In spite of extravagant claims in our [admittedly] out-of-date aires book, the aire at Angoulins does not have water or emptying facilities. On the bright side, however, nobody comes around to collect any payment, either. Closer research informs us that there are services but not here, in the field. We’ve already experienced difficulties in locating the pitch and have no more luck with the facilities, but opt to get on the road and find somewhere en route, which we actually do, taking a detour into a town with the motorhome services sign and [after a lot of twists and turns] finding both water taps and a ‘vidange’ behind a bakery.
It’s a Sunday but the bakery is doing a great trade and has delicious, artisan bread and pastries. Having made use of their facilities, it seems churlish not to stock up- and besides- we need such treats during journeys.
We’ve continued to have problems finding a site that’s still open for business now that autumn is officially here, but head for a site north of Nantes in a the small town of Nort-sur-Erdre. Again- it’s tricky to find and we drive all over the place, getting lost in farmland, passing horse-racing tracks, turning back and, at long last getting there- down a narrow lane in a wooded location by the Erdre river.
There’s nobody in reception [yet again] so we wander in and have a look. It’s very quiet, with no more than half a dozen tourers in view and a handful of unoccupied chalets, but the site is attractive and certainly spacious.
After a few minutes, a car enters and disgorges a middle-aged couple, who unlock reception and check us in. We can choose where to park up of course. Once installed, we get to stretch our legs with a walk to the river and along it. There’s a backwater where some boats are moored, a path beside a donkeys’ field, then a riverside walk along to what the community has ambitiously titled a chateau. We take a look. It isn’t grand. In fact, I’d call it more of a manor house, though the grounds are huge and contain some eccentric statuary/art installations [or something]. Autumn crocuses are peeping out of the verges and conkers have fallen in abundance. Perhaps French children don’t have a culture of playground conker championships?
Further along there’s a small quay where leisure boats can be hired. There isn’t a lot more to the place- and nowhere nearby to eat, so we turn back to site and sit outside in the last rays of sunshine for a cup of tea, using a convenient tree stump for a table.
Next morning, we search in vain for the vidange, the grey water drain and somewhere to fill up, eventually learning that the toilet emptier is through a door on the shower block [clearly signed] and the water fill and grey waste outlet is outside and beyond another [locked] gate. Who knew?
At last, then, we’re all set and off again. The bucolic landscapes of Normandy slip by, showing some signs of autumn now and we’ve just got a couple more days to fritter away before we sail…
Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com
