Day Twenty Two

France: Nages to
France: Avignon

Saturday 26th July

Back again with more goings on in “big brother’s little brother camp”.

We came up with that one en route, its very descriptive don’t you think? And talking of enroute, the Dutch couple and their deranged children drove us away. I have never known a child that spends every waking hour squawking, but this one sure as hell did. It was an overcast morning with rain in the air and clearly a day at the lake, was a no go. So we avoided a massacre of Dutch children packing up Priscilla to take to the open road again.

Ian was clearly relieved. Whilst set in a beautiful location overall the campsite was a huge disappointment. Part of the same Hutopian chain that J and I had visited near Versailles, I had lots of expectations, but it was a totally different set up, a shop with nothing in it, a bar/ restaurant with no menu (Ian worked out they may be selling pizza having read the chef’s menu’s pinned to the wall as he peered through a kitchen window). Even the tiny pool was over run with toddlers, everybody seemed miserable and everything was badly organised. Shame as the location was great but in need of some serious trouble shooting. Hey maybe there’s a new career in that for me, yes I can see myself touring Europe, mystery shopping campsites, that would be right up my street!

Our next destination was Eastward, I had identified a campsite right on the edge of Avignon and was craving culture and no screaming children. We motored on down through the hills on the twisty turney roads via some stunning scenery, Ian doing his best as he held on tightly to Priscilla’s grab handles. Bless him, my brothers not quite the mountain goat that I am and would rather avoid a twisty turney road. He took the executive decision to check Maureen’s route, not happy with what he found he routed us around a mountain via the N roads. All part of the journey together, I was just happy driving. As you’ve probably guessed by now I love to drive and this kind of scenic driving makes for such a change from the M25. The M25 commuting having been a bigger part of my life than Johnathon, these last 2 years.

As we journeyed we certainly had some fun tricking Maureen, she did eventually give in and followed the N roads but not before countless “recalculating”. We passed more stunning scenery as motored of particular note was a lake set in a landscape akin to life on Mars, all blood red rock and soil, very unusual.

It wasn’t long before we had arrived in Avignon. We had picked a campsite just on the edge of the river, allowing us to walk in and discover the walled city, a sort of cultural pit stop on the way to the Cote D’Azur. Unfortunately, the campsite was a complete shit hole. I’m sorry, I can’t put it any other way. The first pitch we were allocated had no shade and with the sun beating down and no electricity evident, I went marching off back to the camp reception ready for a fight. Without too much fuss we were allocated another spot with shade and electricity but already I wasn’t comfortable.

Next stop was to check out the toilet and shower facilities. Up until now I’d been staying in 3&4 star campsite and perhaps been somewhat spoilt. I had come to expect a modern clean power shower and cleanliness next to godliness. I certainly wasn’t prepared for the 2 star urban campsite experience that was ahead of us. Having pitched we went to check out the shower blocks. I was never to recover. I’m not going to go into details, you may well be eating. Lets just say it was an experience I would not want to repeat any time soon. Putting a brave face on it we both calmed each other, re-iterating it’s the location we are here for, as we strolled our way over the Rhone and into the walled city of Avignon.

What I hadn’t told Ian, as we sauntered on, was that I was expecting Avignon to be in full festival swing, having read that the Avignon Festival was running during our visit. Expecting a full on Edinburgh fridge festival experience, minus the rain, I was not to be disappointed. Avignon had indeed been totally taken over by the bohemians. It was like waltzing our way through a scene in Monmatre, Moulin Rouge. All that was missing was the Absinth (but that’s very fortunate as that stuff makes me see fairies and I can assure you it wasn’t Johnathon or even Kylie!)

The Avignon festival, for the uninitiated, centres around theatre and drama with every conceivable space being commandeered as a performance space, from staff canteens to churches and public parks. Avignon was alive with all manner of theatrical types in full costume and make up, performing there way through the streets.

For a while we sat in the main square sipping pastis (next to a French equivalent of the golden girls, out to watch the spectacle) we goggled in amazement at the free show in front of our eyes. All manner of performance artists were parading their way through the city, all singing, all dancing advertisements for their very own shows. All the artists were in full costume and make up, we saw everything from a performing zoo troupe (complete with dancing zebras, giraffes and lions) to jazz players, fire eaters and Spanish dancers. It was mad. I could write an essay about all that we saw that day (and I almost have), it was definitely the day Avignon went mad.

To give you a flavour we scattered ourselves amongst the party atmosphere, taking in sight seeing, shopping, a meal, beer, wine, barcardi, rum and ice cream. I remember wandering the streets, as pissed as newts, around 2am in the morning, as a French bohemian type told us to relax and love the world. Ian and myself, alcohol charged, must have been in full on debate mode (I think that one was gay marriage) we were having a whale of a time putting the worlds to rights (but clearly the bohemian type thought we were having a full on argument, us both being opinionated types!).

We finally called it a night, some point before sun rise, crawling our way back through the streets to Priscilla, leaving the party behind us, our heads hitting our pillows, as we dreamed of life as bohemians.