When the world is your oyster

Us and Lula the bus

Travelling definitely brings out the friendly side in people, and in France it seems the norm to say hello to virtually every person you pass. Pulling up alongside other live-in vehicles, it feels only polite to smile, say hello and if possible, engage in a little conversation. We have been away six weeks and the difference I’ve found between us and most other people travelling is that they are on holiday, and will at some point soon be returning ‘home’, unlike us, who are travelling indefinitely, in our home. We are yet to find anyone in the same boat (or bus) as us. On meeting other camper-vanners and motor-homers, the first question we are asked is always ‘where are you from?’ followed by ‘how long are you are you away for?’ It feels a bit awkward to be honest, as I don’t really know the answer; to say we are from England is fine, after that it gets complicated. My new answer is ‘we live on the bus’. 

So far we have only met a couple of English people, I presume they were retired and on holiday; they were perfectly nice, but without sounding snobby – to use my dad’s acronym – they were ‘NQOT’, not quite our type. So, where are the people like us? I’m sure they must exist, perhaps we need to find the equivalent of Hogwart’s platform 9 ¾ and enter a portal where we find our fellow travellers and kindred spirits. Not that I’m moaning, it has been great so far; I am much more confident talking to people and feel less self conscious than ever, because if you precede everything with ‘je suis Anglais, je parle en peu Francais’ (I’m English, I speak a little French) people are mostly kind towards you.

This week we concluded our trip around the Arcachon Bay AKA Oyster Central, where what they don’t know about Oysters basically ain’t worth knowing. 

The port in Andernos Les Bain

On Monday we left swanky Cap Ferret, with its beautiful beach bodies, trendy toddlers with their stylish parents and nubile nannies, and headed back to Ares. It felt a lot less flashy there, it’s somewhere you can strike up conversation in the post office, and has the best launderette I’ve yet to find.  I’m pleased to say we conquered our fishmonger fear – we had really wanted to buy some fresh seafood, but felt it was too much of a minefield in Cap Ferret, where the 'Poissonnerie' resembled what I imagine the fish section in the food hall at Harrods looks like, it was too intimidating. 

Back in Ares, we ventured into one of the local fish shops, which won me over before I even stepped in as they had a large bowl of water outside with a sign which translated as Doggie Bar, the first place I have seen that put water out for pooches. In there the young, handsome fishmonger could not have been more helpful, and when we told him we hadn’t tried oysters yet, he gave us some, complimentary. Later that night Nick cooked up a delicious seafood tagliatelle with prawns, mussels and squid. 

The best launderette so far

So with cleanly laundered clothes, on Wednesday we headed off to the next village in the Bay, Andernos Les Bain. This was a larger town and even more Oyster-y than the previous locations; we parked up in a place which was supposed to cost 15€ per night via a ticket machine, but it seems, out of season, you can chance your arm and we didn’t pay anything and no one came and checked. We positioned ourselves between the port and a large pond, home to some very noisy ducks, which I assume don’t roost, as they quacked throughout the night, and by the second night it began to sound more like a mocking laugh.

The 1920s Preventorium (disused TB clinic)

We enjoyed some beautiful walks here and came across a large deserted 1920s building with ‘Preventorium’ on the gate post – it turns out it was a sanatorium where people showing signs of tuberculosis were shipped off in the early part of the 20th century to prevent them infecting others. 

View from the Preventorium

It’s in a beautiful position, right on the bay, and you’d think would have been re-developed long ago, I’m not sure why it still stands desolate - an eerie and sad reminder of by-gone days. 

  

Me with a seafood platter

At Andernos Les Bain we enjoyed a sensational and affordable sea food platter, including whelks, shrimps, winkles, lingustines, prawns and oysters with a lovely bottle of Bordeaux white wine. We don’t eat out much, so this was a real treat, the weather was gorgeous and the setting perfect. 

Next on the itinerary was Arcachon, the biggest town on the Bay and home to a gargantuan sand dune called Dune de Pilat. We whistled through there pretty quick, deciding not to stay - we had already seen and attempted to climb several dunes in the region – fun it is not, tiring and very sandy, although it was amusing watching Nina running down them hell for leather.

Feeling that we had well and truly done the Bay, we headed south a short distance to Biscarrosse, where there is both coast and lake to enjoy. Currently we are parked up by the lake at a pleasant camping spot, for 8€ per night, enjoying electric hook-up, so have all lights blazing, music on and DVDs lined up ready to watch! This week is half term, so the place is teeming with families - we noticed that the children seem very well behaved in France, as well as very well dressed.

Our current view

 

Earlier this week we met an interesting French woman, by chance, walking on the beach (with her three dogs and carrying her cat), the first person, since grape picking, that seemed remotely on our level, who with a few words recalibrated our plans and set us on a new track. Before coming to France I rather naively thought it would be cheap here and day-dreamed that we might find a bit of land to buy; as it turns out it’s really rather pricey, and though I like it immensely I haven’t seen anywhere that I totally fell in love with. The cat carrying lady told us how great Portugal was and recommended we go check it out, which sparked a new flame and now we are making plans to explore opportunities there and see what it holds. I’m sure we’ll discover plenty more places on the way and encounter forks in the road which set us on different paths. That’s the beauty of not really having a plan, it’s a moveable feast - anything can happen, the world is our oyster.