AND SO TO THE AUVERNE...

The run from Chartres was easy and given the difficult and late start we were glad of it. Arrival here at Ebreuil was excellent. This site was chosen from its Google map view – excellent meadow beside the River Sioule, close to small town or some note. Easy access from the Autoroute. Well sort off. Janet was driving the last leg and the actual exit from the A road was fine but the descent into Ebruiel turned out to be five kilometres at 8% - that's one in 12 old money and with a van on the hook not all that funny, especially for a newbie. She did fine. And then found she had to negotiate a none too easy French town centre! Did it well and you have to learn sometime. I felt no guilt!

The site is sweet. Good pitches, level, sheltered, shade as needed. The river is lovely. The facilities? Well, left of centre. We have all the bits, just in a funny order and with large quantities of rather Warhol-ish painting around. Great jets with whizz-bang pilots and blonde floozies; superman; Clark's shoe-style crosstrack bucolic scenes. But it is fine. Owners are English – came here 25 years ago.

The river is a tributary of the Allier, which names the department here in the region of the Auverne. The Allier feeds the Loire. But even the Sioule is no small river. Ebruiel is a charming little town that has faded lately. It should do better really as the adjacent Autoroute connection is the only one fro 40 kilometres north and south! But it had a huge priory which is now crumbling and it needs an inspirational Maire to get it back on its feet. But for us it is a pleasing place to stroll and shop.

Today we drove west up the Sioule into the Gorge du Chouncy, a mini Tarn. Two castles, some pretty villages and we curved around to view a lake in a volcano plug. Just on the edge of the Puys and the Region Des Vulcanes, the Goir Tazenat is a 7 kilometres round circular lake in a crater. Rather good to look at and a lot more manageable in scale than the monster versions we saw north of Rome a few years ago. Nearby were some thermal baths but the lake evinced no maladorous factors although Olly turned his nose up and did not drink!

A TALE OF TWO CITIES

Chartres has become a true test for us. Indeed, as the man said, the best of times; the worst of times. The place is wonderful, the cathedral amazing. The town that huddles around the mother church's apron strings is old, proud and charming. The shopping is terrific and the markets superb.

But the taint will remain. To be robbed on your first night and lose all cameras and spare clothes – about £2,500 in total we reckon - was bad enough. Three days seeking a car window aggravating. But finally we were ready to go and then what now seems like a jinx came back again. All set. Janet says a tyre looks soft. I look. It is. Flat!

I unpack the boot and extract the spare, a good tyre which was repaired a few weeks back and checked before we left. Flat! Expletives were not deleted. I had only a pump for topping up but another camper came to the rescue. We pumped up the flat and sped to a Midas tyre centre. A two inch cross head screw was to blame. And the flat spare? That was a weeping valve!

Two repairs would have been bad enough but with a wheel off I took the chance to check the brake pads. What do you think, I asked the man. 2000 kilometres he said. Enough to get you home. Not going that way, I said. So new pads it had to be. 125 euros later – and I reckon that was a decent price – we are able to leave.

We shall be back but I reckon it will be in a hotel in the centre ville – NOT in a van on THIS campsite.

THIEVES IN THE NIGHT

Chartres - April 4

All gone. All my toys bar one in a single aggravating night of felony by a bunch of... no, they are probably les miserables made even more so by the vicious actions of drug barons and bankers.

It went like this. I finally felt well enough to make the four hour journey from Mont St Michel to Chartres. It was not a great decision as it happens. An hour or so down the road the phone rang and it was the campsite to kindly tell us that the delayed package of pills for Janet had finally crawled the last few hundred metres to Courtils. Eight days for about 500 miles!

But we 'sped' on and arrived in good time at Chartres, finding the site easily. It was OK in a French kind of way, on the banks of the river which was however made inaccessible by a security fence of which more anon. The put up was faster ands better accomplished but I was knackered by the end and well aware I might have done better to stay put one more day. Oh boy was I right this time.

As ever, with the awning up and properly fitted out we felt complete. I left a few items in the car – quite safe of course – and we retired to bed. All slept well including our ever watchful and alert hound, Ollie. In the morning a neighbourly camper told us a window was open. It had been smashed in – silently by pressure with a jemmy – and all my cameras and lenses, two bags of spare clothing and some books were gone. Oh, and the SAS caravan wheel clamps which I had not fitted as the awning was up and the site roadway secure. It is heavy so I carry it in the side tool compartment in the rear of the car.

Three other campers we also done – none so throroughly however. Professionals, as they cut out quarter lights silently with a Stanley knife, broke my window silently and knew every compartment including the 'hidden' optional extras in my Skoda! They even took the special Canon camera battery car charger from the little hatch under the steering column!

