"This is much better Tanya" I said as I emerged dripping from the cool deep pool at the edge of a swiftly flowing 'River Gardan' not far from the 'Pont du Gard' (famouse Roman viaduct). We were once again wildcamped. This time riverside in hot hot sunshine and completely alone.
Four nights on the campsite at 'Beauerecueill' was handy for 'Aix en Provence' but the combination of having to keep Tanya on a lead, (got told off three times. Once with pointy waggy finger), being surrounded by other campers, and having to negotiate busy roads every time you walked outside the site reminded me of why I mainly wild camp. To be fair it was a nice campsite with good showers, WiFi, electric and, a real bonus, Maggie, another solo motorhomer from the UK. We had a couple of real good chats and the world got smaller as we realised our paths virtually crossed many years ago. Does the name Bob/Rob Hussey ring any Bells Richard?
The campsite was purely for conveniance anyway as my reason for visiting the area was to call and see Nephew James who, as luck would have it was that very weekend moving into a more suitable apartment in readiness for wife Fran to join him in July. My toolbox came in very handy and by the time I left late last night the charming, spacious and typical French apartment was definitely looking a bit more like home. Curtains were up, Ikea lamps assembled and kitchen a total mess. The mess, however; was excusable being as it was after a beautifully 'made by James' 'Niccsoise salad' (hav'nt a clue how to spell it but I know good grub when I taste it) plus apple tart.
There was also the unfortunate little incident too, involving washing machine, waste pipe, and a two hour walk round Aix en Provence whose itinery included the Irish bar plus Burger and chips. Believe me we had earned that 'comfort grub' and were of course totally unaware of what awaited us upon return to the apartment. Which, as you may have guessed, was a very wet kitchen floor.
Baffled and cross we set to with towels to cleaning up before water drained through to the ground floor apartment below. We then investigated.
Now, at this point I would like to point out that said washing machine had been plumbed in by one highly skilled and competant civil engineer currently employed to project manage the complete plumbing system of a nuclear power station. He was ably assisted by a certain elderly gentleman of dubious motorhome fame who has a history of successfully plumbing in more washing machines than he cares to remember.
Our thorough, exhaustive, by the book, and detailed investigation soon uncovered the problem. The waste pipe went into a small cupboard under the kitchen window and there it stayed. The dam thing had been neatly cut off allowing all waste water free access to cupboard and kitchen floor.
Question:
Do you think we should maybe have checked before switching machine on and disappearing into Aix' for two hours?
Answers to James please but basically I would be very worried if I were you. Very very worried!
Motorhoming is a funny business and one which is often full of 'opposites' or paradox. Yesterday was a good slow and peaceful day which lasted right through to an early doors swim/morning wash followed by breakfast outside in the warm sunshine. Finally, at a leisurely pace, off we go again heading for 'Gorges l'Ardeche'. Fortune however; for this day, had no intention of granting us a second peaceful agenda.
First off my experimental sat nav settings got madame in a right tis so she took us down a 'just tooooo narrow' lane. OK: I forgave, negotiated my backwards escape, paused to intimately modify her ladyships settings and continued successfully on our way.
Next up had me muttering both to Tanya and myself.
"Why and what is that orange light glaring omminously at me from the dashboard?"
Stop again. Lunch this time along with investigation via Sadies operators manual. Turns out my brakes;- 'have reached limit of safe mode of operation'. In plain english that means they'll need sorting in the next couple of weeks. OK I can live with that but the day was not yet over. One more suprise was still on the agenda.
A rough bit of road and 'CRACK'. A loud ominous sound issued forth from somewhere front and left. For two days now multiple stops. I've looked, I've listened, I've pondered, I've moved/undone/tightened/untightened/lubricated etc etc. All to no avail. The only thing I've achieved is to establish that Sadie is not broken (yet) and wishes now to have regular 'crack' sounds as part of her modus operandi. That plus the rattle under the dashboard which for five years has defeated all my attempts to silence, is now, I guess, what I'm gonna have to put up with while driving.
All this while slowly meandering up the beautiful Ardeche Gorge. A time of mindful paradox indeed
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