Arradon

"We don't get all that far in a day do we Tanya?" Finally though here we are at 'Arradon', a nice but non descript place which on the map appeared reachable in a one day dash. It is also top, well off set a bit maybe, of the circle which is the 'Golfe-du Morbihan'. Neolithic standing stone sites abound around this area which I want to visit. The sun is shining and it's pleasantly warm when out and about during the day.

I'm settling in for my second night at the Municipal camper van area as I'm cream crackered having done a 'dogbikewalk' of several miles longer than originally intended. I just could not resist following the alluring little pathways and beaches in and about the edge of this lovely area. Yes. Bike is big success with no Tanya falling out this time. I also appreciated the Scanny truck load of gears as on this ride there were these totally unnessecary obstructions called hills.

This second night is also welcomed by both of us after two or three days of quite heavy but oh so enjoyable driving through rural France

Arrived at this campsite and chose the one nice level grassy spot without shade. This time of year I want the sun to warm Sadie. I was the only vehicle on the site which has room for approximately 25 vans

Now; the night before I happened to have read a thread on 'motorhomefacts.com' about the French love of parking as close to another motorhome as they can even if the Aire or site is empty.

Settled we were. With Tanya and I contemplating our next gastronomic delight. Round the corner comes this ancient motorhome with what can only be described as a highly agitated bag of rusty scrap metal under the bonnet. Monsieur wizened, white haired and ancient Frenchman was driver accompanied by his equally ancient and even more white haired (more hair altogether in fact) la femme.
They, after having driven round the site twice decided they would park quite close to me, also on the grass, the sloping and damp grass.

I watched amused as they manoeuvred themselves skillfully into a position of stuckness with the front wheels skidding away and the bag of noisy rusty scrap alarming me. I was easily in range should the bonnet become unable to contain the impending distribution of scrap metal bits at high velocity.

An entrance was called for at this point. With the help of wizened and actually quite sprightly la femme, plus lots of gesticulation and shouting of words none of us understood, said van, plus agitated and in great pain bag of rusty scrap, were pushed and directed into a level hardstanding plot just behind me.

Ancient, bow legged and bent double old French man finally emerged from the drivers seat beaming and smiling and making it fairly obvious, language difference not withstanding, that he was really pleased with the outcome. I got the distinct impression this was a normal nights arrival at campsite for them.

They turned out to be quite a nice couple who also had an equally ancient dog. Several conversations were had with none of us, including the dogs, knowing who was saying what. I think he was deaf too as I am sure shouting loudly the same few words repeatedly into your loved ones left ear is not just a term of endearment.

The bag of rusty scrap was coaxed into life again the next morning, well half of it was. I presume the other half kicked into life a few miles down the road. Lots of waves from the couple as they passed and I only hope they saw I waved back through the haze of exhaust smoke that accompanied them.