Category: Camping

Heading north into the heart of the Vendée we were sure we would find cooler weather but the storm was a surprise.  My smile faded when the receptionist insisted that we walk around the campsite to find a pitch.  Peering outside, lightning was flashing, thunder was rolling and rain poured in sheets and I really would have preferred to take the ‘van around the large site.  But keen to get the kettle on, we set off, sheltering in the sanitary blocks when the storm was in full force.  The weather wasn’t conducive to finding the ideal pitch but I eventually returned dripping to reception with a number.

The rain had spring cleaned the Vendée and the next day we hiked around the nearby Lac du Jaunay on easy-to-follow paths that undulated around the reservoir’s wooded valley.  The birds sang their bestsellers, fresh-scented flowers perfumed the air and buzzards soared above our heads.  Passing a shuttered chateau we rested on a rocky outcrop overlooking the water and watched a group slowly glide around our headland on inflated float tubes, languorously combining fishing with eating sandwiches.

We are not even beginner-level table tennis players but always have a couple of paddles and balls in the Blue Bus as European campsites often have outdoor ping-pong tables.  Spotting one in the field near our pitch we wandered across, quickly giving up playing seriously as the breeze repeatedly whipped the ball across the table top into the long grass! We giggled as time after time one of us raced to retrieve the ball!

As well as walking, we cycled from the campsite to the winding trail around Coëx that led along the shore of a small reservoir to open fields where hares lolloped and pools where egrets silently strutted.  Another route took us back to the banks of Lac du Jaunay and a shallow inlet where a nursery of mallard ducklings stayed close to mum.  Hearing a clamour of bird calls we searched the surrounding trees and spotted a noisy group of cormorants shuffling and fidgeting among the branches.  Climbing out of the valley we cycled up a shady sunken track and stumbled on an unusual pilgrimage chapel near Martinet.  La Chapelle de Garreau has an ornate outdoor ringing chamber on a balcony below the bell tower.  Inside were colourful abstract stained glass windows and paintings celebrating a local legend that Mary was seen here washing clothes in the River Jaunay.

After the pastoral calm of the Vendée interior, La Plaine sur Mer on the Côte de Jade had a breezy buzz.  Geared up for active holidays, we explored the area around Saint-Gildas Point on foot and bikes.  From small harbours and long sandy beaches where red poppies danced in the breeze we reached Saint-Gildas Point, a boating paradise that reverberated with flapping sails and clanking chains.  We ambled around the jumble of concrete bunkers, remnants of the Second World War German occupation, and looking north across the mouth of the River Loire we could see the huge port of Saint-Nazaire and towards Batz-sur-Mer. 

Beyond the point the landscape changes as the coastal path meanders around sheltered coves and bigger waves attract surfers.  We passed wooden shacks perched on stilts above the sea reached by slatted pontoons.  Fishermen apparently suspend a net from poles on these pêcheries to catch plaice.  A series of information boards showed how artists have interpreted these picturesque views over the centuries and we admired the shoreline houses from Victorian turreted mansions with balconies to modernist concrete and glass and cute bungalows with shutters.  The sea was the brightest blue and clusters of yellow flowers clung to the rocks.  We sat on a promontory watching terns diving in the sea and at La Grande Plage in Préfailles we kicked off our sandals and crossed the gritty sand to paddle in the cool Atlantic water. 

A network of inland farm tracks took us south of La Plaine sur Mer to a natural area of coastal moorland that slopes down to the sea cliffs and contrasts with the built-up seaside.  Butterflies sweep among the abundant thistles and gorse bushes and the aroma of sweet-smelling grass after haymaking hung in the air.  We followed sandy paths under wind-gnarled trees to secluded beaches where families played and found our own isolated viewpoint for a picnic

Crossing the impressive bridge that arches over the River Loire at Saint-Nazaire we reached Batz-sur-Mer, where friends of ours live.  The seaside towns of Batz-sur-Mer and Le Croisic were once craggy islands and are now chic resorts, popular with Parisians in search of cooler climes in summer.  The beaches are beautiful and the lively towns abound with stylish shops.