The French police turned up promptly, did a reasonable job of scouting about, taking details and even called up a SOCO who photographed (nice bloody Nikon!) and even dusted for dabs – zilch; too humid as in morning dew. More blue action than we would get in the UK, I have to admit.

It was generally agreed the security fence by the river was inadequate. It was, I now see designed to be environmentally sensistive, green, gauzy and insubstantial. A bare six feet and mildly spiked – you can turn them down with your fingers! It was also revealed that thefts were not uncommon, as in three times year. Especially early in the season. The site opened on April 1; today is the 5^th!!!!

Walking the dog later I found a shielded stretch some distance from the main camp with two areas of the fence bent down about 18 inches, the spikes turned down and close to one an area of long grass freshly trodden and disturbed – late night sex or our stuff awaiting collection. Close by in the soft ground were two wide tyre tracks, uncannily like the balloon tyres fitted to quad bikes. Do I waste another day helping the police with their inquiries? What do you think!

It could have been worse but the aggravations are legion. Long calls to insurance companies. Janet spent two hours with the local police filling in forms. I found a VW dealer and arranged ordering a side window; it could be in tomorrow and will be fitted “sur votre command” - same day then, Monsieur!

I shall buy some sort of camera to tide us over – I cannot stand not having a proper viewfinder so the pirce will not be low; may as well make it a proper 'back up' like the sweet little Fuji I guess. But me? One camera and no extra lenses? No Gorilla tripod? I'll die.

If the window is done tomorrow morning we shall be able to start doing Chartres – until then the car is not secure of course. A rubbish bag and three yards of gaffer tape isn't gonna stop these (expletives deleted) people.

THE TROUBLE WITH OYSTERS...

Mont St Michel - April 4

Regrettably I am ill again. And the most likely culprit is oysters – again. It goes like this:

I adore oysters and for years in France I devoured them in large numbers. Although less confident of the English handling of this delicate jewel I did occasionally eat them in the UK. Then in 1993 I bought oysters for Christmas. Collected them fresh and alive on Christmas Eve and got them ready for Christmas dinner. Three of six adults ate them. Two of us best part of a dozen, one experimentally trying a couple for luck.

By midnight the three of us were very ill. By Boxing Morn it was touch and go that we called 999. We did not which I now think was regrettable. Mainly because it means I cannot honestly prove it was the oysters and the national and local suppliers therefore cannot be named.

The year went by and in 2003 we celebrated our 60^th birthdays by taking a house in Cornwall for both our daughters families – the same victims, of course as in 1993. We chose one of the best restaurants in the UK and were royally treated to a fabulous meal. Two chose oysters and one again had a dabble. Unbelievably the two main eaters were horribly ill again! And both had eaten oysters in France with no ill effect. The third was unwell but less so.

The years have rolled by and I have not sampled oysters in the UK again and even in France have avoided them. Until Thursday. In Cancale, home of vast numbers of highly respected oyster beds. Nine cruse number 3s did I enjoy. And all seemed well until 36 hours later when another night of horror began. The phrase both ends against the middle never had more resonance!

But here's the thing. It took too long to start for it to be bad or toxic oysters. I was not vomiting until I drank some water and then only briefly. And it has passed too quickly. Well, not quickly enough but you may know what I mean.

So now starts the hunt. Is it possible with such a specific and live comestible to attenuate your body to be intolerant? After all I have eaten oysters some 40-50 times but only the last three have made me ill. So, was it only that first batch that was 'off' or at least toxic from its water? And did the second, admittedly sever, event have more to do with intolerance than any real failing in the oysters? Either sway of course these were the last oysters I shall ever eat, which is deeply sad.

Now, what shall I google to establish this possibility?

FOUGERES

Still down with the gut trouble. Not very good but getting better. Fed up sitting around we travelled the 40k or so to the Town of Fougeres. It boasts and huge castle with the largest amount of medieval battlements in Europe. 13 towers for starters. It is very impressive, lots of old granite and much quite skilful restoration too.

But it is odd. Then town is one one clifftop, there are two more significant cliffs and in between, on a chunk of land virtually surrounded by a river turned moat is this huge castle. Within it are four mill wheels arranged in line; amazing. But the oddity is that archers on the bluffs around can easily shoot into the bailey. How was it defended? It was not open it being Sunday so finding out must wait another day or so.

The entire town is charming and mostly very old. The likes of Victor Hugo, Chateubriand and many others have sung its praises. I cannot disagree – castle, cliffs, town and parkland are all charming.