Still in France...

Boxing Day was the first uneventful day we’ve had. Pure bliss. We drove along the motorway until we reached Nimes, and took an exit to the France Passion farm-stay I had selected. Emile’s olive farm was very close to town and reached through a little village, whose narrow streets Ross negotiated with ease; there was no oncoming traffic, nor cars parked on the side of the road. When we reached the Chemin de Mange Cat (Mangy cat? Hungry cat?), we turned right and drove downhill to the olive farm. After ringing the buzzer, the gate was opened for us and Emile came down from his house to greet us. We are the third Australians he has met!

He showed us where to park and then we went to have a look at his olive press, and bought a bottle of his olive oil for 13 euro. He even let us plug into power in his shed for the night. In his shed was his motorhome, a beauty that surpassed ours in every way.

Ross lay down for a snooze while I sat up front and read my book. It was so peaceful and quiet surrounded by olive trees, and daylight hung on until almost half past five!

We had cheese and olives for dinner, of course, and tiramisu for dessert before playing a game of cards; two-handed 500; not the easiest of games for Ross to learn. After a Bailey’s nightcap, we climbed into bed, literally. Our bed is four foot off the floor.

After a sound night’s sleep, we woke to a fine day, but not a lot of sun. We said “au revoir” to Emile, who showed us inside his beautiful motorhome, of which he is very proud, and showed us his collection of stickers from all the places he’s visited.  He’s definitely a traveller. I don’t know how he drives his huge “camping-car” through village streets though.

We got to the top of his road without mishap, but when we tried to turn right, our poor little camper got stuck on the road so Ross reversed and went the other way.  Not looking good. We navigated into Nimes, but struck the worst roads, with the rudest drivers, so took one photo of the cathedral through an arch of the aqueduct before heading out to the motorway. I’ve never really loved motorways before, but they are a damn sight less stressful than negotiating narrow streets in villages!

We were planning to go into Montpelier but after the Nimes experience, I told Ross to keep going to Carcassonne. Sorry, Kiryn. No photos of Montpelier. I had actually found a stellenplatz right near the old city in Carcassonne, and entered it into the GPS to take us straight there. Apparently, I missed a turn, which I didn’t realize until later, a crucial one as it turns out, because the GPS now guided us into the narrowest, tightest streets, fortunately just one way, of the town centre. Poor Ross had to negotiate turning our vehicle where there was no room to turn, missing buildings on the corners by just centimetres, but he managed to get us out of there in one piece. Some rude person abused us and I gave him what for, I can tell you!

The GPS took us out of town and then back in to town. I couldn’t go through this again, so I asked Ross to pull off the road and I’d start the bloody GPS again. It was then I realized my mistake. The stellenplatz was actually easy to find the second time around.  And it’s really close to the old city walls, which we are planning on exploring tomorrow. We have a lovely view of the town and countryside, with more than a dozen other motorhomes of every shape and size sharing our view. Our next-door neighbour is a gigantic Phaeton, about 6 times bigger than us. He’d want to have a better navigator than me, or he’d be in trouble.