Our friends live near to the campsite and we were soon sitting in their sunny garden catching up over drinks. Our friends are impeccable hosts and that evening they surpassed expectations. Collecting us in their open-top car we enjoyed an evening of French elegance and taste, beginning with cocktails at a beach bar.  Sitting with a ritzy cocktail, a view of the sea and my toes in the warm sand I was living the high life.  We ate in a restaurant overlooking Le Croisic’s harbour where we were welcomed with glasses of pink fizz and an appetiser that got the taste buds working overtime.  The owners were expecting two vegetarians and they had prepared a delicious menu that pleased every sense.  Our main meal, a creamy risotto with roasted vegetable garnishes, was a triumph of colour, flavour and artistry served in a classy black bowl.  It was so perfect I savoured every mouthful and didn’t want it to end.

The next day we drove north through Brittany to Saint-Malo with a campervan full of deliciously warm memories of France and friends.

We stayed at:

Camping RCN La Ferme du Latois – near the village of Coëx, this is a large, peaceful and green campsite with ponds and trees.

We also stayed in two (very different) campsites from the Flower Campings group.

• Flower Camping La Guichardière – near to La Plaine-sur-Mer and the sea, a well-run site with hedged pitches.
• Flowers Camping Les Paludiers – we use this site because of its proximity to our friends but it is a bit tired. It is a rambling and sandy site that is popular but the facilities need refurbishment.

We had been pottering around France for over a month and crispy baguettes, pungent cheeses and fruity plonk had become our new normal.  Our French, while decades away from word-perfect, improved daily and we were firmly in the campervan relaxation groove.  But southwest France was sweltering and heading north to escape the heat was the only sensible thing to do.  Beyond meeting friends in a couple of weeks time in Batz-sur-Mer on the rugged coast north of the Loire estuary we had no plan.  Sitting by the River Vienne in Confolens we opened the road map and turned the pages, tracing possibilities with suntanned fingers.

Confolens

A rough route north hatched we climbed on our bikes to explore from our riverside campsite.  Negotiating the narrow streets of Confolens we found medieval timber-framed houses, views over its red roofs from a stone gateway and traces of the walls.  We crossed the arched 13^th century bridge and pedalled along the Vienne to Saint-Germain-de-Confolens where a ruined castle perches above the picturesque village.   After climbing up to the castle for the panoramic view we chose a shady wobbly table at the hip riverside bar and toasted the sunshine with a heady glass of Pineau. 

The Vendée, on France’s Atlantic coast, is loved for its miles of sandy beaches with a rolling green hinterland.  It stretches from almost the River Loire in the north to the edges of the Marais Poitevin in the south and the latter was our first stop.  The Magné campsite near Niort, on the edge of the Marais Poitevin, has spacious pitches, good facilities and was almost perfect.  Morning bread was the only thing missing but an immaculate patisserie was just a few minutes cycle ride away.  My pre-breakfast trips to the bakery were effortless but also agonising as it was jam-packed with temptation and I drooled over the lavish display of cakes every morning.

Cycling Around Coulon

The Marais Poitevin is a verdant arcadia, criss-crossed with waterways that divide forestry and meadows.  With tracks and lanes joining villages of traditional cottages it offers blissful pedalling and, for less than the cost of a pastry, you can buy a useful map showing waymarked cycling circuits.  The path alongside the canalised Sèvre Niortaise from Magné to Coulon was a good introduction to the natural treasurers of the area.  Reaching tourist-welcoming Coulon’s whitewashed riverside buildings with rustic shutters we wound through the streets to the main square and people watched over a coffee.

From Coulon we snaked along lanes and tracks through countryside where storks moved stealthily across mown fields and kites wheeled behind combine harvesters.   Between Coulon and Irleau is a raft of waterways only accessible via tracks and dinky arched bridges.  This landscape has been managed for agriculture for centuries and the aquatic labyrinth of conches, or narrow channels, only accessible by kayak or a local flat-bottomed boat, drains into the Sèvre Niortaise.  I had to stop myself photographing every view along a stream luxuriantly overhung with trees or a boat tethered to the bank alongside an isolated cottage, as each seemed better than the last.  We cycled on dazzling white tracks between meadows and unhurriedly watched a herd of drowsy cows.  Cattle egrets prowled around their soft bulky bodies, occasionally stopping and appearing to look deep into the vast depths of a cow’s eye.

