The ferry has been made in ample time. Rising at a sensible time from the sofa of two very good friends in Brighton (big hugs to Boz & Sooz) I set out for the first part of my solo adventure with twelve or so miles to the port in Newhaven. The teasing southern coastline is sampled and enjoyed in fine weather, though it had a crisp autumnal edge was soon defeated by glorious sunshine and several short sharp hills to warm the cockles. The disappointment of facing this journey alone was short lived as the excitement started to rise as the British shore line rubbed itself out on the horizon. A good friend (who remains good to this day) started off positive about coming but slowly changed to non-committal then made the definitive 'I won't be coming.' just a week previous. Unperturbed I sought out high adventure in strange lands for myself. Well that and the fact that I had to get to the south of France for a friends wedding coupled to the fact that I'd just bought a new touring bike (though I still love you Matilda!) and had paid for all other transport (ferry there & plane back) meant of course I was going!
So to keep myself sane I thought a diary of events should be in order. I have to admit I'm more than quite looking forward to the challenge. Yet this is merely an introduction, my bike, though fully laden, is still in the hold and not one inch of French soil has been cycled. Excited anticipation of good times, tempered fears of bad times, my my route (apart from a vague south west notion) and my campsites which hopefully will be almost entirely free and wild all still in the theory stage and not yet in practice. So for now I ease back into my deckchair soak in some early glory from the smiling sun and inhale some rejuvenating sea air. Viva la Francais!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Arrival, Deippe is in full swing! There is a Kite festival going on by the beach, an absolutely dazzling array of different kites are afloat on the sea breeze and the town is super busy on this hot Saturday. Unfortunately the traffic is so dense and I'm still wobbling on a fully laden touring bike that will take at least a solid day's worth of cycling to get re-used to the the weight of that I cannot stop to take a photo. The crawl of stop start traffic whilst trying to navigate out of the busy port town is not so welcome but a small price to pay for such a introduction. West is all I need to know for now until I can get out far enough to head south away from major roads. Getting out of the town was no small feat but deftly done in just under an hour. Out of the town I find dreamy roads that curve and sweep around hair pin corners as they ascend and descend the rolling coastal hills. With the beautiful climate I embrace France's terrain like a new lover, passionate and enthusiastic to explore as much of her ample body as she'll allow whilst hoping that my fumbling gropes and gasps are just as pleasing for her. Along the road a little bit I spy my first Patisserie, do I stop so soon? Of course I do! With bread being three of my main food groups I am quite frankly in heaven. So dusting off my non-existant French I step in to order my 'Une Baguette s'il vous plais.' Unfortunately there was quite a queue in front of me. With my nerve faltering I seem unable to help but mimic the ladies in front of me rendering my request to have a high pitched feminine tone that is far from my gruff macho manly gravelly voice. Never the less I seem to be understood as we trade €0.83 for some of the most delicious bread; crispy, fluffy, crunchy, moist, springy, airy all-round-mouthgasm. Although I promise just to have a little bit half of the large baguette is devoured on the spot.
Still miles need to be done and a small part of France needs to be conquered before bed time. Yet I must say as I go about the thirty odd miles it is going to take my body a while to adjust to the climate, I am so glad that my bike can take three water bottles. Just out of a tiny town of Limesy I find a suitable field by the edge of a forest, the key to a good field for wild or fly camping is one that is quite secluded and has no crops on or near because surely no-one would be angry at you for camping on one of those? The French are world renowned for being open and friendly to those hapless Brits who don't even speak their language. After pitching my tent I get down to a meager meal as I discover there were no proper shops near by and I was quite tired, shrinking my small amount of French to full English thus meaning stopping to ask impossibly out of the question. After a sleep and a small ride tomorrow I'm sure I'll do much better.
Settling down for the night with a good pipe everything seems right with the world, I even have my first encounter of the trip with a large sounder of Boars! Ruddy glad there's a fence in the way as they are big buggers but they make hilarious noises! Oinking, grunting, squealing and squelching, a delight to observe. Lesson of the day: Learn much more French!
No comments:
Post a Comment