The lime tree is buzzing with bees. They’re busy collecting the pollen from the hundreds of fragrant creamy flowers which cover it. It’s a soporific sound as I nod off over my book.
There’s a heatwave across the middle of Europe and we’re sitting in a metal box in the middle of it. I’m exaggerating of course, as the van is insulated and we are parked in shade but nevertheless it’s a hot place to be. We’ve given up on cultural sites as it’s simply too hot to go trekking around large towns. From time to time, I open a cupboard and a pair of woollen socks or a hot water bottle, winks at me and says “We could make you even hotter Ginny!” So I slam the door shut and head for the pool instead. Inside the food cupboards, the jam and peanut butter bubble away merrily to themselves in the early stages of fermentation and considerable stickiness. It’s a far cry from Spain in early February!
Burgundy is a remarkably relaxing place to be. It’s very unspoilt and lush. You don’t stand a chance of losing weight here, unless you have the will of …… who? Who had a strong will? I’m blowed if I know. Mrs Thatcher….but she’s become a bit of a cliché.
Leaving the sea and mountains to one side, Burgundy has everything: fantastic cheese and wines, fruit, Charolais beef cattle, cereals, the inevitable French patisserie including macarons…, woods, rivers and it remains remarkably unspoilt and quiet. Oh, it doesn’t have olives, there you go but who needs it with their dairy products? Well, as I survey my burgeoning waistline, perhaps I do! The diet starts a week next Monday….
We’ve stayed put for several days now, enjoying the heat and quiet. We discovered that this Morvan region was the centre of the French Resistance and there are many monuments and references to the bravery of the Maquis. We visited the Museum of the Resistance yesterday and it was interesting to learn more about them and see the affection in which the British are held here. Makes a change from the Eurovision Song Contest!
Walking round the various towns, you realise that all these silly books and articles about how chic French women are, are total exaggerations. I promise you that there are just as many dowdy and scruffy Frenchwomen in small French towns as anywhere else. Not all French women go around with nattily tied silk scarves, tight belts around sylph like waists and haughty expressions. I’ve seen my fair share of elasticated trousers and clogs, believe you me. Maybe the chic ones are confined to Paris?
And onwards…..we’ve left the lovely site in the Morvan behind, made a short stop in Avallon and yes boys, I did tunelessly hum the song forgetting the words, how could I not? We are now parked by a lake in Champagne, to the north east of Troyes. The weather has finely broken and today is cloudy and windy, not cold but it is compared to yesterday! We’re on a site with large numbers of Dutch and Belgians. The Dutch are very friendly and relaxed, they eat early in the evening and the women still seem to do most of the domestic work, which surprises me……unless it’s a barbecue. I’ve not yet formed much of an opinion about Belgians, I’ll keep you posted. Suffice it to say they don’t all go around with twirly moustaches eating plates of chips and mayonnaise…..ah me, the land of the stereotype! As I’ve said before I think, the best thing about campsites is that no one bats an eyelid if you are still wandering around in your pyjamas at 10 o’clock, collecting your bread and croissants.
French schools are out and we have some sort of holiday camp based here, which is fun as the children are lively and well behaved, yes it is possible! Lots of jolly team games and singing. I must say I felt sorry for the young chap enthusiastically singing silly songs with hand gestures, trying to engage a group of small children by the lake, who were either bored or homesick or both. Not a job for the faint hearted!
I continue my struggles with French plumbing. We were spoiled at the last campsite which was perfect: seated loos with paper and hot showers. Whatever next?! This site has the ‘press the shower button and you will get warmish water for a very short period of time……and by the way Rosbif, don’t try and keep it pressed down, that won’t work, I will turn cold again’ variety. And it did and very chilly it was too. The loos, needless to say do not have seats. This morning on our walk, I was confronted by the squatting variety of loo with two places for the feet. Convincing myself it was more hygienic than hovering over bare bowls, I accepted the challenge and remembered to jump out of the way before pressing the flush button. Voilà!
On which note, chers amis and chères amies, I will leave you and put a metaphorical stamp on this before we head off to the Ardennes tomorrow and home early next week. Hélas! It was only ever going to be a quickie….’thank the Lord!’ they all cried as one…