An Unexpected Hill

I had expected a fen-like flat landscape but somehow we always found a hill.  North of Coulon on the Number Seven Circuit the green waymarkers were camouflaged among the green roadside vegetation and we were soon on the wrong lane.  Backtracking, we honed our detection skills at junctions as we hunted among bushes for the signs.  Climbing a gravel track in the heavy heat of the afternoon, golden wheat rippled in a breath of wind as we sweated by like slow versions of hill-climbing Tour de France cyclists.  Stopping at the summit we could see across the sweep of the Marais Poitevin to the tower blocks of Niort.  Descending to the Sèvre Niortaise we envied the young people frolicking in the cool water after school and watched a working boat negotiating a lock before tackling the pleasant stretch of towpath back to Magné’s handsome lifting bridge and attractive tree-lined square overlooked by a squat stone church.

On Sunday morning Magné’s square bustled with a lively second-hand clothes market and we joined the shoppers looking for vintage bargains.  Later that day in Coulon we ate our picnic on a shady bench by the river, next to the easels of a group of artists.  While the painters enjoyed their long and convivial French lunch we discreetly admired their artistic impressions of the view.

Whatever Floats Your Boat

On our last day in the Marais Poitevin we put together our own greatest hits, joining up our favourite paths in an ultimate cycle ride.  Our first stop was for coffee in La Garette, a wall-to-wall attractive village where houses with sun-bleached shutters jumble together along the main street.  Our genial waiter wanted to practice his English and we gamely struggled to identify the words among his strong accent, but were grateful when he was distracted by a couple arriving on a flat-bottomed boat with a guide wearing a hat festooned with flowers.

By the afternoon the heat was smothering as we hugged the shady paths lined with pollarded trees and fragrant flowers, finding any excuse to rest.  At La Sotterie we crossed the Sèvre Niortaise and followed it back to Coulon where groups of school children in matching baseball hats were chattering as they climbed into boats. I noticed the flower-hat guide paddling sedately by, not even breaking a sweat.

Once the Marais Poitevin has seduced you, you won’t want to leave and will certainly return, or maybe that is just me!

We stayed at Camping Le Martin Pecheur. This is a small French basic site, just a short distance from the town.

Les Lapidiales sculpture park

Driving from Îlé de Ré and Cognac we pulled into Les Lapidiales, a sculpture park in a former quarry.  Still being added to, if you are lucky you might see one of the artists at work as they chisel imaginative and fantastical images from rock faces and boulders.  We walked among figures, massive stone heads that peered from overhangs and hidden mythical creatures.  The newer carvings were brilliant white and the greenery on the older sculptures mirrored the surrounding forest.  Many of the works made an impact but the barefoot woman boldly looking back as she climbs a staircase into the rock particularily spoke to me, as the woman’s eyes seemed to say, ‘Follow me!’

Cognac: City of Taste

Like many people, for us Cognac conjures up the world-famous spirit and exploring the city it was clear it leans on this beverage’s reputation considerably.  There is, however, more to Cognac and we were here because La Flow Vélo, a 290 kilometres (180 miles) cycle route, follows the River Charente through Cognac.

Leaving our bikes near the riverside Cognac warehouses we walked through the city gates and climbed streets of polished cobbles that gleamed in the sunshine.  In the city centre elegant squares and handsome houses festooned with sweet-scented roses oozed taste and prosperity.  We had coffee in the square and bought fresh bread and cheese for a picnic lunch by the duck pond in the central park.

Walking among the Cognac cellars in the afternoon heat we spotted the familiar names of Hennessy and Martell and I was soon intoxicated by the alcohol-rich air.  Tempted into a bar we sipped elegant glasses of Pineau des Charentes Blanc, a heady aperitif of white wine and Cognac that immediately became a firm favourite.

Jarnac and a Cognac Tour

We planned to stay a few days in Cognac to make the most of the cycling but that evening the campsite suffered a plumbing incident that flooded the shower block and there was no hot water!  Undeterred, we moved our campervan the next morning just half-an-hour upstream to Jarnac, still on La Flow Vélo.  In France, no one bats a Gallic eyelid when you arrive at a campsite at ten in the morning and we were soon bowling along the Charente on two wheels.

