Saturday 26th October

You seriously have to wonder about people’s design skills. This morning’s showers. Great hot water, could adjust the pressure and temperature. The nossle is unadjustable and really high up but it was ok. The drain however is outside the cubicle! All the water runs out of the shower area, across the dressing area and under the door to the drain. Don’t put anything on the floor, even your shoes.

Nowhere nearby to watch the rugby so we’re left with score updates online. Kind of glad we weren’t in a bar somewhere as it turned out. Would have been a very depressing start to the day. England thumped us, 19 – 7.

We’re going to Portugal today and it’s an hour behind Spain timewise so put the clocks back. Then daylight saving ends tonight so put the clocks back again. In just over 12 hours we gain 2. This means sunrise, which this morning was 9am will be 7am tomorrow – great! Downside is sunset which was 7.40 will be 5.40. But as we head south we should get slightly longer hours of daylight.

In crossing the Minho River, we entered Portugal. Not much seems different. Diesel prices leap 20 cents but we’d expected that and filled up shortly before we left Spain. And of course the time. Our stomachs still want lunch at what would have been 2pm. We hold off 30 minutes and go for a walk along a beach. It’s fine white sand but the water is freezing. It’s that Atlantic water again. It’s really rough waves too so Greg decides not to go for a swim. Maybe later, further south.

I am a flawed person. Haha, I can hear you thinking, you’ve only just realised that! Anyhow we’re sitting here, just finished lunch. And I have a little start, ‘must get up, clean up, things to do….’ I have to physically restrain myself and tell myself. No, just relax, enjoy the moment, there is nothing urgent that needs doing. Remind myself that I am on holiday.

We do eventually move on. The aire I’ve picked for tonight is at a little town called Esposende. It’s alongside the local bus terminal and has free wifi, water and dumps. We park and go for a walk through the town and along its esplanade, one way and then the other. It’s not an old town and is a bit run down but the esplanade is nice. There is a peninsula protecting the town from the wild Atlantic sea so there is a marina and lots of fishing boats.

We stop at a bar and celebrate our first day in Portugal, another new country for us both. I think I’m ordering a glass of Rose but it turns out to be a small bottle (370 ml). Oh well, it’s not expensive, same price as 2 schooners of beer for Greg. The sun is setting and life is good.

27th October

We gained an hour overnight with daylight saving ending. It’s so much easier getting going in the morning when it’s daylight.

We drive to Porto and park at an aire alongside the river Douro. There are about 20 campers here already but it’s a large space and is only about half full. We lock up and 15 – 20 minutes walk along the boardwalk sees us reach the area called Villa Nova da Gaia where the port producing companies all have ‘Lodges’ with sampling and bottles for sale. It’s Sunday so most are closed, possibly not a bad thing haha. The river edge is dotted with barcas rabelos, traditional boats used to ferry the port down river. We have coffee then cross the lower level of Ponte de Dom Luís I, an amazing single arch iron bridge.

The other side is an area called Ribeira and it’s a UNESCO site. It is totally beguiling. Steep river banks with tall, narrow medieval buildings crouching on narrow cobblestoned lanes and stairways, painted or tiled in the ochre autumn tones with ornate balconies. There are tourists, even heard English spoken, though often as the common language between waiter and diner, vendor and buyer. But it’s kept real by the washing hanging overhead, the elderly women chatting to neighbours and the neglected ruins, weeds taking over. There are market stalls along the river front selling aprons and tablecloths plus bags, belts, shoes, jewellery made from cork. Apparently cork moulds and acts like leather. It’s also waterproof. On the way back to the van I succumbed and purchased a small bag. Hey, it’s even Vegan.

We wandered up and down just about every lane and went to the Igreja de Sao Francisco. The outside is austere but inside it is completely covered in baroque decoration. Intricately carved cherubs, trees, saints and monks all then coated in nearly 100kg of gold leaf. It overwhelms you, just too much. Eventually we just look at small areas at a time and move our way around. As we leave we reflect again on the wealth and power accumulated by religions.

We make our way back down to the river and find a restaurant for lunch. There are lots and lots to choose from. Do we want a alleyway/lane little place, some with upstairs dining, open windows with wrought iron balustrades? Do we want river side piazza with large umbrellas? We settle on a narrow terrace looking down on the piazzas, the river and the street entertainers on the esplanade. The restaurant building clad in yellow ceramic tiles with a flower pattern on each one. Since we’ve arrived in Portugal we’ve noticed and commented on the many tiled houses and shops. Not something we’ve seen anywhere else.

Greg asks me to pinch him. It’s one of those moments as we enjoy a very leisurely long lunch. The table on one side changes three times while we’re there. The table on the other side doesn’t. We had been thinking of moving onto a beach for the night but decide we’ll just stay here. Take our time, take some evening photos, this place is magic. I order a port, Greg orders coffee. We relax and watch the street performers below. In one direction is a man with a large hoop. He starts his act in a handstand on the edge of the esplanade, a sheer drop down to the river. He drops himself over the edge so all you see are his fingers before pulling himself up and uses the ring to circle around himself, over himself and himself around on it. The other direction is a group of breakdancers.

We then walk back towards the bridge and up a stepped lane to access the upper level of the bridge. When we get to the top the city stretches out before us, getting progressively newer as it heads to the horizon. There are a lot of cranes, the economy here must be doing okay. We cross back over the river on the upper level of the bridge, stopping often to admire the view and the river activity. There are scenic boats doing a circuit around the bridges. From here we can see three more upstream and we know there is the one we’ve parked by downstream. They are all very high above the water, crossing from cliff top to cliff top.

We return to the van and move it to a quieter spot at the back. When the sun goes down we walk back up river so Greg can take some night photos with all the lights on. The Port Lodge side is all neon lights with a ferris wheel but the old side is more subdued, individual lights reflecting in the river. The bridge is lit across the top and the trams crossing over create a twinkling effect. Back to the van for dinner and when we get into bed at 10 it feels like midnight.

28th October

We head south to the town of Luso and the neighbouring National Park of Bussaco. The park was originally created between 1620 and 1700 by an order of barefoot Carmelite nuns emulating the desert life of early times. Their order is one of the first, tracing it’s roots back to Mount Carmel in biblical Palestine. Because of this history, they planted trees like Cedar, a biblical tree but they also have trees from all over the world and financial crops like cork. They also created the ‘Sacred Mount’ a series of 20 small mosaic clad buildings each containing statues and images detailing Christ’s route to the cross. The path starts below the convent and winds it’s way up to the highest point. There are also other buildings, chapels and hermitages dotted over the land. In the 19th century a place was built along side the convent, presumably no longer used by then and it is now a grand upmarket hotel. It is baroque style, so unbelievably ornate.

We park in Lusa, by a spring where locals are filling up 5 litre bottles with the water. They pull in in their cars and carry about 20 bottles down to the spring, fill them all,and carry them two by two back to their cars. We pick up a map for the park in the tourist centre, but quickly find that the white paths on the paper don’t totally relate to the actual paths in the forest. And it is dense bush, you can’t see if there is an intersection up ahead or another path close by. There are signposts on a few intersections but the minute you start down a path it will divide with no markings. We get lost multiple times, surprising ourselves when we step out of the bush beside the convent or the palace or a parking area (twice). We end up exploring more than we planned but thats okay.

It was definitely interesting to be in dense bush and then suddenly there is this 12 flight duel staircase with a creek cascading down waterfalls and ponds in the middle. Each landing had a pond with a different feature and stone seats. Once it must have had flowers and fish and been manicured, now the seats are mossy green and the pools edged in ferns. A small sign at the bottom said it was built by the Count and Contessa in 1700’s. I’m thinking the nuns had gone by then, but it’s hard to find information on it all.

We see most, but not all of the Stations of the Cross, including Pontius Pilate’s balcony. Peering in the windowed doors to see the images shown. There has been a lot of work gone into these.

It gets me thinking about religion and beliefs. I can totally respect these nuns who chose to live a simple, barefoot life. Dedicating their time to planting trees and other plants. Jesus, who was a Jew, tore down the temple, calling them money lenders. It advocated a simple life of respect and morals. Buddha, who was a Hindu, also denounced the temples and advocated a simple life. Mohammed went further and said, do not worship my image. They worship his name instead.

The core of every religion is Respect, for oneself and others, Truth, be true to oneself and others and Faith, trust in yourself and others. People go to church for the sense of community and belonging. But the church itself doesn’t always hold to those same ideals. The Catholic Church did a very powerful thing when they conceded all their land in Italy for the right to build churches and preach free of control wherever they wanted. Who needs to own the land when you own the man. And that old saying… power corrupts but absolute power corrupts absolutely.

We eventually go back to our van for a belated lunch and move on to a aire by a beach. The country we are driving through is poor, the roads bad, entire neighbourhoods abandoned. Random industrial sized chimneys in weedy fields.

Unfortunately it starts raining just after we arrive at the aire, actually a few minutes into our walk along the sand so we get wet. There is this strange smoky smelling misty cloud all around us, visibility is low and hazy. The sea is violent, waves crashing against each other before they reach the beach.

Definitely getting into deep conversation tonight. Greg reflects that if the young generation is leaving the farms for the cities and white collar jobs, who will grow the food they all need. My response is, maybe they are leaving because large companies with big machinery can farm cheaper than the small holders. The issue then is that food prices are then being set by market influences rather than production costs. But the core is still the loss of knowledge of basic living necessities, like how to grow food. It seems there is a generation that don’t even know how to cook. Or sew or build or repair or even clean. Not to mention parent. All these things are purchased for one’s convenience. The fundamental point of existence becoming generating income. Do people not remember the consumer economy was created after WW2 to stop a second Great Depression. It is not real.

Tuesday 22nd October

We go for a morning walk to the nearby river and clamber down a muddy bank to a rocky spur. There is dead, dehydrated River Monster on the edge of the water. It’s easily over 4 foot. Greg says they can grow huge. This ones big enough. It’s head is the size of a football. A bit further along Greg spots a fishing rod. Fully intact with a fly on the end. There is no one around. The fly has quite a bit of weed entangled in it so maybe it’s come downstream. We decide to take it back up to the road and leave it by the corner of the bridge. Someone will found it and likely puzzle how it got there but just maybe it will find it’s way back home.

We hit the road. Long drive but we make it to Spain for lunch, a very late lunch but nevertheless.

We are in a new country. And it’s a country we haven’t been to before. Which is really neat. Pity it’s raining, and cold.

We stay the night in the hills above San Sabastian. We’re joined by Dutch and French campers, but no Spanish. Various other motorhomes come and go to use the services. No one goes outside unless they have too.

23rd October

The rain has passed overnight but is expected to return. We set course along the coast. It’s a bit like driving into Wellington. The road built out over the sea, high hillsides on the other side.

We stop in a small town and test out our Spanish to buy coffee. No problem. Use it again to buy diesel. €1.249. Cheapest we’ve got for months and months. Later on we spot it at €1.139!

The architecture is confusing. There are wooden Swiss style chalets and 5 to 6 story apartments like we were seeing in Italy. Also like in Italy there is a over abundance of traffic signs. Every bend has 2 ‘No overtaking’ signs and after every bend is 2 signs cancelling it, even though the next bend is only metres away. It has its own sets of signs. We’re making a concerted effort to obey the road rules, mostly that’s motorhomes travel 10km below the stated speed limit. Greg finds it frustrating and we continually being overtaken by buses. According to the law, they should be driving even slower than us.

It’s that ‘New country, learn the ways’ stage which we haven’t had for a while. Europe love their roundabouts but every country treats them slightly different. France has sliplanes bypassing the actual roundabout. England has lights on the bigger ones. Sometimes they’re absolutely huge, other times it just a small white painted circle.

And adding to the drama of driving, the GPS is 5 years out of date. Twice today already we’ve been on long sections of roads that it didn’t know about, not to mention where we stopped for coffee, the town has doubled in size. New subdivisions, roads etc.

