When I wake up it is still dark. Days are shorter now, much shorter. I want to leave soon, though, so I get up, have some breakfast and a coffee of course, pack up, take a last picture of ‚my beach-house‘.
My neighbours are already up, too, and there is a car that wants to leave. I’m standing in its way, so I have to get moving. No time for sentimentalities – better so. I drive off. Le Grande Plage Village is almost still asleep. I hear the thunder of the surge at the beach, but I don’t want to go back right now, no, do not spoil the image of last night.
It’s cloudy. The clouds hang deep. I had heard the rain drumming on the roof of the van in the night. It’s not raining when I drive over the bridge back to the mainland, Fort Louvois at my left, the oyster bay and Saint Trojan les Bains at my right. I enjoy every single second driving as slowly as possible over the bridge. There is kind of a hole in the clouds and the sun seems to be peeping out of it – I think of my mother. She was with me when we first came here, when we discovered this beautiful island. For almost three years now she is somewhere up there, somewhere in another dimension. Just after her death I had often imagined her peeping out of these ‚cloud-holes‘, watching me going about my things and wishing me well. She had always wished me well. She would be very happy to hear that I have my little ‚beach-house‘ here now.
Again, I feel it takes quite some time to get to Saintes. It’s an hour, somehow a long hour driving through those small, seemingly empty villages. Right at the west rim of Saintes is the Atlantic Park, a conglomeration of chain-shops and supermarkets. I fill up my tank here and stroll a last time through Leclerc. I love strolling through French supermarkets, I love strolling through any foreign supermarket as there is always a country’s everyday normality on display. Unfortunately, I regularly get tempted to buy something of this everyday normality again and again. Today is no exception. I always find something useful, meaningful or just beautiful.
Then I hear it – now it’s drumming hard on the roof! It’s pouring. I have left my lovely island and worse weather sets in. I run back to the van and get in as fast as possible. I take the road eastward, the one, that I have taken already so many times, with my kids, with my friend and now it’s all alone. I finally take the road home.
I pass by Cognac but do not stay on the N 141. I know this road will be extremely busy once getting closer to Limoges. Instead, I turn off on the smaller country road D 951. In Confolens I miss a turn and actually drive through the small and narrow town instead of around it on the bypass. I’m surprised of the beauty of this little town. There are some people carrying things from a van into a house – moving in. I see English number plates – the Brits again!
Each time when I’m passing Guéret I have to instantly think of our French teacher Marcel. I once sat in one of his classes and we were reading a text about the wolves of Guéret. There is also a sign ‚les loups de Guéret‘ at the side of the road. I pass by.
Paray-le-Monial, a small town in the south of Burgundy, is my destination for today. It’s famous for its Romanesque basilica and the Christ painting on the ceiling in the apsis. I went there once when I was studying history of art as this basilica and its painting are somehow unique. Later, I wanted to come here again, but of course my boys were not interested in Romanesque churches and I also recalled it to be rather dull, sombre, at least from outside.
But there is also the nice Campsite Le Mambre. It’s 500km sharp from both Ile d’Oléron and home. There are lush, high trees and big pitches for a very good price. Yet, I still have to go for another 90 km and I’m a bit stupefied about the fact that my GPS tells me that it will take me one and a half hours to get there. How come? I remember the road to be pretty good, a 110 km ‚motorway‘. It turns out that those 90 km are one b i i i i g building site on end. There is a lady driving ahead going at 70km/h sharp or even less and there is a h u u u g e queue building up behind her.
I’m exhausted when I finally arrive at the campsite – change of owner – the nice Dutchman has gone. There is a friendly Frenchwoman now. The place is going to be done up a bit, which serves it right. Some of the picknick facilities have had a rather outdated, shabby look, something from the 70ties. There is one new facility, all with wooden planks – nice.
Dark clouds are building up and the lady at the reception tells us campers to stay on the gravel path and not drive onto the lawn-pitches, because she fears with more rain and soaked grounds we will not be able to get away again.
After the short thunderstorm I take my bike and cycle to the centre. There is service going on in the basilica of Paray-le-Monial, so I can only peep into the aisle from behind. I find a nice brasserie and have a nice meal. My son texts me I should bring some groceries as the fridge at home is completely empty. So, first thing in the morning I will go shopping.
n the morning, the grass is wet. For the first time on my nine-week trip I take out the wellingtons in order not to get wet feet! I don’t feel like going home, not really, so I plan to take ‘the long way home’ and avoid motorways. It’s autumnally foggy when I’m driving through the Jura range that separates Switzerland from France. Nobody is interested in me when I enter Switzerland at Orbe – and then I’m undoubtedly back on an immaculate Swiss motorway – with sooooo much traffic and I realise once again that this country is so small and so crowded.
After almost nine weeks on the road I’m back. It’s Sunday the 26th September 2021 at early afternoon when I drive into the yard in front of our house. How do I feel? I don’t know. I walk up the stairs – and take my younger son into my arms!