The mainly traffic-free riverside paths and tracks through woodland, meadows and vineyards were blissful and easy cycling.  We sat on a bench looking over the clear water of the Charente having lunch while red kites soared overhead, a deer peaked through the trees and swallows skimmed over the water hunting insects as a kingfisher streaked by.

From the leafy edge-of-town campsite we could stroll into Jarnac across a breathtakingly picturesque quay with locks and watermills, or potter around the adjacent island park and nature reserve alive with dragonflies.  In the small shopping area we bought delicious French pastries and scrumptious handmade chocolates shaped like cobble stones. 

Among the streets of typical Charente houses was the family home of the station master whose clever fifth child, François Mitterrand, was French President from 1981 until 1995.  The pinacle of Jarnac’s elegance is the extravagant riverside Maison Courvoisier built in the 19^th century Parisian style.  There are a number of Cognac houses in Jarnac but Courvoisier has centre stage and an English tour the next day was a fitting finale to our time in this region.

Cycling before drinking Cognac was sensible and the next morning we pedalled southeast along La Flow Vélo to Châteauneuf-sur-Charente.  The Charente sparkled in the sunshine and the cycling was almost effortless as we followed tracks connecting rustic farmhouses.  A short climb raised the heart rate and swung us away from the river to Bassac, a charming village of stone houses and a former Benedictine monastery.

Back in Jarnac, our Courvoisier guide spoke excellent English, impressed us with her knowledge of British novels and shared our passion for the Lake District.  She led us into shadowy rooms stacked with barrels where I savoured the fiery aromas of maturing Cognac, each cask chalked with its pedigree.  Courvoisier’s logo is a silhouette of Napoleon Bonaparte and the story is that Napoleon took several barrels of Courvoisier to his exile on Saint Helena.

As our guide described the soils and the Cognac year, we learnt about the local grapes and the complex blending process to produce consistent quality.  The tour finishes with a tasting of three different Cognacs, beginning with the VS (very special) Cognac served in a long cocktail.  The neat Cognacs were poured reverently into tulip-shaped glasses to intensify the bouquet.  After the VSOP (very special old pale) we finished with the XO (extra old) which came with a square of dark chocolate and had an intense rich flavour of earthy dried fruits.

We left with new respect for Cognac, the drink and the area, and a new favourite aperitif in pineau des Charentes blanc.

We stayed at:

Camping de Cognac – a great campsite (when they don’t have a water problem) not far from the town centre.

Camping L’ile Madame – a green campsite only 10 minutes walk from the town and quiet out of season.

Both were offering discounts with the ACSI card when we visited.

Exploring the Île de Ré

The Île de Ré, on France’s Atlantic coast, had been on my must-visit list for as long as we’ve had a campervan. Photographs on social media of the network of traffic-free cycle lanes on a low-lying and beautiful island tempted me, so my expectations were high as we crossed the elegant arched bridge that joins the island to the mainland at La Rochelle.  At just 30 kilometres long, rarely more than a few kilometres wide and almost flat, it didn’t take us long to reach our chosen campsite on the Île de Ré and already we had spotted throngs of cyclists.   I felt as if the toll bridge had sneaked in a trip through a space-time portal and we had been swept away to the Netherlands!

Based near central La Couarde-sur-Mer, we quickly settled on our hedged pitch and exchanged smiling nods with our Belgian neighbours. We studied the cycling map we had been given by the polite receptionist and my fingers excitedly followed cycle paths heading to every point of the compass.

Saint-Martin-de-Ré

Our first excursion took a path that hugged the coast to the town of Saint-Martin-de-Ré.  The tailwind propelled us like flying machines but highlighted the only downside to cycling on the Île de Ré; the breeze sweeps off the Atlantic and a headwind is hard to avoid. Those social media posts never mentioned the daily battle with the wind!

Crossing the moat into Saint-Martin-de-Ré we admired the herd of Poitou donkeys.  These special donkeys have a shaggy coat that takes the uncombed look to the extreme and they are adorable. Entering through the monumental Porte des Campani we found ourselves inside a fortified enclosure, designed to protect the residents from siege.  Narrow cobbled streets lined with handsome ivory-coloured houses, each trimmed with eye-catching shutters, led to the harbour.  Roses arched over doorways and self-seeded flowers poked through pavements; it is literally wall-to-wall attractive.