The spot we’re staying at tonight at the back of an Elephant Sanctuary, we can see them through the fence. They are African, surprisingly and in a huge enclosure with water buffalo and some sort of antelope. There are gondolas looping over the valleys so visitors can observe the animals in a unique way. Google tells us that Cabarceno Natural Park has nearly 120 species and except for feeding them they are left to do their own thing, fighting, mating. I assume they have separated the meat eaters though. The rain has come back typically but Greg gets out with his new lens. A good opportunity to practice, experiment before we hit Africa and the animals in the wild. There is an elephant by the water hole with a sore, swollen leg. It must be really bad because it is hopping any time it wants to move. The other elephants have all gone down to the barn where it looks like a couple of men are putting out food. I’m surprised it been allowed to go so far away but I trust they know what they are doing.

24th October

We go for a morning walk to see how the elephant is doing. The other elephants have obviously just been let out of their enclosure. Three, two adults and one young, are racing up the slope towards the injured one. It is hopping rapidly away. They finally get close by the back fence. There is lots of ‘talking’ the injured one clearly doesn’t want to be approached. One elephant in particular keeps trying to reach out with its trunk but the injured one turns its back. Eventually the three move away a bit where they are joined by a forth. The injured one keeps its back to them. The rest of the elephants just hang around the water hole. There are 12 in total, two real young and one about half sized. I’m so keen to get to Africa, even more than ever.

Tim and Dow are flying to Turkey today for a couple of weeks then on to India. I’m envious but also content. They are the Rabbit, taking great bounds from place to place and seeing exciting things. We are the Turtle, plodding along and viewing the world around us. We’ll be like the Rabbit when we get to Africa.

First stop is a supermarket. Takes us way too long. We don’t know where to find anything so end up walking every aisle, some more than once.

We drive into the Europa mountains. They are abruptly steep, their tops bare rock. There are little settlements in the valleys, lots of the houses have unusual small buildings on concrete plinths in front or beside the house. We figure they were a sort of storage. Reminds me of the Maori pataka. They’ve clearly had a lot of rain here, the rivers are all high. We pass a couple of fords, closed off with tape or farm machinery parked across the access. There is the sound of cow bells echoing over the valleys. It’s quite dense trees and bush so you can’t see them at all.

We are heading to Covadonga Basílica. It was on a list of different things to see in Spain. As we started up the valley we passed vast parking areas, all empty. Obviously they get lots of people here but not today. This must be more than just another Cathedral. We continue going all the way up and park one car back from the actual cathedral.

The entire area is a shrine. First off, there is a holy cave with an image of ‘Our lady of Covadonga’. It was shown to the future King, Pelayo sometime before 711AD. He was instrumental in the Reconquest of Spain in 718 (I need to learn some Spanish history now). His tomb is there along with his wife, sister plus daughter and son-in-law. The original chapel and image were destroyed in a fire in 1777 so what we see today is from after that time.

The cave is over a waterfall from a subterranean lake and the pool and fountain below is sacred. It’s said that if young virginal women drink the water, within one year they will be married.

Next to the cave is San Fernando Collegiate church built in 1585. There is also a park, marble lions and a grand bell. The Cathedral, Basilica was built in 1877-1901 completely out of pink marble quarried locally.

The setting is beautiful, a serene valley, autumn colours and many rivers.

We drive on to a campground I’d located. There had been a review last week so I had fingers crossed it is still open. We drive on the A8 motorway, like Italy it’s huge, high viaducts over all the valleys and tunnels cutting through the hills. We get to the campground and the massive wooden gate is shut, They are closed for the season. Oh well, we free camp at the beach instead. Much better view but no wifi or long hot showers. Thankfully just about everywhere we stay has free drains and often free water so we’re fine on that score. Will try again for a place tomorrow night.

25th October

It’s so peaceful here. The sound of the sea and sea birds. The sun finally rising at ten to nine. No morning rain for a change. Forecast is actually looking good for the next few days. Get a message from Josh, he’s booked flights to Japan end of January. I think he’s still well ahead of his parents on ‘countries visited’.

We drive west along the Spanish coast. Blue sea on our right, blue sky overhead. We head to a place called Praia das Catedrais or As Catedrais. It’s from the same list of places to see. As Catedrais literally translates a beach of cathedrals. It is an area of sandstone cliffs with the stacks and arches this type of rock produces when batted by the sea. There is a network of boardwalks and lookout points. The cliffs aren’t as high as other areas we’ve seen but it is still a spectacular sight and the sun is shining. The temperature is even warming up a bit.

The sea looks very clear and the sand looks pristine but I do notice when we climbed down to one of the small coves that up close there is lots of very small plastic caught up in seaweed or on the tide lines. I vow that when we get back to New Zealand I’m going to volunteer for some of the beach cleans. This waste is so bad for the planet and ultimately us too if it destroys the food chain.

From there we turn inland and head south. It seems a shame to be doing so much driving on a pleasant day but the clock is ticking and there is still so much we want to see. We cross the mountains at about 700 metres, the views are extensive. There are hundreds of wind turbines too. It’s very windy so that makes sense. There are acres and acres and acres of Eucalyptus plantations and settlements falling into ruin, the vines and weeds taking the land back.

Our campground tonight is open, hooray. It’s quiet, I think there is only another 4 people in the site. It’s run by a Dutch couple so they speak English which is great. Unfortunately wifi is only in the bar, guess we have to buy a drink too lol. Our plot in on the cliff with views straight out to a blue blue horizon.

Tomorrow Portugal.

Saturday 19th October

The All Blacks are playing Ireland in the quarter finals at 12.15. The camp owner told us the Irish pub round the corner doesn’t have a tv but they would check if they were showing the game and if not, who is. In the meantime Google told us a bar 40 minutes away was showing it. This morning the camp owner comes over to tell us that a bar 10 minutes down the road would be showing the game and the town market would be happening there too. We then decide we will chill out today and go to the market, watch the game then come back to this campground. It’s quiet, the showers are great, not a push button, not coin operated, a slide shower head and plenty of hot water. The wifi is also fast, free and reliable.

So we drive to Thivier, wander around the market, which is extensive, buy some bread and croissants. Pity I’d stocked up on vegetables a couple of days ago. We then go to the bar for the rugby, coffee to start, then wine and beer, then lunch. It’s very relaxed. They have wine on tap, White and Rose! The bar staff joke with us, one has reasonable English but we communicate ok with pigeon English, pigeon French. There is an English couple on the other side of the room and she comes over for a chat after the barman tells them we are New Zealanders.

The Ireland try hard but the game is totally dominated by the All Blacks. They got a little cocky at the end and let Ireland get on the board but the outcome was clear from the start. Playing England in the semis next weekend, we’ll be in Spain I think.

We drive back to the campground, still the only ones here, plug back in and spend a few hours online. Research for Spain and tomorrow. Catch up on news. Greg schedules posts for his page for the next few days. Just blob out really.

20th October

Yesterday for lunch I’d enjoyed a yummy local Camembert. A whole wheel, baked. When I got into bed last night I could feel my intestines weren’t enjoying my meal in quite the same way. Greg was having a similar reaction to the red meat he had consumed. The toilets got a good workout in the morning. Bonus to being in a campground, we can just flush it all away. Can’t say I won’t be tempted by cheese again but I should practice moderation. Eating vegan is definitely good for the digestive system.

We leave the camp and drive to Brantome. It’s an adorable village, mostly on a river island. The reason we’ve come is to see the Abbey caves. The Benedictine monks carved their monastery into the caves here. Later they built a Abbey directly in front. The bell tower squeezed in between is actually built on the cave overhang. The notice board telling us this, finishes with the sentence, you are currently standing directly underneath the tower. The story is better than the actual caves. Open on one side, the weather has worn away the carvings and continual use has changed things around.

We walk all around the village, admiring the painted shutters and iron balustrades, the bridges and terraces over and along the river banks. We bump into the English people from yesterday and talk rugby. Wales has just beaten France. They are confident England will beat the All Blacks next weekend, referencing the Lions tour they had followed visiting New Zealand. Greg’s sure it’s going to be a Wales, New Zealand final.

Leaving there we head to another cave, Grotte des font-de-Gaume. This one is prehistoric with cave drawings. We arrive at the ticket office and discover to view the prehistoric art in the prehistoric caves they have a prehistoric booking system. The office opens at 9.30am and the people sitting on the 54 seats outside can buy a ticket for a guided tour at set times that day. She tells us to be there at 8am. Google relays tales for people being there at 7.30 and missing out. We have a discussion and decide it is a unique opportunity to see cave painting for real. A quick check on Park4night and we can stay in the carpark. No excuse for missing out on tickets then. We will have to put petal to metal afterwards though as we’re traveling at such a slow rate at the moment. Try and get to Spain by Tuesday.

We go for a wander around the town. It is pretty impressive. Houses built into the cliffs, up to three tiers. The lanes are narrower, the higher you go.

Back to the carpark, after a drink in a local bar, they had Hoegarrden Rose on tap! I’m cooking dinner when serious 4WD’s start pulling in. Men in orange hi-viz getting out and conferring. Hunters. We’ve been seeing quite a few in France. This morning I’d noticed one man standing, back to a tree, shotgun in hand, as we’d driven through a forested area. After a good discussion with a few more vehicles arriving they all departed in convoy up the road. Obviously a big hunt, there would have been 15 men.

An hour later a car pulled in, then shortly after a second car. There is a transfer of a bag and a child. Much animated conversation between the woman of one car and the man of the other. The little girl is running around, making body movements and actions, obviously in a happy place of her own. They depart and we are alone.

We are outsiders eyes on everyday lives.

I must say, I’m even impressing myself with the meals I’m producing in one pot. Tonight we enjoyed a Spanish flavoured Rice Risotto with Linda McCartney vegan Chorizo sausage, eggplant, courgette and other veges, flavoured with some French Bordeaux red wine. Served accompanied with the said wine. Greg uses his fingers to lick out the pot. It was very yummy, wine was too.

21st October

Early wake up. We get ready, then sit in the warmth of the van until another car arrives. No point in sitting outside in the dark before we have too. As we walk across the carpark just before 8am, several cars start arriving. We stand by seats one and two. They’re wet so we don’t want to sit down.

A young German couple with a 5 month old daughter take three and four. They are on Parental leave. In Germany you can have up to 14 months, shared with both parents. He is a freelance photographer so can work his hours a bit also. He has been through the cave before, which is an endorsement in a way. They are planning on booking consecutive tours so one will stay outside with the baby. The next party is a French family. They are prepared with a large piece of vinyl which they cover the seat with. Everyone else just stands.

About 9am staff start arriving and promptly at 9.30 the ticket window is opened. The first English speaking tour is 10am so we are straight in and walking up to the entrance. It’s a misty morning and the poplar trees look amazing, the yellow leaves catching the sun so the pop out from the misty grey. Greg wishes he had his camera but it’s been made very clear, absolutely no photos. Preserving the site is paramount. The number of people allowed in is limited and changes depending on the cave readings. You go in in small groups, lights are turned on briefly in each area you are in. Bags of all sizes are locked up before entering and coats and jackets zipped up with hoods tucked in so nothing can accidentally brush the walls.

The first stop is to talk about the actual cave system. People have been using them and visiting them continuously throughout history. In fact there is 18th & 19th century graffiti over some of the prehistoric cave paintings because they didn’t realise they were there.

We then move on to another area. At first you don’t even notice the drawings, even though we are there especially to see them. He alters the lights and boom, there they are. Three bison. They are large! I had been expecting hand sized pictures, these are about a metre long. Each. He points out how they have used the contour of the cave to form the belly and front legs, then etched out the eye, jawbone, horns. He identifies the three different colours used, explaining what minerals were used to get the colours.

A bit further along and the bison are life sized. One has a symbol painted twice on it. The guide explains they have no idea what the symbol means but the same symbol is in several of the caves in this area and hasn’t been found anywhere else. Other areas have symbols, just not this particular one.

In another area there is a horse jumping, it’s front legs outstretched. It is just a black outline, again the cave shape adds to it. The front hooves are calcium knobs. The guide then turns off the light and uses his flickering torch. Suddenly we can see a second horse. Both these horses are just black paint outlining a horse shaped form in the natural cave formation. Pretty much all of the painting show up best with a flickering torch light. This is the light source they used to paint them, well they used flame but it’s a similar result, modern lights just wash out everything.

There are over 200 paintings in this cave but we only see a few. The next area is unusual because it’s isn’t just a animal but rather a scene. There is a reindeer kneeling down, it’s head outstretched and another reindeer is standing beside it reaching down and licking its forehead. The deer date this scene to the last ice age so 15,000 years ago. They cannot precisely date any of the pictures because minerals don’t have carbon. So it’s the content or the style that gives them an idea of age.

In another area there is a simplistic image he tells us is possibly 20,000 years. Right beside that is a drawing of a deer that, although it is only done in black, has light and shadow. Amazing detail. The next area also shows great detail through shadowing but using multiple colours blended together.

The final thing we are shown is on the underside of a low ledge. It is a negative image of a hand. A left hand. Someone has held their hand there and pigment has been blown upwards leaving a stencil of the hand. There was a small bone embedded there which was carbon dated as 27,000 years old. That just blows my mind.

Excavations have shown that the caves were occupied for thousands of years before the painters started painting. This is the region Cro Magnon man was found. They are still excavating and learning about these people who lived here 40,000 years ago. This is just staggering, I can’t fully comprehend the age of humanity. They say the Cro magnon man lived here for 30,000 years! That’s probably something like 2000 generations.

I’m awestruck to actually see with my own eyes paintings, art, that is so old. I feel privileged. This is one of only a very few caves still open to the public. These caves aren’t large living caves. They are narrow winding passages. I don’t know, and possibly no one does, why they painted in here. It may just be they painted everywhere and these are what remain because the caves were not much good for other purposes. It amazes me that 20, 30, 40 thousand years ago the human population was so great, the areas they lived in so extensive. New Zealand is so young, so natural.

We drive south a few hours and have parked up beside a canal under autumn trees. It is very peaceful. We go for a walk down one side of the canal, past one arched bridge then across the next, back up the other side, past our van and beyond the bridge we drove over to get here. Greg takes lots of photos. It is very picturesque, the reflections in the water, the autumn leaves, the tree trunks with differing colours and layers of bark, the beautiful arched bridges.

There were some boats moored a bit further up. One was particularly attractive and flying a British ensign. We backtrack to the bridge then go up the other side. Haha yes it is a British couple. They have retired young and bought the boat plus a piece of land beside the canal. It’s their garden. They have a small building with bathroom and kitchen. It has a covered deck that is larger than it is. This is their entertaining area, there are lights strung up across the garden and a swimming pool in the corner. They are very popular with all their friends and family. Amazing lifestyle, they can just unhook and travel by rivers and canals all over Europe, taking their home with them. Then they have a permanent area here big enough for visitors and guests. They have social interaction with the other boat owners, regular tow path parties, then they still have a base back in England whenever they need or want to go back.

Wednesday 15th October

Our phone plans rolled over this morning and we discover we have 5 gigabites not 4. Not sure if it’s a one off or Vodafone have upped the plan but it will certainly make a difference, we’re always running very low in the last week.

Bit of a nothing day. It’s raining and we spend the morning getting the new tyres. Makes a huge difference to the driving. Then we head inland to the Lorie Valley region. Checked out 3 spots to stay before finding one we were both happy with. We are driving along the banks of the river. There are huge old properties with well aged ornate gates. We pass lots and lots of grape vines, plus sunflowers. We stop to pick a few growing wild in the gutter. We are now parked under a few trees with a grassy bank leading to the waters edge and the rain has eased to a light drizzle.

16th October

The rain clears while we’re having breakfast so when we finish we go for a walk down the lane. The trees meet overhead. There are fields behind the line to the right and the river to the left. There are lots of birds on the river but they see Greg coming with his camera and always take off.

We drive upriver, passing through small settlements, often built into the ground. Greg is back to hunting for old painted signs so we end up stopping often. There are acres of grapes, leaves yellowing. Some already a russet red. The Loire River is the longest river in France and we will likely cross it again when we head north to Germany as it starts in the French alps.

We eventually arrive at Chateau de Chenonceau. I decided we would only visit one Chateau, not really Greg’s thing, and this is the one I picked. It spans the river Cher and has an interesting history.

In my words….a old family had a fortress here but made some bad financial choices i.e. supported the wrong side in a battle so ended up owing money. The King’s financial controller fancied the estate so he manipulated things so he ended up owning it. His wife then oversaw demolishing the fortress except for a tower and building the Chateau. The King, Henri II found out about the fraud and a lady (cougar) he fancied suggested he take the Chateau. He did and then gave it to her, Diane. She then created some amazing gardens and built a bridge over the river so to make more gardens over there. But before she started those gardens, the King died in a tournament. His wife, the queen, incidentally also Diane’s second cousin wanted the Chateau for herself so traded another Chateau for it and she, Catherine de Medici, moved in. First thing she did was create her own garden on the opposite side of the drive to Diane’s. Because she was ruling France from there, she needed more space so enclosed the bridge with a two storey building, galley/ ballroom on the bottom and courtier rooms above. She planned to build a matching Chateau on the far side of the river but ran out of money. In the 18th century it was a lounge of enlightenment with Louise Dupin, who saved it during the French Revolution. In the 19th century it was fully restored by a financier, Margaret Pelouze before financial scandal ruined her. It definitely has been a lady’s Chateau. During WW1 it was used as a military hospital. In WW2 the river was the demarcation zone so the resistance used to smuggle people out through the gallery.

It has the most amazing ceilings. So many initials patterned in. Either T K B for Thomas and Katherine Briconnet who built the place or H for Henri II or a double C for Catherine de Medici, his wife. There is also a H intertwined with the CC which was the royal seal. That symbol also looks like a D so Diane, the favourite lady, used it in her room. Upstairs there are A’s for Louise of Lorraine entwined with H for her husband, Henri III. Oh, he was assassinated by a monk! What the… I need to read some French history.

It also has great floors and doors. Plus grand renaissance fireplaces. And so many tapestries, every room has more than one. Where there aren’t tapestries, there are interesting velvet wallpapers. Stone stairs worn with the passing of historical feet. Art on the walls, some artists even I’ve heard of. The kitchen was huge and had a rotisserie with cogs and wheels linked to a weight outside the window. I assume they wind it up, set the cogs to the speed they want and let it do its thing.

Outside in the grounds, as well as the meticulously presented gardens which can be viewed inside from windows and balconies, there is also a labyrinth. We take different paths and met in the middle. LoL. There is also a wine cellar and they are still producing their own wine. Yes, of course, I bought a bottle. Yes, just one.

There is a restaurant we didn’t go to and extensive vegetable and flower gardens providing fare for the restaurant and fresh flowers for the Chateau.

Fascinatingly, there is an Apothecary. Wooden cabinets filled with China containers, some look just like teapots, all have Latin or French labels on them, opiate, laudanum, Mel Jaume, Empois Blanc, Magneisa. There are scales and mortar and pestle sets. It’s seriously cool.

It was a great place to visit and I could see why so many women wanted it. Hopefully Greg has taken some photos that relate to my words because I’m not doing a good job describing it all.

We did drag ourselves away and 10 minutes down the road to an aire with free electricity. We nabbed the last spot. There is an overflow area for campers but without electricity. 4 more vans arrive after us and are parked there. We actually had a day without getting wet and there was even some blue sky morning and late afternoon.

18th October

We wake to rain but it passes. We leave and drive across the French countryside. It is pretty. There are fields with bright green shoots sprouting, no idea what it is. The settlements we pass remind us of Croatia, lots of empty places, windows whitewashed. Is the movement to cities happening here too? The crop fields are huge, and without fences seem to roll across to the horizon uninterrupted. We pause for coffee in a small town. A young lady talking animatedly to the owner about her troubles, many hand gestures.

……..

Oradour sur Glane. June 1944. The Allies had landed in Normandy, the Nazis are in retreat but fighting every step of the way. Around the Limoges area there is a lot of resistance fighting including them capturing a German Officer who later escaped. Early on 10th June 1944 200 SS soldiers surround the small village of Oradour, 20 km from Limoges. They then move inwards rounding up everyone and assembling them all in the village square. They separate the women and children and take them to the church. The men are then divided into 6 groups and taken to different places around the village. The order is given and they are all shot in the legs, then doused in fuel. Then the buildings are set on fire. Six men escape from one burning garage but one man is seen later and shot. Then the SS go to the church where 247 woman and 205 children are being held. Once again they open fire, throwing in grenades and trying to bomb the vaulted roof. They then started a fire there too, one woman escaped. For the next few days the SS soldiers returned and removed the burned bodies, jumbling them up and burning them in several mass graves to hide what had happened. The dead total 642. The entire village is a martyr memorial, left standing as it was on that day.

We go first to the memorial centre, but pass quickly through as it is mostly in French. It also covers a lot of the war up to that point. Stuff we already know. Then we cross into the actual village.

It is very eerie. You walk down the main road, tram line to one side, wires still overhead. Roofless shops and houses lining the street. You look through the empty windows and doorways into the empty remains of peoples lives. All that is left is the cold stone walls and rusting sewing machines, pots and bicycles. The upstairs floors have long gone, as have the floors and roofs. The walls would have been plastered and papered, decorated with paintings and family photos, now just crumbling brick and stone. Curtains and furniture, personal treasures all now dust. Power poles and lines running from house to house but no longer connected to the greater world. No longer live.

There are rusting cars in garages, their use would have been stopped by fuel rationing way before this day. A sign the residents had hope that one day their lives would go back to normal. But that Saturday morning in early summer, it all ended.

At what point did hope die? Heartbreaking, they would have known the Allies were coming, they would have been more optimistic, just waiting for the release they knew was coming. And then on the actual day, first thoughts would be – this is a mistake, we’re not resistance fighters. They won’t find anything, there is nothing to find, they will let us go.

The women in the church, hearing the gunfire, would they be thinking rescue is coming or did they realise their men were dying. Did they still think – we are women and children, we will be spared.

By the time I reached the church, I was reacting to it. The WW1 memorial, listing names of those who died in glory, with bullet holes. The baptism font, a melted broken husk. A pushchair, just the metal frame remaining. The confession booth, aged but still standing, offering forgiveness.

What excuse for such brutality. How can you justify murder like this. Any person who can perform acts like this and happily live with themselves is just evil. An American who witnessed the aftermath mentions in his report a child who was crucified. That is beyond sick, I just can’t comprehend it at all. And it’s not necessarily those that actually pull the trigger but those that give the order, those that send in the troops. Those that indoctrinate others.

We’ve been here over two hours and I’m cold and feeling emotional. I concede defeat and go back to the van, start writing here to get it all out of my head. Greg’s still taking photos.

Another half an hour and Greg arrives back at the van. We drive further south to a little campground owned by an English couple. We are the only ones here. Great wifi and we are assured the showers are hot. I also get to swap English written books, a luxury I figured I wouldn’t get now.

Tomorrow needs to be a much lighter day emotionally. Oh and go the All Blacks. They are playing Ireland at 12.15 in the afternoon. There is an Irish pub just around the corner but it doesn’t have a TV. Google helps me find a bar 30 minutes away what will be showing the game.

Saturday 12th October

We want to get going earlish this morning but it’s hard when sunrise isn’t until after 8am. Daylight saving finishes at the end of the month which would help matters but that will be about the time we reach Portugal and they are on a different timezone, one hour ahead which won’t help.

It’s raining, of course, so we do get going reasonably early. As we drive back down the peninsula the weather does improve.

We stop in the little village of Gavney. It’s Saturday morning, market day. The locals are all out, shopping, greeting their neighbours and chatting. We have coffee and croissants. The best croissant I think I have ever had. It is flaky but not too much and has a soft, chewy centre. It’s very French, very authentic. This isn’t a tourist viewing this is experiencing another culture.

