There was a distinct chilliness in the air this morning and jumpers were donned, but not as chilly as back home where they are chiselling ice off windscreens…….
We left this little quirky campsite, had a quick look at Ruffec and then headed on the N10 southwards towards Angloueme. We decided to top up with fuel and joined a little queue outside a Total Energies station – they’re still the cheapest around at 2.25 euros a litre.
Well, it was glacial. There were about six pumps but four of them were completely redundant as you needed to pay the cashier in the actual shop which was shut – shuttered actually so everyone was queuing at the two ‘pay at the pump’ pumps. The French seem to have no sense of urgency which on one level is a fantastic way of life, but when there’s a long line of cars waiting behind you, you might just think about getting a wiggle on. They leisurely filled up jerry cans, donned fancy gloves to handle the pumps or just sat in their cars doing a receipt inventory or something similar. We must of lost at least 20 minutes of our life at that station. (Could of been worse and had a Tesco Express attached where people suddenly decide that they need to do a whole week’s worth of shopping while they’re there………)
Finally we were back on the road, skirting Angloueme and heading to Brantome. When the kids were small, we met up with an old colleague of mine who had bought a house in the area and spent a week with them. We spent the rest of this journey trying to remember where it was, wracking our brains and on seeing a particular road sign, turning to each other and saying “now that rings a bell”. Nothing jumped out and even Hubby’s unique talent of spotting a roadside grit bin or telephone box and declare “I know where we are” evaded us.
Coffee was calling, so we decided to look out for a layby or an aire to pull into and have a brew in the van. We came across a sign indicating a picnic area and toilets which ticked boxes so we turned off. Imagine our delight that we not only found a picnic area and toilets under the shade of trees, but a cafe which was open too! What a bonus! We went inside and ordered a coffee and a naughty croissant – it was nearly lunchtime -and had a bit of a breather. It was also selling jams, marmalades and locally made beers amongst other things, so we had a little peruse too. What a fabulous little place and we were happy that we had tripped over it.
Suitably refreshed we headed onwards towards Brantome – the countryside undulating and wooded, dotted with fields and little hamlets and houses. It was very pretty and very interesting – our sort of scenery. We called Daughter No.1 and grilled her about our friends house, but as she was only about 7 at the time, she couldn’t bring much more to the table. We dropped into Brantome and gasped – what a beautiful little town with a river through the centre, a chateau and caves in the cliffs beyond. We found an aire with the entrance blocked off, but an exit with a large campervan trying to get out. The owner came up to us and explained that she had lost her receipt with the exit code and was waiting for a man to come and extricate her. She told us that it was 15 euros to park here.
The man arrived in a van and helped the woman escape. I accosted him by asking if he spoke English. Non. Oh dear. I asked him in broken French that I only wanted to park for a couple of hours and he pointed to a sign at knee level and behind the pay machine by the barrier which informed me that I could park for up to 5 hours for 4 euros. Sorted. Bless him, he helped me get a ticket and we found a place to park behind a UK registered motorhome.
We trotted down to the bridge and peered down the river with the chateau at the end – it was beautiful. We then walked down the side of the river past an outside restaurant and around the corner to a wide square. We investigated a couple of little side streets with little shops and tables out front. It felt timeless. It was really lovely and the probably the best town we had visited so far. We wanted a snack, but all the restaurants seemed to be offering full blown meals – we weren’t that hungry. We came across a patisserie and secured a couple of baguettes filled with sausage and salad and sat in the little square overlooking the river to eat them, studying the church with the cliffs and caves directly behind it. Wiping our mouths, we walked along the riverbank back to our Van with the intentions of making a cuppa.
The owners of the British van were back and had a couple of foldaway electric bikes, which Hubby took an instant interest in. We’ve got electric bikes and a trailer for the Pup to sit in back home, but we need a system where the bike rack either drops or swings out so we can access the back without offloading bikes etc. Foldaway bikes were another option so Hubby fell into conversation – it ended up with us chatting to this couple who were Australian, who had come to England to buy this van and gone touring all over Europe in it for the past year. What a fabulous adventure. We must of spent an hour chatting to them and finally with time marching on, we said our goodbyes.
I packed up the kettle and cups when I heard an “oh no” from Hubby. Our retractable step wouldn’t retract and we couldn’t drive off with it stuck out as the Van emitted this high pitched warning sound. The switch wasn’t working for some reason, but you can disable the alarm, and manually push the step in and clip it into place. We headed towards Bergerac, our next resting spot for two days, the landscape becoming quite hilly – long slow climbs with exciting descents on the other side surrounded by woodlands – it was stunning scenery.
We had a discussion about French driving and decided that overall the French were more courteous than British drivers (probably because they have acres of space and there’s less of them). They let you out, they let you in and there’s no last minute mad dash to get in front of you as the road goes from two lanes to one. Except lorry and bus drivers. We were climbing a long steady hill with two lanes – the inside one for the heavy lumbering vehicle. We were doing the speed limit but were still being hassled by a lorry and then a bus which both overtook us and pulled away, overtaking other cars too. One lorry we were following, decided to overtake on a single carriageway and just managed to pull in again as an oncoming car came round the corner. Bonkers!
We called into two camping van accessory shops along the way to Bergerac to see if they could help with our truculent step, but neither of them could help us, so we arrived at Bergerac around 6.30 finding our municipal camping site on the banks of the Dordogne. We were tired and weary and found ourselves with no barrier code and the reception firmly shut. I went to have a look to see if I could find someone to help, but another motorhome had pulled in behind us and he was a fellow Brit. He leaned out of his window and shouted the code, which I punched into the keypad and we were in – to show our thanks and as he was a solo traveller, I put the code in for him too. I will go to heaven.
The campsite was completely under trees and the ground hard, dry and dusty with a covering of autumnal leaves. We found a spot overlooking the river and hoped the Pup wouldn’t make a beeline for the water. We took a deep breath, wiggled the step out and set up home. We lounged in the Van with the side door open as it was now quite cool (the sun never really came out today) and finally shut it. We’re here for two nights, so a wander into Bergerac tomorrow and then onto a place called Rocamadour that the Australians told us that we shouldn’t miss, so we booked the Van into the campsite there. The we snuggled down to watch Celebrity Traitors before heading to bed.
We never did find our friends’ house – we have no contact details, no Facebook or Instagram accounts for them (we write to each other once a year at Christmas) so we couldn’t ping them a message, but we had fun recounting our holiday with them! Happy days.