Securing our bikes we drank strong French coffee at a pavement café overlooking the boats while chatting to an English couple in search of an oyster-focussed lunch, a local speciality.  We pointed them in the direction we had come as we had passed several oyster bars.  The extent of the harbour fortifications suggested the Île de Ré was once strategically important, but it was the aerial view when we climbed the steep narrow steps to the top of the Saint-Martin bell tower that laid out the town’s defences most clearly. I took photographs of the town’s red roofs that contrasted prettily with the deep-blue sea.  Carefully descending I flinched as the bells loudly boomed the hour. 

Salty excusions

Over the coming days, the winding paths though the Île de Ré’s salt marshes unrolled before my wheels revealing new panoramas.  We pedalled around mudflats that changed with the ebb and flow of the sea; shallow pools that are managed to produce salt from evaporation and marshland packed with a disarray of colourful wild flowers.  There were so many excuses to stop and take in the natural beauty our progress was never fast!  At salt producers’ stalls we propped up our bikes and dithered over which salt to buy before popping coins in the honesty box.  We halted often to watch graceful avocets and long-legged black-winged stilts on the pools and admire the swifts that performed acrobatics overhead.  One afternoon a gecko crossed our path, scurrying into the grass and a tiny rabbit huddled as cyclists raced by.

Cyclists need food and drink and these were another excuse to rest.  A café in Ars-en-Ré provided good coffee and a bonus was the treasure trove of memorabilia inside, including a collection of oars arranged in the shape of a fan on the ceiling.  Stumbling upon weekly markets we meandered through the colourful and tastefully arranged stalls that sold everything from bread to soap and fresh vegetables to sunhats.

An area of forested dunes that sheltered us from the usual breeze was a perfect picnic spot.  While we ate I took deep breaths to get the full benefit of the sharp woody scent of the pine trees.  Beyond the woodland the tall Phare (lighthouse) des Baleines became visible.  This turned out to be a tourist hotspot with rows of busy restaurants and shops and we bought creamy pistachio ice-cream that was exquisite sustenance for two hot cyclists.

Picturesque villages

Climbing out of the ‘van to get our breakfast bread I noticed the calm; the usual breeze was taking a day off.  After a cycle trip along a lane lined with plush white bungalows shaded under umbrella pines to the supermarket and a long French-style lunch, we set off for a short cycle ride to Loix.  From the salt marshes, we crossed a narrow bridge to Loix’s attractive and sheltered port.  If we had noticed the looming dark clouds we would have stayed in this safe haven.  As it was we were cycling along an exposed stretch of coastline when a squall rushed across like a wet puppy, drenching us before we could reach the inadequate shelter of a hedge until the sun returned.

The scattered villages of the Île de Ré punctuated our cycling trips.  The island is busy in high season but in May the winding narrow village streets, tightly packed with impossibly lovely white cottages trimmed with shutters painted ice-blue or sage, are sleepy backwaters.  The labyrinth of streets was often confusing but by aiming for the church spire we usually found a square with a café, grocery shop and a stylish homeware establishment.  The distinctive steeple in Ars-en-Ré is visible for some distance.  It is painted black and white and served as a landmark for sailors before the lighthouse was built.

 Île de Ré is an island of two halves.  The salt pans dominate the north and west and in the southeast forest and agriculture separate the villages.  Between Le Bois-Plage-en-Ré and Sainte-Marie-de-Ré we cycled around rows of potatoes, dodging the sprinklers.  There were grapevines and meadows dotted with bright-red poppies that led to a forest trail deep with pine needles that crossed the island to the seaside at La Flotte.

In La Flotte we sat on the delightful promenade lined with benches overlooking an azure sea awash with boats.  The village was buzzing with lunchtime diners as we wandered through. We continued to a peaceful ruined abbey, where the former cloisters have been transformed into a pretty garden.

 Île de Ré had certainly not disappointed as a place to explore all that is fabulous about France by bicycle. If you don’t have your own, there are plenty of places to hire bikes on the island, including at our excellent campsite, La Tour des Prises.