We carry on to Mont St Michel. High tide is 7.12am and 7.28pm so we won’t get to see the wave come in but even from a distance the island is an impressive imposing sight. We could stay overnight in the carpark but we need to do washing etc etc. There is a free shuttle to the island from the carpark, well not really free since the parking costs €12. But we get on the next bus. Haha, this must be what it’s like on a Tokyo train, bodies packed in like sardines. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this. The island looks so amazing at a distance and we were both expecting to walk across a causeway like St Michaels Mount but there is a very new bridge and the shuttle goes to about 20 metres from the walls. Further research tells us the causeway was ugly and becoming silted up to the point Mont St Michel was never actually an island. This new bridge is fixing that problem while still keeping the 24 hour access. The bridge does stop just short of the island and at the highest tides the water does come all the way around now. You can still wade across. At the high spring tides the sea retreats 15km and when it comes in it is at 30 to 45km/h. That’s fast. That would actually be very spectacular to see.

Up close the island is still impressive but there are lots and lots of people. Glad we’ve visiting ‘out of season’ We enter the gates and it is a seething mass of bodies. We do a quick divert up to the ramparts. Still quite a few people but not the mass that we watch over the inner wall. The bones of the island, the abbey and the village are just picture perfect but every shop is selling postcards and magnets, scarves and key rings. All the touristy tat we’ve seen elsewhere and been put off by. It’s a mini Dubrovnik and I’m disappointed. We learn there are actually only 43 people who live on the island and over half are monks. I wonder what the monks think of all this? We explore every alley, climbing up and down steep stairs. We flag going into the Abbey, the queue is long with several tour groups being lead directly in, headphones and selfie sticks. We turn away from the costumed entertainers and ignore the restaurants with their set 3 course traditional meals.

We both wish we could have come here in the 80’s, maybe it would have still had authenticity. I did still admire the old stone buildings, the narrow lanes, the views from every angle but we left sooner than we thought.

If we’d had enough water we probably would have stayed the night and seen the tide come in and view it from afar lit up against the dark sea but it was not to be.

We hit the road, pausing in a small village to buy some locally made cider then set course for Cote d’armor. Farewell to Normandy, hello to Brittany.

We reach our chosen campground. So many are now closed for the season, it’s a challenge to find one open with wifi and laundry. May have to change our routines, use laundromats instead. France has heaps of free Aires, some with free electricity, some with coin operated machines so we can get by in that way.

Anyhow we checked in at reception. I feel quite chuffed every time we negotiate a transaction with the language barrier. We were told the French would be arrogant with us not speaking French but we haven’t experienced that so far. This evening the lady says Agneau!’ We eventually understand she is referring to New Zealand lamb. Her partner has better English which helps when trying to work the washing machine.

13th October

The church bells wake me at 7am. It is raining, of course.

We do the regular campground morning routines and hit the road. Greg is pissed off with the weather. Since he is, I don’t have to be. We are both a bit flat. We keep heading south to the sunshine but bring the rain with us. Our moods aren’t helped by our various stages of colds. We set course for Quimper, going to treat ourselves with a fancy lunch.

We drive along along empty roads, no traffic, through villages shuttered, no people, past factories barricaded, no customers. The rain passes.

We arrive in Quimper, a medieval Cathedral town. The square empty of laughter, the half timbered buildings leaning over the empty streets, restaurant chairs stacked, empty of diners.

We dine in a creperie, upstairs, looking out at the cathedral. There are a few French families around us. Crepes and local cider, very nice.

We visit the Cathedral, 7 people attending a service. Their singing lost in the high vaulted ceiling. The main nave has a curious bend in it. It’s gothic, flying buttresses but no pigeons.

We walk the streets ending up beside the river, straight walled sides. If once upon a time it curved with grassy banks, it doesn’t now. There is a market, selling plants, bulbs and garden art. There are a few people but I think sales are slow.

We make our way back to the van and jump on a motorway. There is traffic here lol. People in a hurry to get from A to B.

We park up at an aire in Saint Nolff. It’s a cute little place. There are a couple of paddocks with goats and donkeys. A recreated wood fired bread oven, manned by volunteers somedays, not today though. Picnic tables, walking trails alongside a steam under oak trees. A restored mill with a huge waterwheel. A small lake with a path around it, information panels by lots of different trees. We watch a cormorant catch a fish nearly as big as itself. It struggles for ages and manages to kill it but cannot eat it. Eventually it gives up and flys away leaving the dead fish floating in the lake.

14th October

Today has one priority. Do something about the front tyres. They are both nearly bald and we’ve been trying to phone Holger since we arrived back in Europe but get no reply. I emailed him on Friday and if we don’t hear or get in touch with him tomorrow morning we will just go ahead and replace them without authorisation. It wasn’t so noticeable in the UK, possibly the opposing camber but since we’ve got back over here, and on wet roads….. we’ve done close to 25k and they’re weren’t new when we started. Possibly they are the tyres from new, 2016.

9am Greg phones again and this time Holger answers. He has read our email but will need to get his boss to approve it. He says he will call back in an hour. When he does, he says his boss wants a quote first. No problem, we are already en route to a Euromaster. Once there the fun starts, no English so we muddle our way through. The same tyres as on the van won’t arrive until mid December! Not sure why. We get quotes for Michelin, which can be in stock tomorrow then it’s back and forth with Holger and we finally get approval. But when we try to book an appointment, realise the tyres arrive sometime tomorrow but the appointment will need to be Wednesday. So we will be spending longer around here than we’d hoped. Oh well, it needs to be done.

I find an aire on the mouth of the Loire River to stay then we go to a supermarket and do a big shop. It is raining of course and the forecast isn’t good for the next week either. Maybe a blessing that the next two days we’ll be twiddling our thumbs a bit. Hopefully I can knock this cold too. Then once we’ve got the new tyres we may do a couple of long drive days and get ourselves further south.

Shouldn’t put too much faith in the weather forecast, we arrive at the aire and there are little bits of blue sky. The aire isn’t directly on the river mouth, but rather around the corner just above a beach. As it’s not raining, we go for a walk along the coastal path. There are several small beaches, all at the bottom of steep stairs. We go down a few and check them out, mainly for the exercise. We’d been doing so much hiking in the UK but hardly anything over here. The beaches would be so much better if the weather was warmer. But I guess then they would have been crowded with people.

15th October

It’s a lazy kind of day today, no set plans. About 10.30 we drive off but only to the local town where we sit in a brassiere and drink coffee, eat croissants and peruse the French papers.

Then window shop our way back to the van. Loving the clothes colours for the new season, all autumn shades, russet reds, all shades of muted orange, golden yellow, including coloured tights. There is a lot of wide corduroy, jackets over printed dresses, self belted shorts over coloured tights. Patchwork boots and shoes.

We then drive inland to La Roche-Bernard, a town on the river Vilaine. We park on the side of a suspension bridge and have lunch. There are walking paths around so we plan to walk one side of the river up to the next bridge, cross over then back down the other side to La Roche-Bernard, wander around the town then back across the first bridge to our van. Greg takes a photo of sign with the walks on it and off we go. We were expecting paths but got dirt tracks. Up and down, clambering over tree roots and around rocks. As we near the second bridge, it’s a long long way above us, we wonder how we get up. Then we round the last bend and the answer is we don’t. There is a walkway over the lower arch. How cool, it’s steep curving stairs up, over and down. You can hear the traffic roaring overhead. The track on the other side is a mix of sealed lanes and dirt tracks.

It’s 8km by the time we reach the town. Signs proclaim La Roche-Bernard is a Petite Cite de Caractere and it definitely is. It was founded in 919 by a Viking chief called Bern-Hart. His castle was destroyed after the war of succession in 1365. There are a couple of very old cannons on the site. The town is lovely stone buildings, narrow roads leading up from the extensive marina, a Notre Dame church. (Google tells me Notre Dame means our lady) and lots of lovely gardens.

We stop in a local bar and have a drink. Today has been a great day, leisurely. This part of Brittany is lovely. Rivers, trees, towns. The last couple of days have had that ‘not on holiday’ feel. Just experiencing France. We move on to a spot for the night on the banks of the river Vilaine. It’s so tranquil and although there have been a couple of passing showers, it hasn’t full on rained. And it actually got up to 18 degrees.Briefly.

Tuesday 8th October

Another morning of campground routines. It’s not raining so I post a blog while standing outside the shower block. Not great showers. The door to the ladies shower block doesn’t shut properly and then there is a door from the hand basin area to the shower area and that doesn’t close either. There are 2 cubicles but only one has a door, and it’s only a half door. It’s a push button shower and when you push it you get straight hot then straight cold then a tepid level. Just keep pushing the button every minute and it stays at the tepid. On the plus side you can get under the water and it is a moderate flow. Certainly not the worst shower we’ve experienced but no where near the best. We drive down into Folkestone and go to a Costa for coffee and free wifi while sitting in comfort. Greg schedules his posts so not to bombard his followers with 6 albums at once. I find a place to stay tonight. There aren’t many Aires up around Calais and the comments on those that are about break ins and beggars. Guess it’s the refugee issue. I eventually pick a spot on the mouth of the Somme.

Then it’s time to get to the euro tunnel terminal and check in. Once again we asked if we want to go on a earlier train, loading now. Of course we agree. British customs scans our passports, the French just wave us on. I’m guessing this relaxed attitude will all change by the end of the month. It must be quiet, all the cars and taller vehicles are loading together in the single story units. We’re at the front of a section and the containment doors close just in front of us. We also get a chock under our front wheel. We eat lunch as the view out the windows goes black. Half an hour later we drive off in France. Remember to drive on the right hand side now! And adjust my watch, there is an hours time difference.

The landscape is very similar to what we have just left but different. There aren’t fences, the buildings are different, the signs are all in French. Greg comments that again we are traveling on the land not in it. We seem to be higher, no hedgerows, the fields are lower than the road and it’s all quite flat. I’m surprisingly excited, I feel like I’m going on holiday.

We drive south for a couple of hours and arrive at the carpark. Haha, not in the UK now, there are already 14 campers parked up, a couple more arriving later. Stonehenge was the only night we didn’t free camp on our own for weeks. This is a aire without any services so I suspect those with free electricity, like I’m eyeing up for tomorrow, will be even more popular.

We go for a walk down to the beach. Wow! There is a huge concrete bunker, tilted up on a 45 degree angle, just there in the middle of the beach. The sea has retreated 65 metres in the last 75 years so this bunker was behind the sand dunes and now the waves lap around it except at low tide.

The wind is very strong, blowing a fine layer of sand along the surface of the beach. It winds insidiously, like steam off a hot cup of coffee. It’s mesmerising, the constant movement.

There are seals feeding just off shore, heads coming up and looking around before plunging below the surface. The sun is dropping to the horizon casting an orange light over everything.

9th October

Was very glad to be snuggled between two larger motorhomes last night as they sheltered us from a ferocious sounding wind. It put lots of power into the rain which was hitting the van with hail like force.

This morning the rain is lighter. The hours time change means it’s still dark at 8am though which is a bummer, wet and dark. Guess we’ll skip the morning walk.

First order of the day is to get more medicine for Greg. We had asked in England but would have had to go through a doctor which is a bit challenging when you’re moving every day. Anyhow, google translate and a degree of preparation and it’s Oui Oui. No problems and we walk out with another 3 months supply. It’s still bucketing down with rain when we drive into Dieppe. We park and go to get coffee. First place, totally empty is Non, nous sommes un restaurant. Really! No customers is better than someone drinking coffee. We end up in a coffee roasters. We are the only ones there. There is one table and she clears her paperwork off it so we can sit down. No English is exchanged and that’s good.

We keep driving south and the rain does ease. We cross the Seine and travel along the side of it. We can’t see it though because of the trees, all showing their autumn colours. We stop to have lunch by a track to a ‘Remarquable’. We check it out. It is five Oak trees welded together. They’re dated about 390 years old. On closer inspection there are only four trees. Further translating of the sign informs us the fifth one was chopped down by a poacher in 1830 in retaliation to something the forest ranger did.

There is loud rolling thunder interrupting our conversation so we head back to the van and carry on driving. Greg’s doing exceptionally well adapting back to driving on the right. Still u turning clockwise though. Just have to make sure we don’t turn down the wrong roads then it won’t be an issue.

