Happy, Sad, Challenged and Relieved…

So here, at the beginning of September, we are in France. The Barfleur [about which, more later] was busy on this Thursday morning, heaving with both young couples and their pre-schoolers and decrepit, or less ancient retirees, all of us revelling in this just-post-summer start of the school year. This is an altogether delightful time for us, for Husband and myself because for all of our working lives we were stuck with school holidays and now we are free to travel at this balmy, end of season time- what travel writers like to call the ‘elbow’ season.

If anyone had asked me a couple of months ago if we’d be away this September I’d have scoffed. Major surgery was looming. I didn’t expect to be mobile to this extent. OK, I’m not to cycle and there are other restrictions for a while yet, but I can certainly walk, explore, observe and photograph. It doesn’t seem long since I was handing my camera over to Husband as he strode off and left me seated somewhere.

I felt a twinge of sadness as our ferry chugged out of Poole harbour this morning, as it was our last voyage over on the Barfleur, which is to be sold off, the route axed as the French ferry company, Brittany Ferries seeks to rein in expenditure, debts having mounted. We’ve used this route for years as Poole is local for us- a mere half hour’s drive away. Poole’s huge, iconic harbour is scenic and beautiful. I shall miss sailing this route.

Our last French jaunt, made last year, was disastrous [https://gracelessageing.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=8132&action=edit] so it takes a leap of faith to strike out again. We’ve struck south to a different, new overnight stop from our usual aire, at ‘Grandcamp Maisie’ a small, Normandy seaside town. Why have we changed? Perhaps it was time, or perhaps we felt the Saint Brice en Cogles aire we’ve used so much to be a little jinxed now, since that is where the van refused to start on our first morning.

This aire, like all of them, is plucked from our trusty book of aires- although in the event, not so trusty, as rather than being the cosy, council run, 9 euro aire described, it is now a vast, company run area accessed via an app and a code. When we reach the barrier, Husband reverses the van out in disgust and resorts to scouring the book for somewhere else, while I turn on roaming on my phone, scan the QR code, download the app and get my access code. We are in, although when there seems no way of paying I assume we must do so in order to get out again…

We walk down to the seafront. Grandcamp Maisie is a quiet town with a strange hotchpotch of housing of all descriptions and no conformity whatsoever, which makes it interesting. Along the prom, one or two bar/restaurants are open so we select one. It’s tiny but already people are piling in. Once we’re seated, I open my phone to see a message from ‘Camping-Car Park’, the firm that owns the aire. I must pay within 15 minutes or else… [or words to this effect]. Or else what? Eeek! Getting towed away? Getting clamped? Impounded?

The tiny restaurant is not conducive to phone signals so I shoot out on to the prom and work my way as hastily as I can through the payment process, finally managing it. I’m not thrilled though, at having to choose an amount to pay from a selection of prices that are all more than the cost of the aire! Now I have a ‘balance’, of euros which I do not want.

I decide to forget it and enjoy my meal, which I do, and the pork pieces are too huge for us to eat them all so we get them parcelled up for lunch tomorrow.

In the morning we are up, emptied and filled with fresh water and off to pastures new- and yes- we are able to escape the aire- phew!!!

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

Short and Sweet in Dorset

We don’t always travel long distance with the van. We’ve just returned from spending some time in a very scenic and beautiful part of our own lovely county of Dorset.

To the west of Dorset, near where it joins the neighbouring county of Devon, a rocky peninsula protrudes into the English Channel. This is called the Isle of Purbeck, not actually an island as it can be accessed by road, but a far more interesting route is via a small chain ferry from the popular beach resort of Sandbanks, near Poole. The ferry queue is often long in the summer months, but if you are lucky it’s only a short wait for the ferry, which crosses the entrance to Poole Harbour.

On the other side there is a flat road across the heathland-a backdrop to some wonderful beaches- and then it’s hilly farmland dotted with characterful villages, their cottages of yellow, Purbeck Stone from one of the quarries here.

We head for ‘Tom’s Field’, a rustic site on a farm in the village of Langton Matravers, just outside the seaside town of Swanage. Tom’s Field is well known, although we generally prefer a site a little farther out, Acton Field, which we believe, on this occasion is closed. In matters of sites we like to seek out places close to communities that offer pubs, restaurants and similar amenities and Langton Matravers is perfect.

Early September is offering a few days of warm sunshine. We get a bus from the village down into Swanage, which is archetypal British seaside at its best, with a beautiful curving beach, plethora of fish and chip shops, cafes, arcades, candy floss, a handsome pier and, best of all, a tiny Punch and Judy theatre on the sand.

Like pantomime, Punch and Judy is peculiar to British culture. While it’s been around for about 300 years it’s as entertaining as it ever was, un-PC, violent slapstick by florid puppets. some of the jokes are as old as Punch and Judy itself- the crocodile and the sausages, the whacking by naughty Mr Punch, the ill-treatment of the baby. Other jokes are topical. Swanage Punch and Judy is one of only 3 left in the country, 2 of which are in Dorset!

After watching the show [all of 10 minutes], we wander on to the pier, magnificent in Victorian glory and with a view of Old Harry Rocks. It is beautifully maintained, although you must purchase a ticket for the privelege of walking on it. Then of course it’s tea [we are British, after all] at a seafront cafe before we stroll back to the station to get a bus back to our site.

In the evening there are the pleasures of The Kings Arms- Langton Matravers’ pub, all old beams, flagstones and local banter. We once enjoyed a ‘lock-in’ here, many years ago when we visited with a singer-guitarist friend. There is a good selection of beers [most important].

Next day we loll about a bit then set off from our site and up across the fields to the Priests’ Way, a footpath which will take us to an even more ancient and iconic hostelry called ‘The Square and Compass’, in another village- Worth Matravers. We’ve been here many times. It sits up in an imposing position above the sea. From here you can walk down to the whimsically named Dancing Ledge, popular with climbers. An almost perfect rectangle of rocks forms a natural swimming pool.

But it’s not for us, this time. We make for the pub, a long, whitewashed building, stone tables and stools outside and dark, glossy, wood panelled rooms inside. The drinks and food are served from cubby holes, rather than a bar and an annexe contains glass boxes full of fossils. There is no haute cuisine here, rather a pasty and a bag of crisps, but this has not deterred the dozens of visitors who queue up for a pie and a pint today.

Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is now out and available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my website: janedeans.com or my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novellist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook