So we’ve had a few days at Le Gurp, on the Gironde peninsula, where we’ve spent a lot of time over the years. But nowadays, perhaps we’re a little old for the undoubted delights its rustic fabrication offers. We’re ready for a little more in the way of sophistication and comfort- well-lit showers with hooks and ledges, modern laundry facilities, a bar, a cafe, maybe a shop. And Le Gurp is a lot less fun when you aren’t cycling! I’ve missed my bike every day.

Husband brought his new bike and set off along the wonderful forest tracks, full of enthusiasm and anticipation. When lunchtime came and he hadn’t reappeared, I’d just begun to consider ringing him when my phone went- he’d rung me. The wowser new bike, reader, had given up the ghost, leaving Husband with the only option of wheeling it [it could be wheeled] back from where it stopped- near to Montalivet, our nearest, tiny seaside town. That made two of us into non-cyclists.

We’ve chosen to spend the rest of our Gironde sojourn at Montalivet, where there is a resort-type site from which we can walk into the little town. The site has acres of chalets, of course but also areas for tourers, such as ourselves. It’s amazing, with several pools, a complicated spaghettti of water slides, crazy golf, several play areas, a performance arena with stage, a bar, a shop, a beauty salon, hair salon, massage place, gym, gift store etc etc It also has banks of washing machines with integral detergent and operated and paid for by card from a machine on the wall.

It does not, however have toilet seats or toilet paper in the ‘shower block.’sanitaires’.

The site will close in a few days, The tourer part is sparsely occupied and we can choose but some of the pitches are treacherously sandy. The one we choose looks ok- under the pines and with a carpet of needles and bark, but when the van pulls in, it becomes stuck. There is soft sand under the pine needles. The wheels have dug far in. Yikes! But we get the van’s doormats out and under the front wheels and Husband manages to get it out. We choose a different pitch.

The cycle shop Husband found online appears to be never open, in spite of online claims to the contrary, but we can walk to town along any number of leafy lanes. Montalivet is a small, modest seaside place and yet again caters mainly for the surfing community. Near the beach there’s an aire which is so busy there is hardly a knife-width between the motorhomes. It’s another ‘camping car park’ aire [such as we’d used in Grandcamp Maisie] and we’re not tempted to move.

We get a pleasant few days at Montalivet, plus the benefits of freshly laundered clothes and bedding. Some of the restaurants and cafes in the town are closed, indicating the end of season is near. Many are restricting their menus to surfer fare [ie burgers and pizzas] but we manage to find one with a table available along the main street even though most tables are reserved. Their speciality is beef or duck ‘poucent’, which is a type of suspended kebab. We opt for beef and when it arrives it is a gargantuan mass of seared beef pieces. The waitress pours liquid over it and ignites it, then the sauce drips down to mingle with beef juices in a dish of potatoes.

It takes a great deal of chomping to make our way through the poucent, but with a heroic effort we accomplish it- then we have to stagger back, getting hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of roads and eventually arriving to our site.

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com