The next morning, we went out on the bikes to explore the village of Cleres, and more importantly, to get some bread. It was a Sunday, so we thought we should get out early to the boulangerie. Leaning our bikes against the railings that stop drunks falling in the picturesque stream that meanders through the streets, we were greeted with a sight I’ve only seen on TV reports from communist Russia….people queuing for bread! Our hunger winning out over our non-conformist instincts, Miki and I gritted our teeth and joined the masses to wait for our daily bread. It was so nice, we ate it all before we got back to the Boomobile and had to call in at the shop again for some more!
The village of Cleres has a Zoological park, and the council have provided many parking spaces along the main road to accommodate visitors. We took the bikes along its perimeter, surprised at the amount of visitors it was attracting, if the number of cars was any kind of measure. We headed out on the gently undulating country road, and it soon became apparent that Miki was lagging behind. Now, knowing that in the athleticism department, Miki can trounce me, no problem, I realised she was having a problem with the bike. Mine was a gift from my dear, late friend, drummer Keith Webb, Miki’s an altogether more flash piece of kit, had some advanced form of disc brake on the front. So advanced was this stunning piece of technology that it had evolved a mind of its own, and seemed intent on braking when Miki was struggling to get the bike uphill!
We cut our ride prematurely short, before Miki suffered a stroke, and headed back to Cleres, taking time to wander around the old Churchyard on the way.
Cleres is a pretty little place, and it’s truly wonderful that the council haven’t adopted the money-grabbing approach, and allow Motorhomes to use power from the village grid, as well as top up their water at no charge. There are great sport facilities here too, a small football stadium, and some tennis courts. They have given great thought here as to how to attract the tourist, and the well-kept and generous motorhome area, here since 1998, is a testament to that. I hope the village reaps the benefits from this great welcome it offers. A gold star to Cleres!
Leaving Cleres, we made a bee-line for the coast, accompanied by rain, rain, and more rain. The sky became an ominous grey. We finally sighted the sea at a small resort called Quiberville. It was a grotesque parody of a cheap English seaside town, and my heart sank. It was almost as though the kiss me quick, stick of rock council house holiday mentality had seeped across the channel like an Exxon oil spill, contaminating everything it touched. It took an effort of will to focus on the good things we were going to England and Scotland to see.
I was genuinely shocked to see this kind of place in France, but that’s the Global Village for you. A McDonalds on every corner and a snotty nosed kid with an Ice Cream in your face.
We followed the coast as closely as we could, entering the outskirts of Dieppe, as Miki had indentified another rest stop with free electricity! We found it, after much hand wringing and roundabout-negotiating, but it was hardly worth the search. To be fair, it’s great that the town provide these facilities, but with nearly thirty motorhomes parked here in military precision, and only four power outlets, it was always going to end in tears. Like so many giant white battery hens, shooed into our pens for the night, and what now seem to be the obligatory obese motorhome owners lolling around in their “Captains Chairs” we felt the only plus for the place was the electricity, and, as all the sockets were in use, we had lunch and beat a hasty retreat. Call us snobs, but staying there was like joining a council estate on wheels.
We scoured the surrounding villages looking for a suitable spot for the night. “Too quiet” said Miki, “Too noisy” said Miki “Too much!” said Kev… but we took a collective deep breath and found a spot in a little village called Martigny near some nice bungalows. Now this is where the “snob” situation goes into reverse…people look out of their windows and see us set up across the road. “Oooh, Jacques, look at that terrible camping car stuck outside Notre Maison, call the gendarmerie!”
Well, it looked like Jacques, following a haranguing from the missus, did just that. We were tucked up in bed around midnight, watching Millenium, when we heard a car pull up outside. I took an executive decision and sent Miki down to have a look. “It’s the police!” she said, with measured hysteria. We watched. We waited. Suffice to say, they left their vehicle, went off, presumably to find out the nature of the complaint, decided there was no case to answer, came back, and drove off. It’s quite clear they were called out in response to our appearance. But I must take this opportunity to commend the local Gendarmerie for applying good common sense. Had we caused a disturbance? No. Had we parked illegally? No. Were we blocking the road? No. Did we deserve to be interrupted during a particularly fraught investigation for FBI Man Frank Black? Of course not. So we were left alone. Marvellous. Liberty! Fraternity! And…er..the other one!
Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom
No comments:
Post a Comment