There are a lot of Tudor houses, half timbered. Even some with thatched roofs. I think of this style as English so it surprises me to see it here.

We are heading to Deauville, for no other reason than it’s a place to stay on the way to Normandy. Yay, there is still room and even a bay with electricity. The rain has even stopped. For now.

I totally love…… kids – close your eyes……. I totally love that even after 36 years together, a look or movement can ignite a certain reaction between us, that feeling that leads to the stove being turned off for half an hour, well 20 minutes, we know the buttons by now. I don’t think you could live for so long in such close proximity with someone without intimacy, but the passion is just the icing on the cake.

After dinner, slightly later than planned, we go for a walk out to the breakwater. Past two men welding a repair on a black yacht, past small groups heading to the floating seafood restaurant, conversing away among themselves. The sky is a pale blue, merging to a milky orange. The first few stars showing and a half moon. At the end of the breakwater I watch a fishing boat going out through the waves. It rises high on the crests and dips low in the troughs. They are heading out into the black, away from the lights and safety. It must be eerie to be beyond land at night.

I stand at the tip, waves are coming from three directions. They are coming in from the sea, surging up the harbour but also turning sideways into the bay. There they meet the flow coming back from the harbour. Violently. Sending water high in the air. A diagonal line with softer waves behind coming in on the sand below the breakwater.

The town? village? of Deauville is very picturesque in the dimming light. 3 story buildings, mostly half timber Tudor style. A central area with fountain and cobblestoned roads. Shops all shut on a Wednesday night, no traffic on the roads. It is definitely a different country and once again, it’s pinch me, we are on holiday, travelling in France. This is our life!

10th October

I’m looking at day trips to Guernsey but it appears they only run June to September. Bugger!

We go to the supermarket, back to shopping by pictures. Yummy bread. The French do do nice crusty bread. Then we meander down the coast. Small seaside villages half deserted now, beachfront shops all shuttered up. We stop for coffee in a place still open. We can’t park in the nearby carpark as it has a 2 metre barrier, luckily there is parking on the side of a side road. As we carry on driving Greg points out the barriers on all the carparks, complaining. Then we pass a Gypsy camp, a line of tatty caravans and rubbishy piles and remember this is why. As we pass by, we notice that this camp is slightly old school. No gayly painted ornate wood but these caravans have been modified at the front with shafts for horses.

We’re on the Normandy coast and you can see bullet holes in the buildings. The crops have all been harvested and the fields are bare, either shorts stalks remaining or freshly turned soil. The countryside seems flat but there are ditches around every field, the occasional cluster of trees. For the soldiers landing here 75 years ago every field was a new battleground with the enemy lying in the ditches, tanks hidden in the trees.

We are heading for Omaha beach when we stumble upon Batterie de Longues-sur-Mer. An area with preserved bunkers. In the first is the skeletal remains of the gun, it’s barrel in three pieces across the grass in front. The bunker roof a crumbling pile of concrete and reinforcing steel. In the second bunker the gun is intact, clearly showing the entry point of a shell and the multiple exit points of the shrapnel. The third bunkers gun also intact, no sign of an entry point but the exit hole is huge. The forth bunker’s gun is undamaged, just time rusting away its edges and seizing up its moving parts. These three bunkers intact, thick concrete walls, sides and backs half buried in grassy mounds. Views out to sea with white cliffs just visible on the horizon. There is also a sighting bunker and various machine gun nests. We spend quite a while there so readjust our goals for the day.

Next stop is the American Cemetery and visitors centre at Omaha beach. It’s very much the ‘patriotic and glory of the nation’ experience America adopts to honour its fallen. And that is fine, I just feel for the human cost. We get out into the actual cemetery and there are a lot of graves here. The setting sun casts shadows from each cross, that to me look like a mans silhouette with a backpack on. Seems appropriate. Greg has taken a photo from a similar angle. Security guards start clearing everyone out. It closes at 5pm.

I find a place to park up close by. It’s at the east end of Omaha beach and there are more remains of the Atlantic wall, Gun emplacements, lookout points in the cliff tops, trenches linking them all. It has a commanding view of the beach and was one of the first spots to be taken by the Americans. Under the cover of darkness they landed at the base of the cliff then snuck up a track to the west and attacked from behind.

We go down the track to the beach and walk along its yellow sands. The only fighting today, gulls over some fishy remains. We’re alone camping here tonight and as we’re eating dinner some deer come out to graze in the field in front of us. It’s very peaceful.

11th October

We drive on to Utah Beach. There is a very good museum there. The whole area has dozens of museums and memorial sites. But if you had to pick one then Musee du debarquement de Utah beach is probably a good pick. It doesn’t downplay the mistakes like the paratroopers ending up being too spread out to group up as planned and some of the landing crafts coming ashore south of the intended targets. It has special mention of Exercise Tiger, a dress rehearsal off the English coast a few months before d day. Germans heard radio traffic and sent 3 destroyers killing 946 American servicemen. It was kept secret so one, the Germans didn’t realise how important it was and two, so not to effect morale.

We spend a couple of hours there, there is so much stuff, so many stories, so many aspects to the campaign. And it’s not just the front line fighting, it’s the supply chains coming in afterwards. They built 3 temporary harbours until they took Cherbourg, the deep water port at the top of the peninsula. Plus hospitals, airports, roads, all designed to be moved forward behind the moving front line.

There has been quite a few Germans visiting there sites. I’m am aware that they also had significant loss of life here. But I’m also very conscious that German school children all learn the real costs of war. And I feel that Germany will now always be a country that looks for peaceful resolutions to conflict. I feel they are visiting these sites in good heart and I hope the other visitors also see that. At one place a German lady said to me ‘Our history’ shaking her head ‘shameful’. I try and tell her Germany were put into a really bad place after WW1 which lead to WW2 but think it was lost in translation. I guess she also is shamed by WW1. Anyhow I have a lot of respect for how Germany has grown and I would be saddened to see Angela Merkel lose her position as I think she has a very powerful vision of cooperation and harmony.

We continue driving up the peninsula, Greg pulling in to various displays of bunkers, tanks etc at different landing points. This is more his thing than mine. And as I seem to be coming down with his cold, just as he’s getting better. I’m happy to just view them through the windscreen. We follow an imagined allied path up to the port of Cherbourg and skirt around the edge as it is now a decent sized city, then head to the pointe de la Hague, parking up beside a seaside bunker with a lighthouse immediately in front of us. It’s on rocks just offshore and that Atlantic wind is whisking up the waves. On the horizon is the outline of Alderney, one of the Chanel Islands.

I get a text from Vodafone welcoming to Guernsey? I put it through google translate and discover Vodafone roaming doesn’t apply there. No problem I think, we’re not on Guernsey, we’re still in France and still on the French network. Still, I double check my account balance and f-ing hell! It’s using my money! I feel seriously ripped off. And I can’t do anything about it. By morning, I’m a little more resigned, I guess our phones have visited even if we can’t.

The sun sets to one side of the lighthouse, clouds blocking its final descent. The colours are milky rather than vibrant but the drama is provided by the waves, white with anger, rolling on themselves as they pummel against the rocky shore. The lighthouse, still unlit, which was three levels above the sea when we arrive, slowly concedes layer by layer until only one remains at dusk. Then, and only then, the light start flickering. Beyond it, there is another, only becoming apparent with the dimming day. It seems more eager, flashing quick bursts of nine. Our one, more restrained, a slower arc of light.

Thursday 3rd October

Greg isn’t feeling the best so a slow start to the day. We do our regular campground routines and drive to Eden Project.

In 1998 there was a huge China clay quarry here that was shut down. The Eden Project was established by Tim Smit as a way to showcase the worlds most important plants, to demonstrate regeneration, show what people can achieve by working together and to create a stage to highlight our dependence on plants. Long story short they built 2 Biomes, one is climatized for a rain forest and one is Mediterranean. There is also extensive moderate climate plants outside and an interesting display area on plankton and the effects of micro plastic on their continued existence. Plankton are critical for our survival, they produce half the earths oxygen and absorb huge amounts of CO2.

Because tropical rainstorm Lorenzo is crossing over today we skip most of the outside gardens. We spend our time meandering around inside the biomes. It is interesting, maybe slightly sterile. There are some introduced animals/insects but not the range you’d get naturally. There are identification plaques so you can learn that you are looking at, where it came from and what uses it may have. It kind of moves from countries/regions. In the rainforest biome they have concentrated on regions without monsoon seasons. In the Mediterranean biome, there is also Australia and California. There are some wonderful sculptures within the plantings, generally with a story or message to tell.

It was interesting but overall I was disappointed. I’d been expecting more about sustainability, existence within a dome and yes, there were elements but there was also a layer of showing off the exotic. Anyhow it was a good rainy day activity, though a pretty expensive one. If you agree, your entry fee can be processed as a donation which is beneficial as Eden Project is a charity. No brainer of course and at least we can feel the money was well spent.

We had lunch there and the vegetables, herbs etc are all grown on site. I was surprised the menu wasn’t more plant based but I guess they are catering to their customers. Oh but there are so many opportunities to really push the environment message here…. I ended up feeling frustrated.

We eventually headed back to our van and in crossing the Tamar river, we crossed out of Cornwall and into Devon. We’re spending the night on Dartmoor. In a few minutes we’ve had cows and sheep wander past. Apparently there are plenty of wild horses up here too so maybe…..

4th October

The rainstorm had passed by morning but it’s dragging some intense winds. We’re very sheltered we’re we stayed, deliberately chosen for that. We move on a few miles up the road to Two Bridges. There is a hike from here that takes in Wistman’s Woods and a couple of tors, Longaford and Littaford.

Wistman’s Wood is a high-altitude oak wood and is a leftover remnant of the ancient forest that covered all of Dartmoor 7000bc. Though back then the oak trees were no taller than a man, nowadays they are between 7 & 12 metres and only date 400 to 500 years old. It feels old. You feel in awe as you enter. The trees are low and gnarled, their trunks and branches covered in different lichen, mosses and ferns. The ground is all boulders, green with mosses. You pick your way carefully across those with flattish tops and feel like you are trespassing on another world, another time. There are over 100 species of lichen here, ranging in colour from greys to greens, some like long strands of hair, some like bark.

Leaving the wood behind we climb up to a ridgeline. As we near the top we get into the wind. It is unbelievably strong. A side track climbs to the top of Longaford Tor so we go up. Haha, we’re both on our hands and knees for the last few metres. It does ease spasmodically and Greg stands up at one point. Going back down I was actually knocked off my feet, thankfully not a cliff bit, getting down those bits I’m virtually lying down.

We then stagger along the ridgeline to Littaford Tor. Then head back down to the van. The rain arrives shortly after we do. Thank god. We have lunch and move on.

Greg’s mother’s Hayward family came from an area on these moors and I had pinned a couple of churches/cemeteries if we were in the area so off we head. We’re driving straight across the moors but quickly come to a ‘ road closed’ sign. The sign detailing the detour is complicated with place names that aren’t on google. There are a few cars coming towards us so we flag one down and ask about the road. They tell us they have just driven it and will go back the same way. They tell us there is an area where the tarmac has been ripped up but it’s not too bad. So we loop around the sign and drive on. The moors are high and very expansive. The weather is drizzle with low cloud sneaking around the edges. It’s very moody especially with no other cars around.

We pass a Clapper bridge and stop to take photos. We know what Clapper bridges are now. And this one isn’t in flood.

We arrive at Moretonhampstead, still raining so instead of wandering around a graveyard looking for headstones, we visit a car museum. One guys personal collection. It’s an odd mix but it’s inside and dry.

From there our travels takes us along valleys, trees meeting overhead. The gutters full of orange leaves. We jump on the M5 to eat up some miles…. time is fleeting, madness takes control, so listen closely, not for very much longer….. well not very much longer in the UK.

When we get off again we’re in Somerset. Farewell Devon. We parked in a carpark for the Wellington monument, on Wellington hill, just outside of Wellington in Black:Down Hills AONB.

………

I’ve been looking at other species, cows, sheep, horses, birds. Do they dream? Do they have imagination? And if not, why do we? Why are humans different? We are all earthlings, all of this planet, all a mixture of Atoms. So how come we can set our own goals? How come we can override the fundamental instinct to reproduce?

And don’t tell me the answer is 42. I already know that.

………

5th October

It’s not raining, hurray. We go for a walk through the woods before hitting the road. Supermarket first to restock the pantry.

7 years ago I tried to find the white chalk Kiwi and failed. We ended up on a motorway on-ramp going in the wrong direction. This time I’m better prepared. I know now you cannot see it from a distance because it was planned for viewing from the army camp. But I have found a road with a slightly obstructed side angle and a walking path up to it. It was created by New Zealand soldiers based here in 1919, designed by SM Victor Low and overseen by Captain Harry Clark. It was a ‘make work’ scheme for our soldiers waiting to go home after having fought in WW1. Their restlessness had turned to rioting. They were stuck here because of British military bureaucracy, English waterfront strikes and an ineffective New Zealand Ministry of Defence. The kiwi took 3 months to complete and was finished on June 28th. The last troops left in November, a year after armistice. Their army camp, Sling Camp is no more but there is still an army camp at the base of the hill. The view from the road is very obscured now by trees so no photo opportunity. We climb the hill up to it and can walk all over it but close up you can’t get the overall picture and it is a distorted kiwi, designed for the view from below. It is one of only a few chalk pictures that isn’t a horse and I can now say I’ve been there. My final nod to those young men who went off to fight a war, imagining a great adventure.

We then drive to Stonehenge. Woah! This is majorly different than last time we were here. Then I remember, last time the lady told us they were building a new visitors centre 2 miles away. So this was the new entrance. It’s huge, vast carparks and a somewhat sterile wooden box building. The visitors centre starts with a round room, 360 degree screen around the walls projecting the creation of Stonehenge from 8000bc to now. Then there are display cases with objects found and another screen area highlighting other sites around the immediate area. There are replica houses from the time period. And a replica sarsen stone, that’s the stone put across the top of the upright stones. Then it’s onto the shuttle buses to the actual site. The turnaround point/disembarking spot is where 7 years ago we parked and walked through a small underground visitors centre to access the site. Last time I’d been surprised it was smaller than I’d expected. This time, having seen so many more stone circles, I’m surprised at how big it is. I’m totally awestruck that 5000/6000 years ago people were building structures like this. And what happened? These were people living in a sophisticated society. Where did they go?

I loiter by a guy giving a very good educational talk. Love listening to passionate people. This is ‘kind of’ what he was saying;

The people who built this were pagan, worshipping Mother Earth and Father Sky. The sun was a god. Every day it would rise, June – there, July- there…..December- there. Then the days would get shorter and shorter. Oh my god! Would it stop rising all together! But no, from Midwinter solstice the days would start getting longer and plants would flower, crops grow etc. So Stonehenge was built to celebrate Midwinter solstice, when the setting sun would hit the heel stone, a natural glacier boulder and then shine through the largest arch and light up the centre of the henge.

Arrh but that’s old thinking. They keep looking for the homes of these people and in recent times, they found them. 3 miles away at Woodhenge there are traces of a 500 houses. That’s not a village, that’s a New York City of the time! Then they found traces of 2 wooden henges there, both aligned for Midwinter sunRISE. And an avenue from there to the Avon River, with 2 gateway standing stones. So Midwinter celebration started at sunrise in the ‘city’ when the sun hit the wooden henges, wood = life. Then the people would procession down to the river following a path that lead to the start of the avenue to Stonehenge where the sun set through the Stonehenge. Stone = dead. This theory is backed up by all the burial mounds around Stonehenge, also explains standing stones by the Avon River and the distance from the city to Stonehenge.

An interesting speech, though it does emphasise that no one knows definitely the reasons behind Stonehenge, it’s all just intelligent guesswork. I wonder what in another 6000 years will be left of our civilisation and what will people looking at it then make of it all.

It’s like the Roman Empire here in Britain. They had underfloor heating in their homes, they were light with large glass windows, indoor running water etc. Then the Roman army pulled out to defend their eastern boundary and within a few hundred years Brits are living in cold dark places, small windows with cows intestines covering the gaps, straw on the floors and large open fires for warmth, toilets were holes in castle walls. It took them about 1500 years to get indoor plumbing again! I was told by a Classic authority that it was an anti Roman sentiment that saw them pull down Roman buildings just because. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.

A bonus of the new visitors centre is the old road to the old entrance is now a gravel lane noted on park4night for free camping. There are more campers parked here than we’ve seen in weeks. We pull up and open the side door to a great view of Stonehenge, just a grassy field between us and the stones.

6th October

This is magic. I’m standing here doing the dishes with the door open. My hands in hot water looking at Stonehenge. The sun just above the horizon, it’s low light picking our all the dew drops on the grass. The standing stones slightly misty, the burial mounds behind sending long shadows towards it. There are two security guards in high-viz yellow doing circuits around and in between the stones. Do they feel awe at their surroundings or is it just a job on a chilly Sunday morning?

We eventually drag ourselves away and head to the coast. ‘Oh I do like to be beside the seaside, oh I do like to be beside the sea…’. We go to Aldrich, beside Bognor Regis. It’s so Victorian English. Beach huts, gayly painted, stony foreshore, a promenade, amusement rides. It’s a sunny Sunday and there is quite a few people about, walking dogs, pushing pushchairs, rugged up on deck chairs with thermos and mugs.

We carry on along the coast. Slowly. Lots of Sunday drivers. We go out to Beachy Head. Sheer cliffs of white chalk. No fences, I peer straight down at the milky white waves breaking below me. There is a picture perfect lighthouse just off shore. Red and white bands, bright again the blue sky. We go for a walk along the cliffs past the lighthouse and on to a RAF Bomber memorial. WW2 all the bombers departed from here. There was also a radar station and lookout stations. You can just make out a wind turbine farm on the horizon which must be in France. So close. It’s blue sky with fast moving clouds, some of them shower squalls. Lots of rainbows. Greg takes lots of photos.

We free Camp for the night beside a lake in a place called Three Leg Cross. It’s in High Weald AONB. I’d discovered AONB’s to be pretty good places to stay so have deliberately sought them out. England has a lot, wiki tells me they are areas designated for conservation which is what I’d suspected. They are generally green space but always there are villages, settlements and farms.

Of the places we visited in the UK 7 years ago we have only revisited 5, York, Edinburgh, Liverpool (of course), Chester & Stonehenge. And we have viewed all of them in a different light this time. Actually when I think about it, of the places in Europe we visited last time, we have only revisited 6. Florence, Rome, Venice, Innsbrook, Amsterdam & Paris. Likewise we have viewed them in different ways.

8th October

We were just getting into bed last night about 10.30 when we heard a car pull in. We open the blind a bit and there is a young couple making out with the interior lights and headlights on. They pause and switch off the headlights, which actually makes them stand out more. I wonder if they are doggers and more cars are going to arrive. But they stop the tongue action and seem to be having intense conversation. Greg wonders if it’s a first date. We shut the blind and go to sleep but are woken again by her driving attempts to reverse around and get out of the carpark. It’s about midnight by then.

After a morning walk along the lake side we head to Dover Castle. First time we have problems entering an English Heritage site. Apparently, and it does say in small print on the card, the temporary card is only valid for a month ie 26 August, by which time you will have received in the mail the proper card. Yes, it was delivered to our home address, we just haven’t been home to collect it haha. I explain that and am then told if I phone this number I can get an email confirming we are genuine members without permanent cards. I explain we don’t have a phone. Eventually they accept me showing them I am receiving the monthly email newsletters and they let us in. I’m thinking thankfully this will be the last time we’ll be using the membership as tomorrow we’re heading back to Europe. We have definitely got ours money’s worth, both Stonehenge and Dover Castle are over £20 per person. I’d stopped keeping a mental tally in Scotland when we reached the £105 membership cost.

Anyhow, Dover Castle…. this is a fantastic place to visit. If we had to tell someone 2 castles to visit it would be Bouillon Castle in Belgium for atmosphere and the Falcons and here for the recreations and the history. The castle here now was built by Henry II, but the site also has a Roman lighthouse! I had no idea Romans’ built lighthouses. It was built on top of huge earthworks dating from the Iron Age. Then the Anglo-Saxons built a church next to it in 1000AD, modifying the lighthouse to a bell tower. Then King Henry II built his castle and the overall site has been occupied for defence up until the 1950’s.

The castle or inner Bailey itself has been fitted out with furniture etc as it would have been in 1100’s, King Henry II’s time. It’s a bit of a rabbits warren of passages and stairways. We go up and down until we get our heads around it all and have assured we have seen every room and cranny. There is the basement level with kitchens and storerooms, up one level, or one and a half depending on the staircase you use is the visitors chambers and dining room as well as small chambers and latrines. They have an actual fire burning in the visitors room, so nice and warm and the smell adds to the experience. Next floor up ( or floor and a half) is the throne room and the Kings bedroom, plus the smaller rooms being walk in wardrobes and offices etc. Looking at the Kings bed we learn they slept in a sitting position, partly because they suffered from indigestion but also because they worried that if they lay down evil spirits would enter their bodies.

Above that is the roof with four corner towers, not accessible but the views are amazing. France is so visible, it is only 30km from here.

It is so cool, we go up and down spiral staircases making sure we haven’t missed anything. Then it’s out to the outer Bailey and down into the medieval tunnels. In 1200’s or so they found there was a weak point to the fortifications so altered a tower and gate to provide canon firing points across the moot and a passage below that if escape is needed. There is firing slots from one room over a staircase coming up from the passage. Greg makes ghost noises and startles some people climbing the stairs.

Dover Castle has been critical in Britain’s defence for years so there is also tunnels built firstly for the Napoleonic wars that were modified for army barracks in WW1 and then reused and modified for WW2. In the Battle of Britain, the castle was actually bombed directly from France. They then used a lower level, not accessible now, for Cold War emergency offices.

We do a multimedia tour of The Dunkirk Evacuation. It was masterminded from here, these actual tunnel rooms we’re standing in. We miss the start of the underground Hospital multimedia and can’t be bothered waiting another half an hour for the next one. The Dunkirk one was really interesting, especially after seeing Peter Jackson’s movie and having been on Dunkirk beach itself. It starts with the actual radio broadcast from Chamberlain, stating Britain was now in a state of war, then moves us on through the tunnels, explaining how it got to a point that evaluation was needed. Seriously there was a moment there, if Hitler’s army had continued pushing and not taken a 3 week break, the outcome could have been completely different. The tunnels themselves are interesting, 3 levels of rooms and passageways sometimes with windows or balconies straight onto the white cliffs of Dover. Oh, and no photos allowed.

Lol. I’d picked a campground with a laundry and wifi. The washing machine is broken and the wifi only works around the office and the ‘closed for the season’ cafe. It’s raining and there is a cold wind so we don’t want to stand around up there. Anyhow, back to Europe tomorrow and civilisation hahaha. Maybe sunshine and warmer weather.

Tuesday 1st October

After breakfast we move to the lay by on the other side of the road, it’s more visible to traffic passing by then we walk down a farm track and onto the South West Coast Path. Immediately we have views of St Michaels Mount. Across white capped waves the island rises from the sea with the dominant outline of the castle on top. The last quarter of our walk ends up being along the beach as the cliffs have crumbled down taking the path with it.

We explore the town of Marazion and have a coffee while we wait to the causeway to be exposed. It is meant to be 11.20 but the wind keeps the sea washing over until 11.40. A few people take off their shoes and wade across. If it had been a nice warm sunny day, I would have definitely done the same but as it is we shelter from a rain squall and by the time it passes so can we.

I am fascinated by the thought of living in a small community that some of the time is part of a larger community. Part time Island life. Your daily routines determined by the elements.

The history of the island…. the Benedictine monks from Mont-St-Michel in Normandy built a monastery here in the 1100’s. Like all other Catholic property it was taken by King Henry the 8th. This one he didn’t destroy, instead turning it into a fortress. At the end of the English civil war the then Commander purchased for £3000 the island and everything on it. He then converted it into his family home. The same family still own it. For visitors it is joint National Trust run, family owned venture, and not cheap I must say. The renowned gardens are closed for the season, they only open for 3 months of the year. We wander around the town, not much, and go up to the castle. The guide you get with your tickets is interesting reading, it is written by the current owner, Lord St Leven, and includes personal memories of the rooms from his childhood. The castle is 2 floors on one side and 4 on the other. We tour through the ground floor and the roof terraces, roof top church and the drawing rooms visited by royalty. The families private quarters are below on the south side. It must be odd to have hundreds of people trooping through your house but some people we’ve been bumping into for the last couple of days said the family hardly ever come here now.

We were lucky with the rain squalls until we’re partway back to the van, bugger! Wet again.

Greg had noted an interesting looking cove to visit so I’d found a free place to stay close by. We call in at the cove but decide we’ll come back tomorrow so go on to the carpark at Cadgwith Cove. It is at the top of a genuine fishing village. We walk down to the pub for a pre dinner drink and learn that Tuesday night the locals get together for a music/singing jam session so I guess we will be going back for a post dinner drink too.

The village is pinch me quaint, thatched houses hugging the gully sides. The path down is just a walking track, there is a road but you need a very small car as the fishing boats get hauled up and stored on the roadside. They still use round logs to roll the boats up on, like the Egyptians did, a concession to modern living they now use a tractor instead of man power.

As we approached the pub there are two old geezers with high belted pants over woollen jumpers, wooden walking sticks and fishermen beards are coming towards us. Greg asks if he can take their photos which leads to a great conversation. One lives local, and is walking home, the other is driving back to a nearby village. He’s probably over the limit and we found out later he’s in his 90’s. They are all concerned about him but he’s been having a drink here after work, then driving home for a very very long time and won’t change now. I’m surprised he’s still working in his 90’s too. He tells us he’s been married for 68 years and.. in a whisper to Greg…. he still fancies her.

After dinner we head back down to the pub, with torches as it’s dark. The pubs not that big as you enter the room, on your right are 3 small round tables. A window above the middle one, lots and lots of framed photos of local fishermen and boats over the rest of the walls. Immediately opposite is a fireplace, unlit tonight. The ceiling is low and crossed by dark beams. There are rope loops hanging at regular intervals. Asked what they are for, I’m told on Fridays when the sailors come back ashore they use them to help keep their balance. Sea legs, though she confesses nowadays it’s other influences effecting their balance. The bar runs the length of the left wall with bar stools all along it. There is a forth table, square this time, tucked against the bar and the wall on your left. There is a lot of people. The first two tables on the right are occupied by the musicians. Greg goes to the bar and buys a couple of drinks. There is a empty chair at the forth table and I ask if I can sit there. Greg stands behind me with his back against the door frame. The male of the two already at the table has 5 harmonicas lined up on the table and he nervously rearranges them periodically.

There are 5 other men with instruments. They take turns playing a song. It seems to be there are a core three who accompany whoever is playing/singing and another two who are clearly regulars as well. Sometimes the others will play along on their turn, particularly one who plays a tin whistle. He borrows a guitar for one of his songs and sings another couple a cappella. The guy at our table had obviously been practicing some tunes with one of the core group and they did some upbeat catchy duets, guitar and harmonica. He got a lot more relaxed as the evening progressed so I think it was his first time. The instruments in total are 2 regular guitars, 2 pear shaped guitars 2 harmonica players, 1 banjo, 1 tin whistle, 1 of those rubber band mouth thingies and an interesting instrument that was triangular, had 24 strings and he played it with a almost half circle bow. Plus a whistle thing that sounded like a train.

The songs were mostly folkish but there was a variety. Sometimes it would be a mournful solo, other times a jolly jig and the whole bar would join in on the chorus. After a short time, one of the musicians pushed over a seat for Greg, joking about him photographing the floor. They’d stop and chat to people coming and going, clearly they all know each other. It’s an interesting evening, a glimpse into small community life. The pub has things on every night, music, quizzes, curry night etc and is obviously the hub of the village.

It’s raining again when we walk back up to the van, bugger! Greg is fighting off getting another cold and this rain isn’t helping.

2nd October

We decide to walk the tracks around here instead of going back to Kynance Cove. It’s all part of the Lizard headland.

The South West Coast path runs over 600 miles and a lot of it is along the old paths used by authorities to try and catch smugglers. We’ve picked up a booklet outlining a circuit. It’s back down the footpath again. This morning there are a couple of fishermen securing their boats. Today it isn’t raining but there is a tropical rainstorm due tomorrow and it will bring extra high swells. We cross the cove and climb up to the headland. There is an old shed there. It was a coastguard signal station but before that it was a Huer’s Hut, used by pilchard shoal spotters. This is the origin of the term hue and cry, coming from Huer’s cry when he spot the fish.

The path carries on over several small headlands with tiny steep coves. You can picture the smugglers, they had plenty of spots to chose from. We arrive at the ruins of the Poltesco serpentine works. Serpentine is an unusual local rock of a green and red marble like appearance. In the Victorian age this was a large factory making vases to gravestones. Queen Victoria had a mantelpiece made here. There is also a round building that used to contain a winch for manually hauling the boats up out of the water. I explore every cranny, reading all the information panel then look around for Greg. Takes a little while to spot him, he is lying on the stone beach photographing the water. His grey hoodie blending into the rocks.

The path continues on to Kennack Sands, a surf beach. There is a cafe there so we relax with coffee. We then wander along the beach and up the next headland to look back where we’ve been.

The circuit we are following goes along some roads from here back to close by the Serpentine works so we opt instead to backtrack along the cliffs then up a side path to the old mill at Poltesco. The upper mill was rebuilt in the 1970’s and used for a while so is in reasonable condition. It has ivy growing up the walls, blending it into its landscape. Next it’s along a sleepy lane to the small village of Ruan Minor. A church, covered in red ivy, a school with children playing at lunchtime, a community noticeboard and thatched cottages. Public walkways leads us through stream valleys and around fields eventually back to the carpark and our van.

Greg comments that we’ve not being hiking but rather ambling and he’s certainly correct. The weather has been pleasant, chilly but with sunshine and only a gentle breeze. This makes such a difference to our experience. But this is a lovely area, unaffected by tourism and better for it. Greg feels it’s untouched by the 21st century too and with no cellphone coverage there are different ways of doing things.

We’re due to go into a campground tonight and I’ve found a small family run one close to Eden Project that I want to visit tomorrow. Then we’ll be leaving Cornwall behind. Mixed feelings about Cornwall but when you hunt for it, you can still find the genuine Cornish lifestyle.

Saturday 28th September

A very slow start to the day. Yesterday, while doing the laundry I’d started chatting to a lady, Marilyn and then her husband. They were not long back from New Zealand. They had spent 8 months travelling around in their own motorhome which they’d then sold over there. Flown back here and bought a new one. We’d just finished dinner and a bottle of NZ Sav when Brian came across and asked us to come over to their place for a drink. Needless to say it was a great evening and plenty of wine was consumed. The had a block of Whittaker’s chocolate bought dutyfree as they left so we enjoyed a taste of home too.

We drive to the village of Tintagel. It used to be called Trevena but changed its name in Victorian times for tourism. The draw card being Tintagel Castle ruins. Tintagel is an old Cornish word, Din Tagell meaning fortress with the narrow entrance. The castle was built in 1233 by Richard, 1st Earl of Cornwall and was both sides and over the narrow passageway which eroded into the sea over a few hundred years meaning half the castle remains are on an island now, the other half on the mainland. Just this year Heritage England have built a bridge linking the two parts together again. Despite this we go down the stairs to the beach and ‘Merlin’s Cave’. The reason Richard built the castle here was to associate himself with King Arthur who was reportedly conceived here. In the medieval period it was a settlement occupied by Dumninian royalty and there are plenty of ruins from this time period to see as well. The ruins themselves aren’t much but the location is certainly spectacular. The rain held off nicely while we walked around and returned just after we started driving again.

Tintagel Castle is an Heritage England managed site (actually owned by Prince Charles, Duke of Cornwall) and so we got free entry with our membership. This has well paid for itself now but last night we learned that if we’d been members of Heritage New Zealand at a grand cost of NZ$69 ( that’s about £35 compared to the £105 for Heritage England) we would have got free access to Heritage England, Heritage Scotland ( as opposed to 50% saving) and National Trust (not included in Heritage England at all) also Heritage Canada. So if anyone is planning a holiday over here I suggest they join Heritage NZ before they leave.

We now parked riverside between Padstow and Wadebridge. The old rail line is a cycle/shared path and if the weather is obliging we will leave the van here and walk or cycle into Padstow for a visit tomorrow morning.

29th September

Light rain, strong wind. We opt to walk into Padstow. The pathway is along the Camel river, the tide is out and it’s mudflats all the way. No mangroves here. I must do some googling, do mangroves grow anywhere in the Northern hemisphere? As we approach Padstow the church bells are ringing, it’s Sunday. We pad around Padstow, looking in the shops and galleries. It’s all about food and art by the looks of it. By lunchtime Church is out and the place is filling up. The rain has eased too, hopefully it will hold off for a few hours. We walk back to the van and set course for St Agnes.

There is all this car parking on the head but once again we can’t get to any of it. There is a 2metre height barrier across the road. I don’t understand why. The carparks are all pay and display with very clear ‘No overnight parking’ signs (£60 fine if caught) so why do they make it so hard for tourists like us to visit their sites. It’s National Trust and this isn’t the first time we’ve struck this now. Anyhow on the way up here we passed another carpark without a height barrier so we backtrack to there.

St Agnes area has tin mining remains. Earliest records of Wheal Coates date from 1692 but in reality they’ve been mining here since the Middle Ages. The building remains here are new by comparison dating from the 1800’s. There are remains of 5 engine houses but only 2 are above 1 story. The lower one dating from 1872 was restored by the National,Trust in 1973, still roofless, it is an imposing sight on a wind swept coast. We are below Ireland now so feeling that full frontal Atlantic wind. The rain has gone and there is actually blue sky. The sea is green with huge white waves crashing against the cliffs. You can see the spray being swept up and over the gorse covered headlands. There are no trees and the gorse and heathers cling snugly to the ground. Where there are no plants the ground is small stones, tailings from the mining past.

We walk up to St Agnes head and down as far as Chapel Porth. The main ruins are in the middle so we see them from all three sides near and far. It’s an interesting thought to think of metals coming from rock. I guess all synthetic materials have come from organic matter.

………

Ive been seeing a few articles anti climate change, saying the earth is naturally changing, we are coming out of a mini ice age etc etc. This may be true. The planet looks after itself. For example when a lake has a chemical imbalance you get algae bloom, a plant which feeds on the undesirable and corrects the problem. The issue is the planets survival and humans survival are not the same thing. The conditions humans need to survive are very narrow hence we need to slow the climate change for our own survival, not escalating it as we are currently doing with our industrial practices. If we don’t, then humans will become a planetary problem and the planet will eliminate us, as it has done with numerous species before.

Aside from that we should all be living lightly on the earth.

………….

30 September

It’s actually not raining when we wake up. Unfortunately that state Of affairs doesn’t last long.

Our first stop of the day is Botallock, another tin mining area. This one unusual because most of the tunnels go out more than 200 fathoms (366 metres) from the coast under the seabed. In this area is over a thousand mine shafts and hundreds of miles of tunnels. The lady in the info centre tells us she, as part of the National Trust spends hours fencing of newly found shaft holes. She tells of a car parked outside and the ground collapsing underneath it. The had to get a crane in to retrieve the car which was surprisingly undamaged.

Yesterday the wind was blowing off the sea, today it’s blowing the opposite direction which makes walking along the cliff edges a bit more nerve racking. It’s moody and bleak. You have to feel for the miners who worked in these conditions and worse.

We then drive on to Lands End. As we get closer the mist closes in. This isn’t going to be a great visit but we persist. Clearly for the English, visiting the cliffs isn’t enough so there are shops and ‘attractions’. All for a price. You even have to pay if you want to get up close to the signpost, we do a selfie from outside the fence.

There is a Wallace & Gromit experience which sounds interesting (and dry). We ask the lady if it’s a children’s thing and are told ‘oh no, it’s all ages. You learn how they make the animations and the story behind the company. It’s very interesting’ £10 and 10 minutes later we feel a bit ripped off. Should have known better. The weather hasn’t improved any but we go for a walk to the First and Last point, the next headland northbound. There is a shop there but it’s closed, guess not many people out walking today.

Then it’s back to the van and we head early to our nights parking, a lay-by just above St Michael’s Mount. Tide times means we’ll be doing a lunchtime crossing. Hopefully the weather is okay then. Last day in September, in 8 days we cross back to Europe.

Monday 23rd September

Bit of a nothing day today. We start off driving through the Cotswolds, AONB. Enchanting little villages, yellow stoned houses with steep pitched shingle roofs set in cottage gardens, the roses drooping with petals falling off to carpet the grass lawns.

We go to a supermarket and restock, pausing for coffee and wifi. Then call on a couple of LPG places. So far everyone we’ve asked in England are just ‘no we can’t help’. No interest, no follow up questions, no suggestions, just a flat no. I’ve got another place to try tomorrow which is a caravan and motorhome care service place so maybe we’ll get a better response.

Then it’s a dreary afternoon drive through the rain to our spot for the night. We’re parked on the side of the River Severn between the two bridges crossing over to Wales. Before the bridges were built the ferry used to operate from the now quiet lane. Apparently Bob Dylan was on the last ferry to cross. The Severn has a huge tidal variation but we probably won’t get out and go for a walk. This rain is Tropical Rainstorm Humberto and is meant to hang around for most of the week. No escaping it either, it’s pretty much over all of England.

Still dealing with ACC regarding our business. Firstly they told me the business account was all paid up for 2019 and on hold waiting final accounts. Then we get a letter saying the account had been updated and we had to pay another nearly $500. I ignored that because of the first correspondence. Then get an overdue penalty added letter so I contact them and are told no I have to pay it and it’s over $500 now. So I do and now we get another letter saying our details have been updated and we’re due a credit of just over $300. ACC is like an octopus that’s been thrown on a rock, all eight legs are waving around in different directions and not getting anywhere. For example with our personal ACC accounts I emailed them the same request for both accounts. Was told Greg’s needed to come from his email account as a separate request. Fine, do that. Exactly the same request and I’m told my account can’t be closed until final shareholders returns are filed, in the meantime please pay a couple of thousand for 2020 and Greg gets told, no problem, we’ve closed your account. Here’s a refund. I then complain why isn’t my account treated the same and get a ‘Every email is receipted individually and handled by different people even when relating to the same account. However we have reassessed and closed your account. Great but they closed Greg’s account as at 14 September 2018 when we sold the business but close mine at 31 October so different refunds. I just rolled my eyes and let it go.

Grumble over for today. I’m sure in a year or two when I look back at now, I won’t even remember the weather and the LPG and the ACC issues.

24th September

It’s raining and bleak. Last night after dinner Greg had gone for a walk around the remains of the ferry terminal and I had thought I would this morning but I flag it. We set course for the caravan place in Bristol. Address is a terrace house. No sign of being able to fill gas bottles so we go to a nearby Morrison Service Station hoping to pick their brains. No it’s a couple of women with absolutely no knowledge of gas. We decide to go to the Bristol Calor centre and just buy a UK bottle. Not that easy, the adapter kit we’d bought supposedly to connect from foreign gas bottles to the van regulator is actually adapters from German Gas bottles to foreign regulators. Feeling super frustrated, thinking we’re going to have to buy a camping stove. The really nice South African guy then says let me phone someone who maaaay be able to help. He comes back out to say, sorry the guys not there. Then the guy turns up, his wife called him to say the Calor place had called and he was driving past at the exact moment. We then follow him back to his base and, joy oh joy, he filled both our bottles. We both so grateful. This will get us through to mid November. Will have the same problem again then but for now we can breathe again.

We jump on the motorway, eyes set for Exmoor. It’s taken us most of the day to sort the LPG so we won’t be doing any moor walks today but we will set ourselves up to do so tomorrow. Hopefully we can get to the visitors centre before it closes so get some maps and information. The motorway feels slow. There are lots of roadworks and its a boring drive even when there isn’t.

We make it with 10 minutes to spare and pick up brochures on 3 very different walks. Hopefully the weather improves tomorrow. We then drive on to a carpark beside a small lake, I’d been busy while we were driving along the motorway. Good job too since cellphone coverage is not great and non existent at the lake. Once again we are in a Dark Sky Reserve and once again the weather means Greg might as well just sleep all night because clouds will block all stars. Tomorrow night we will be right in the middle of the Dark Sky Reserve and without the trees we are currently surrounded by so, with luck, this storm will have moved away from that spot.

25th September.

We are joined in the carpark by fishermen this morning, all pulling on their waders over the top of their raincoats and heading down to the lakes edge. I key in the destination of our walk into the GPS. There is no cell coverage at all so I can’t double check on Google maps if this is the best route at all. We are directed down very skinny lanes, hedges brushing each side. Adding to the fun is the rainwater flowing across regularly and the autumn leaves reducing grip. We did make it okay though.

We drive past lots and lots and lots of signs saying “Warning Pheasants on road. Please drive slowly.” There are lots of pheasants, it’s amazing. We pass a field with 3 sheep and about 30 pheasants. Such an unusual sight for us.

We are going to Tarr Steps and the Barle Valley. The Tarr Steps is a clapper bridge about 400 to 600 years old. A Clapper Bridge is constructed by laying large stones narrow wise to the water flow to make piers, ‘raking’ stones are placed in front to protect them, then large flat stones are laid from pier to pier to form the bridge. The weight of the stones holding it all in place. This one is the longest in England with 17 spans and is a scheduled monument.

In the carpark I chat to a local man, who is waiting for a walking group to arrive. He says they really needed this rain, it’s been such a hot, dry month that the ponds are all nearly empty. They just needed us to turn up and bring the rain hahaha. Today the water is only just below the top of the Clappers and he tells us that the water will be over 4 foot deep now. There is a ford alongside the bridge but even on a good day only locals with intimate knowledge cross it.

There is a 1.5 mile circular walk but the lady at the visitors centre yesterday said at the halfway point instead of crossing the bridge you could carry on to a village called Whitypool, 4 miles away. There is a pub and a cafe there so our plan is go there for lunch then come back and finish the circuit.

It’s still raining but we don’t let that stop us. Hell, if we let the weather interfere with our plans we would get very far over here. The local man does reassure us it should clear slightly this afternoon.

The track takes us through woodland, old gnarled moss covered trees arching over the leaf strewn ground then grassland, green and yellow stalks bent low with the rain. The stones under our feet providing an easy watercourse for the rain to flow down to join the raging brown torrent lapping over the land beside us. In a few places we have to detour off the track as the river covers it completely. We meet one other couple going the other way otherwise it’s only us and a few startled pheasants.

We get to Whitypool in good time so go first to the cafe and have a coffee. Wifi, so I look for a place to stay tonight and plot the course into google maps. They are selling some locally made preserves and we buy some Whortleberry jam. Apparently Whortleberries are wild bilberries. We’ve never heard of either but are assured they taste like a cross between blueberries and black currants. We dry out a bit then walk on to the pub for lunch.

Greg makes a comment ‘Why are buildings these days all so precise?’ This pub’s low ceiling is irregular beams of varying thickness. The plastered walls uneven and the floor is too. We have to shuffle around the table a bit so our drinks don’t spill. There’s a log fire burning which warms us up nicely and partially drys our clothes.

Eventually we leave and make our way back down the river. The rain has stopped and if you look you can spot a few patches of blue sky. Once we get back onto the circular track there are quite a few dog walkers. We cross the upper bridge and go down the opposite side of the river to the Tarr Steps and cross over the stones back to our van. You can feel the vibration of the water through the soles of your boots.

We then drive 45 minutes across Exmoor, winding through narrow valleys to the coast and Minehead. Our park for the night is high on the moors looking out to sea and down the coast. Lots of gorse, mostly finished flowering so drab olive green against the grey skies.

26th September

The wind woke me a couple of times through the night. It wasn’t really hitting the van other than a couple of random slaps but the audio range was really impressive. There were hums and bangs and whistles, fast tempo and slow tempo. This is air and I can’t help thinking, like the water yesterday, with unity comes great strength.

We continue down the Exmoor coast and detour to Porlock Weir, a sleepy little fishing village. It is unusual in that it has sluice gates. A couple of times every year they close the gates at high time then open them at low tide to flush out the channel of stones and such. It is a steep stony beach front so stones filling up the channel would be a regular thing. There is a little museum with tales of locals who done good, like the first female Coast Guard commander. There is a photo of the Porlock Weir Home Guard. It looks just like Dads Army and has both Greg and I singing the theme song.

We drive on to Lynmouth, Greg and I had stopped here 7 years ago for lunch but hadn’t really had a good look around. We had got a brochure for a walk to the Valley of Rocks so pay for all day parking. First though we walk through the town and out onto the breakwater. Greg took a photo here last time and a couple of years ago we bought a watercolour on silk of the same scene. The tide is out again and although the boats are newer, it looks the same. We buy a couple of vegan Cornish pasties which I wrap in a towel and tuck in my pack for lunch. The ‘walk’ starts with a loop up a river then down and along Lynmouth beach with a option of walking up the zig zag path or going up the 1888 Lynton & Lynmouth Cliff Railway. It is fully water powered and climbs 500 feet with a gradient of 57%. Simple technology but works very well. We chose the train and stand on the open back platform so as to see the view and the beach shrinking away below us.

Up the top in Lynton, we follow the signs to the Valley of Rocks. Not what we were expecting at all. There is a road, a roundabout, carparks, tearooms, toilets and tar sealed footpaths around the rock outcrops. We definitely overdressed in our tramping gear. Never mind, we have another map showing every path, track, lane etc in the area. We scramble up Castle Rock and eat our still warm pasties then cross the road and find Devils Cheesewring, a ‘small permissive path’. It’s about 200mm wide going straight up through the bracken to a ridge line. Peaty dirt, the track mostly defined by the broken bracken stalks. From there we join Southcliffe, a ‘footpath’, it’s a 1metre wide grass track across moorland. Views over the Valley of Rocks, the rocks themselves and out to sea. Wales a smudge on the horizon.

Then it’s down a ‘permissive path’, gravel turning to leaf covered dirt back to the Valley floor. We recross the road, skirt around the lower sides of Hollerday Hill, a tarsealed ‘footpath’ crossing a small pass onto the Coastal ‘North Walk’ which takes us back to Lynton and down the zig zag path to Lynmouth. The path crosses the Cliff Railway 3 times and while we’re on the middle bridge the 2 trains cross beneath us. It is an amazingly steep line.

Back down in Lynmouth the tide has come in, the surge coming over the top of the breakwater between the harbour and the river, with every wave. It’s mesmerising to watch and the boats all in a grid move forward and back, side to side.

We have a celebratory drink in The Rising Sun before moving on to our spot for the night, a carpark just past Combe Martin overlooking the sea. There are heaps of blackberries so Greg picks a bowlful for his breakfast.

27th September

It rained all night. Tropical rainstorm Humberto departed yesterday morning but the forecast is rain on and off for the next week. No special name this time so I guess this is just regular autumn weather. We going to a campground tonight for the regular domestic needs so I guess we won’t be wishing we were at a beach instead of a laundry.

We stop on route…. well a small detour… at the surf beach of Woolacombe and have a quick look around in a break in the weather. The wind is blowing straight in, I think if you stood up on a surfboard today you’d get blown right off it. I’m nearly blown off my feet walking across the carpark.

Our campground for the night is a total complex with restaurant, bar, takeaway shop, General store, tennis courts,archery field, fishing pond and every type of pitch. But still the wifi is weak. The reception lady slips us a free code for the premium paid network.