on the road it provides for pretty much all our needs, and here on the continent it is visited by princes and paupers alike.

Early evening found us in a beautiful walled town called Montpazier, known as a “Village D’Art “, according to Miki, and indeed it was aptly so, with craft shops and artisans abounding, and concerts of every style from Celtic folk to John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers. I even saw posters advertising the Russian ballet performing Swan Lake, and an English rendition of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. It felt like the town was bursting with talent! I love to see a town give itself over so completely to this celebration of creativity. There were very few normal shops here, the premises instead given over to antiques, soaps and perfumes, traditional wooden toys,
all beautifully presented. Each was an artistic statement in itself, a way for the owners to make their mark on this colourful and creative town. Indeed, the attitude of the folk here can be summed up by the car park attendant, who, when asked by Miki if it was okay to stick a 7 meter motorhome in the town centre car park, said “yes, no problem, its 2 euros, but pay me when you want, if you stay until tomorrow and go in the morning, then it won’t cost you anything.” What a guy! Vive la France!



Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom

10 Weeks in a Box - Day 4

Tour du Lac - 12/07/2007



The next morning, we wandered the entire circumference of the lake, via a man-made path. In fact, the local authority have created a pleasant little resort, featuring some lakeside chalets, a “pool area” that is part of the lake, with giant water slides, and fishing points dotted all around. It was a nice, peaceful place to spend some time. We were also pleased to find Motorhome facilities here, and I topped up our water supplies, whilst being harangued by some strange, incredibly old yet kindly foreign woman who insisted on smiling at me despite the fact that I maintained I couldn’t understand a word she was saying to me in her friendly, albeit slightly spooky way. Moving ever northwards, we found ourselves arriving at the confluence of two great rivers, The Tarn and the Garonne. Miki was shocked to discover that La Garonne actually originates in Spain, and travels forty kilometres through the Pyrenees before claiming French citizenship. A rare warlike mood overcame her as she threatened to commence hostilities with Spain to claim the offending territory that spawns La Garonne for La France. (Well, I guess people have started wars for less.)

Anyway, we settled down here for the rest of the day (and night) the scenery here being wonderful, and we got the bikes down for the first time on the trip and went for a ride around the lakeshore that the meeting of these two waterways creates. The cycle tracks meandered in and out of the trees, flirting with the shoreline, we persevered for a few kilometres before retracing our steps and heading back. Returning to the Boomobile, we found ourselves under observation by a pack of Donkeys, who wandered languidly over to see who was invading their turf. We remained there in the car park for the night, A nice dinner, some telly, and a chat about the day. Great days indeed, as somebody once said.




17.10.2007 - Afterword
I recently wrote to the office of tourism in Samatan to tell them about this article. I just received a reply, containing their tahnks for the kind words and... ironically... informing me that there has been "a little change" in their camping car area... it is no longer free, but 3€ a day!

Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom

10 Weeks in a Box - Day 3

Childish Cries - 11/07/2007



The next morning we set out on foot up the mountain trail. Wonderful views greeted us, clouds caressing the higher slopes of the mountains that towered above. As we made our way, breathless, up the trail, we began to hear whoops and childish cries of delight echoing down through the forested ravine. Suddenly, a blue blur shot past us through the trees at an alarming rate. Some distance further on we saw the cause of all the commotion.
An all too eager queue of schoolkids were awaiting the dubious honour of being attached to a zipwire and chucked off down the ravine…they were loving it! The trees here were festooned with treetop platforms, rope bridges and zipwires. It was a kid’s dreamland, and they were making the most of it. As we made our way back down, child after child flew past us over the three stages of the wire laughing with glee, a wire which eventually took them all the way down to the river at the bottom of the valley. A fantastic place!
We stopped for a few moments below the zipwire, some metres before it terminated in a treetop protected by boxing-ring style padding, Miki getting some great shots of the kids flying overhead, arms and legs akimbo. (The kids, not Miki)


We left Camping Moudang (for that was its name) that afternoon, and stopped north of the Pyrenees for Miki to paint in a beautiful pastoral setting. With rolling hills and green and golden fields punctuated occasionally by a sleepy village draped across the landscape, it was a perfect source of motifs. Miki perched on her stool at the side of the road, some distance away. Me, bereft of a parking space, gingerly eased the Boomobile onto a soft verge that inadequately protected it from the occasional sales rep achieving terminal velocity at our expense.
Nevertheless, I heroically managed to produce several cups of coffee in the wake of their turbulence.
As I sat in the rear lounge reading a book, I would occasionally glance up to see Miki, deep in concentration, capturing the contrast between the wild mountains and the gentler lower pastures. I smiled, knowing she was in her element.
We left this idyllic source of inspiration in the late afternoon, travelling through Lannemezan and Boulogne (no, not that one) and by the evening, we had come upon the village of Samatan, and a lovely spot to overnight, by a beautiful lake – Luck was with us again! Alas, the only dark cloud on the horizon was the fact that my daughter was not speaking to me. It’s too complicated to get into here, but it saddened me greatly. I know I’d done no wrong, indeed, I’d warned her about the possible problems she had eventually encountered, yet still she blamed me.
I have thought long and hard about it since. I’ve always thought my relationship with my children was pure, untouchable. Perhaps I was being naïve. I imagine I must have caused my own parents similar pain, but it still makes it a bitter pill to swallow.



Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom

10 Weeks in a Box - Day 2

Watching the river flow - 10/072007



The following morning, Miki ventured outside to do some sketches, while I ventured out of bed to grab some breakfast. I can’t start the day on an empty stomach. Come to think of it, I can’t finish the day on an empty stomach either, and therein, I suspect, lays the root of my problem. Still, it’s only been a couple of days since our daily swimming regime was interrupted, so the signs of my decline and fall are barely showing at this stage. Miki returns to the Boomobile with what was to be the first of hundreds of sketches and then, secure in the knowledge that we’d put the best part of 300 kilometres behind us, we made for the Pyrenees, and our third different tunnel through the mountains, Miki believing variety is the spice of life.(Or perhaps she was just lost.)

The inland route we chose was at Miki’s brother’s suggestion, and it allowed us to follow rivers almost continually after leaving the Autovia. Initially, we tracked the Ebre, one of Spain’s biggest rivers, a beautiful turquoise ribbon meandering its way through the heartland. Eventually eschewing the lovely Ebre for the equally scenic Cinca, we moved ever northwards. Some kilometres short of the foothills of the Pyrenees, we pulled over and gazed out over a vast valley through which the Cinca ran. The waters seemed to have reached out and claimed the entire valley basin, hundreds of trees were poking through the surface, with some almost completely submerged, only their uppermost branches showing. Their reflections in the water gave the whole scene an otherworldly quality, and I was reminded of the Florida Mangrove Swamps. Although I know we were in Northern Spain, the sight of so much water amid this arid landscape lent the image an incongruous beauty. We left regretfully and followed the road into the Pyrenees themselves.

Emerging from the comparatively short tunnel, we found ourselves on a beautifully scenic switchback road down the mountainside into the Haute Pyrenees region of France. Just after the village of Fabian, which may or may not have been named after a sixties has-been, we chanced upon a picnic area, that turned out to be some kind of outward bound centre and campsite – and it was free! Spain already a memory, we parked up for the night, and dreamt of the next part of our journey.



Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom

10 weeks in a box - Day 1

Foreword

It has been said, at various times through history, and I’m sure by a wide variety of people, that “It is not the destination, but the Journey.” I find myself, sitting in the comfort of our home here in Southern Spain, wholeheartedly agreeing with the wise soul who first coined this pearl of wisdom. My consensus is no fickle statement, dear reader, for I have not sat, couch potato-like in the comfort of my own home for but one night. No Siree, I, along with my trusty sidekick, co-conspirator and navigator supreme (not to mention my partner) Miki, have been adrift on the roads of Europe for ten fascinating weeks, from the heat of the Costas, to the mists of the Western Isles, and all points in between. The things we have seen, the fun we have had, in our microcosm of home that we call the Boomobile, I describe in gory detail in this weighty tome. But, as the risqué comedian Frankie Howerd might have said, before you delve into our delights, let me have the temerity to leave you with my own twist on that dog-eared phrase; The Journey IS the destination.

July 9th, 2007 : Santa Barbara Bound, and then some.



We finally left the shackles of Albir behind after almost three days of solid preparation, stocking the Boomobile, (the affectionate nom de plume with which we’d christened our motorhome) and scratching our heads trying to remember what we’d forgotten. However, once we’d passed Javea, Albir and home became a distant memory, and our excitement for the enormous trip ahead grew. Miki was doing a good impression of a pinball, bouncing off the walls of the Boomobile with unbridled delight. Forsaking the back roads we normally love in order to get some kilometres under our belt, Miki and I kept faith with the Autovia until well north of Valencia before heading inland and overnighting in a small town called Santa Barbara, a nondescript little village sharing nothing more than its name with the rather more racy American city. Nevertheless, we passed a nice quiet, uneventful night here, complete with our new chains and padlocks to keep the unemployed Romanians out. (Yep, that’s right, Political Correctness is dead and buried right here folks!)
We had resolved to get a reasonably early night, as Miki wanted to do some drawings of the nearby fields and buildings at first light. Sleep came reluctantly, as our minds were buzzing like a child’s on Christmas night, wondering what the coming days had in store for us.



Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom