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The blog is now up to date!  We hope you will read and enjoy it.

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St Honore to Calais via Paris and the Eiffel Tower!

Breathalysed on the final day

Mandy:  Sooooo ... a last and long goodbye.

In theory all Screwballers were headed for the 5.30pm ferry, Calais and home.  As you will probably have realised, theory went out of the wind up window along with sensibility and decorum from the start.

We grabbed the last of the last photos, said tearful goodbyes (ok that`s drippy here, not Jo!!) and stopped for a coffee with the Pirates at the campsite café before our own departure. Rhubarb gave up her remaining headlamp washer blade for James' Jeep and we boomed away with the 'Bear Necessities' for the last full blast time.

Decant/refill just to be sure to be sure

The weather was accordingly gloomy and we tried to decide whether to bother "doing  Paris" for the Eiffel pic if it was going to be another "What bridge?" moment!  We pondered pylons ... would anyone really notice?  How about a souvenir Tower glued to the roof?  We left to fate the decision for the outskirts along with time to catch the ferry.  I couldn`t help thinking of Garmin (Emily on sat nav) as Gollum and fell into irritating "Ooh my precious" imitations as she intimated we only had 50 miles to go where the raod signs insisted 211 km.  Now my maths is notoriously atrocious, but I felt sure the conversion was putting about 180 miles between the Ark and her 5.30pm meeting with destiny.  

Overtaken by the clowns in a Trabant

No matter as it would transpire, the sun made enough of a feeble bid by the outskirts of Paris for us to throw caution to the wind and head for the centre.  Now we had adopted a slightly keen emphasis on driving in San Sebastian as in "What red light"?  This we employed to the full, along with - if you will build a stonking great big tourist attracting tower that insists on hiding behind every single office highrise you will have to accept random halting anywhere anytime. 

The shot of the trip.  A trEiffle short of genius :)

We had been advised by a Pirate (if that isn`t an oxymoron I don`t know what is) to head for the Trocadero to ensure a picture of the whole edifice. By absolute fluke we found ourselves, after the inevitable "excuse moi ... ou et le Eiffel ... "  Ahhhh, right here above you query, right underneath it.  

Jo insisted we mounted the pavement for the best shot.  Rock climbing was never in the Volvo spec to my knowledge and certainly not for one with sills of body seal and floorpans of carpet.  Oh, hadn`t I mentioned that?  No?  I hadn`t told Jo either.  Suffice to say after securing brilliant shots of us and her and IT, we left with a wincing rust sprinkling clunk over each wheel.....well, we were virtually home!

The last bit, despite storming along like an Ark possessed, proved a road too far!  We arrived too late at 6pm hoping to catch the next one at 6.30pm only to get through customs before making such enquiry.  Never assume ferries run on the hour.  8pm and a long two hours outside in a queue was our fate.

As if the Eiffel Tower weren't enough!

Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.  We made the best, cracked open the wine, uneartherd the last of the emergency ration munchies and had  a bonnet party in the setting sun, with other curious motorists.  Sadly we saw no more of the Screwballers who had either achieved, or as we would later find out stayed in France.

Add caption

We plumped for a B and B in Dover, the prospect of returning to the original campsite to change cars in the dark too miserable a notion.  However if you had witnessed our attempt to locate it a mere 4.2 km from the ferry you would be hard pushed to believe we had just covered 2,213 miles on foreign soil! 

Sete to St Honore, Bourges

Mandy:  The next leg took us over the spectacular bridge which, being a general knowledge duffer, I have never heard of before.

Joanna:  Inserting a few interesting facts about the bridge ... The incredible Millau Viaduct bridge was opened in December 2004 and is the highest bridge in the world, standing 270 meters (890 feet) over the Tarn River and is more than 340 meters (1,125 feet) in height at the top of its highest mast. It is slightly taller than the Eiffel Tower in Paris and only 38 meters (125 ft) shorter than the Empire State Building. It is a cable-stayed road bridge designed by engineer Michel Virlogeux and British architect Norman Foster. It cost approximately € 400 million to complete the Millau Viaduct.

Back to Mandy: 

As we approached with mounting excitement, so did the fog - which was excellent as in unison, all camera batteries died as we made what would have been eye contact.  Funny how something which would have been taken as a disaster was seen as a relief!  No camera, no view, no matter!  As we had been advised that the best view was from the town below anyway, we decided to hang a right and stop there for battery charge and coffee and hope that the sun might shine.

By fluke, first right was actually a viewing point, coffee house and power hub.  Jo was in heaven!  I pottered about looking for a good Ark shot.  I found it - though it meant Jo had to hold up traffic coming into the carpark whilst I drove the wrong way down a stretch of road to put the Ark in the right place to take the shots.  The sun dutifully broke through and, although we managed to miss the ultimate bridge spot, we found our own Ark with bridge view which I personally think beats the postcards!  Interestingly, it would transpire there was no turning point from here onwards so it was a fortunate bit of luck that we turned right when we did.  Random is definitely a Rally watch word!

The last evening was our destination, party and prize giving.  Having charged batteries, phones, caffeine levels, flasks and every piece of equipment to the hilt (and tummies to boot), we set off with a fairly direct route in our sights.  The Ark flew and stepped up to cruising at 80 much of the time!  We stopped for photos and giggles on the way arriving at yet another lovely site by early evening.  The prospect of endings never sits well for me, especially as the overwhelming camaraderie had made its mark in a very short time.  The bawdy raucous spirit of Screwball which embued hints of 'What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas' had got under my skin.  Prizes were awarded, Best Dressed car was a unanimously popular victory for the Pirates, most money raised by the Zombies and hardest work behind the scenes a worthy marshal.   A fabulous buffet was provided before the Pirates then struck up with their own plugged in 'Unplugged'!  


I had asked one of the old stalwarts of the rally how last nights went.  He surmised that once all over, everyone just got up the next day and left, dispersed on the wind ... all over for another year. It reminded me of the sweet sorrow in making friends on the water.  You wake up one day and they have just gone with the tide and the wind.

Mind you, we still had Paris between us and all over!

San Sebastian to Sete

I was up and at 'em at 6am this morning.  Woken by the sound of the Spitfire crew packing up their tent.  At 6am?!  Quoi?  I snook out of the tent to say good morning and to find out what they knew that we didn't!

Matt was Brighton Perky having used the ear plugs I'd given him and had a good nights sleep.  He informed me that they were going to do the route to Sete via a mountain route through the Pyrenees.  The 'direct' route that we were expecting to be given by Marshall James that morning was approximately 350 miles.  We knew by now that these estimates were optimistic and presumably based on clear road signs, no wrong turns or diversions of any sort.  We also knew that the Ark and its passengers weren't capable or even willing to do 'direct'. 

Mandy and I talked with the Spitfire and Tintin crews who also wanted to do the mountain route - an additional 100 miles at least.  In the end, it was only the Spitfire team who opted for this.  Mandy and I were put off by the talk of endless hairpin bends and the ease of getting totally lost ... we didn't want to be setting up camp in the dark in Sete that night.  We made the decision to avoid toll roads and to find a nice little French village in which to have lunch.

The Pirates pitch and signs of partying still evident

Mandy:  Yours truly managed to lose her camera from the shenanegans the night before.  All campers were enlisted in 'Operation Sony' ensuring the most enormous chunk of humble pie being scoffed for breakfast when it did indeed turn up at the bottom of my "no, I have already looked" handbag.  In my defence, a small black device in a large black hole can be easily overlooked.  It was en exceedingly chastened Ape that drove us off for Sete!

The idea was to run alongside the Pyrenees, have a more scenic trip, stop for a true Gallic lunch and camp in daylight. 

Besides being slightly side tracked by a Tour de France monument between Pau and Tarbes on Highway A64, it worked in a prolific, if passe sunflower, gorgeous tree lined road, charming French farm tootle to St Girons where we plumped for a pit stop.  James Hunt would not have been amused and nor was the pavement cafe we chose.  We weren't sure if it was just because we were British or possibly because I was a primate, but we were so studiously ignored as to incur a healthy degree of restaurant rage.  It took over an hour to procure a salad that was virtually thrown at the table and the service peaked at hostile.  Even I managed fury!  

Hungry monkey

The only polite gratuite we could think of ...

We left as soon as we could polish off the spartan lettuce and tomato, leaving our written tip "never whistle with a mouthful of custard" and slowly kerb crawled them with "King of the Swingers" at full blast.  

Moderately childish but made us feel a lot better.  Having lost so much time, we pressed on to Sete with an increasing speed and decreasing fuel economy.  A storm was brewing as we arrived and the sea crashing onto a long sandy beach right beside the camping area.  In the haste of erecting a tent onto a patch of sand so hard as to be a contender for concrete, we bent the poles and I impaled my good foot.  



Limping off to the sea for nature's panacea of salt water, I was joined by Jo in tiger suit who in true Tigger style bounced and bounced and bounced and then slipped hilariously into the surf.  Sadly, the salt on my lens does not do it justice!  The site was akin to an end of season Charlie Mannings (for all you local to Suffolk shores) but we nevertheless had a great meal out before retiring amidst thunder and sheet lightning blazing the night sky.  Our first night of rain in store ...

Rare sighting - monkey on cliff side with Pyrenees in the background

Out of the woods

Pitching the tent after Mandy had impaled her foot and limped to sea for salt remedy

Early starts

Eating HUGE pieces of cow

Knowing that we would have a long day ahead, I determined to get a good night's sleep.  Mandy and I have had a standing joke since we met about my needing to have eight hours sleep a night.  Seven hours fifty nine minutes is not enough.  She on the other hand seems to manage to stay up into the early hours, catch a few hours shut eye and then leap up at the crack of dawn with a tank full of energy.  A proper Tigger.

Tintin orders food and drinks

After eating, drinking and socialising in the site bar and having no luck with internet access, I decided to try for an early night at around 11.30pm.  We had heard earlier that the Pirates had brought along guitars and drum and were giving a private performance at the top of the campsite.  As I walked back to the tent I realised the gig was coming to an end.  Mandy was on her fourth (non-alcoholic) beer and I didn't realise until the next morning that she'd stayed up til the wee small hours participating in the after-gig activities which included space hopper races in which whatever was bet went to the winner's charity.  I wished I'd been there for the photo opportunity but luckily someone else took these.  It seems any 'fair play' rules were thrown out pretty early on ... :) 

With the commentary of the races taking place just over the hedge from our tent, Eunice (from the Tintin crew) and Matt from the Spitfire who were pitched either side of me were asking my advice about sleeping through the noise.  Handily, I had a new pack of ear plugs which I divvied out to them.  Mandy had spontaneously joined in with the race and in order to participate fully, had put her handbag (with her camera in it) on the ground.  It wasn't until the next morning that she regretted this ... 

Mandy shows them how it's done.  Tigger in a Zebra suit!

Still Day Two: do you think we should have left earlier?

Perfect!

Leaving La Rochelle after our leisurely breakfast, we tootled down towards Spain and our next site, San Sebastian.  Once again we were lapped by Screwballers in masks, camouflage and assorted themes.  We didn't mind a bit.  We were full of coffee and croissants, the weather was glorious, we had a tank full of petrol, two full back up cans in the boot and we were confident that we would be pitched and have time to chill out and stroll around San Sebastian for a few hours in no time.

We stopped to refill with petrol, this time enjoying the experience of driving up to the pump and turning off the engine without having to run a relay with petrol cans.

Could that be the "one road in and out"?

Our sat nav was once again trusted with the address of our destination.  That was a mistake.  Once again Emily decided on the scenic route and we ended up taking several wrong turns before finally ringing Marshall James to get some help.  He helpfully said "Just go straight into San Sebastian.  There's only one road in and out.  Take that and it will lead you to the campsite."  Yeah right.  

Twenty minutes later we were still 'touring' around San Sebastian - which, by the way, seemed like the sort of place where you don't go out unless fully made up, manicured and in the most up to the minute fashion.  Mandy and I felt completely at home.  

It became obvious that the residents that were seeing us drive up the same one way system for a second or third time were not, as we previously believed, looking at us with admiration and awe.  No.  It was more the look of vultures waiting for their prey to break down.  San Sebastian was also where we both vented our feelings on bad road signs.  You see the name of the city or town you want,  off you drive in that direction.  After a couple of minutes you come to a roundabout or crossroads and ... rien, nada, it's gone, disappeared into thin air.  From this point you have to guess which road to take.  Hence, the mileage indicated by our route maps each day could only be considered a very rough guide.

Finally we found the road out.  The sun was setting and we were eager to get to the site before dark.  We made it, just.  

It was here we realised that early starts are essential if you're covering 400+ miles a day at a maximum speed of 70mph - and many more at much less.  

Day Two: San Sebastian and a lesson learned.

The next morning a few of the teams set off early - mostly those who had procured their own breakfasts with gas stoves.  Proper hardcore campers.  

The routine would be that two of the six marshalls would go round to all the tents each morning and do a breathalizer test on the first driver of the crew and then hand them the route map for the next site.  If you had planned an early start, you could go to the marshall's tent and collect the route map and be breathalised.  

Help packing up from Tintin and crew.

With the Ark driving like a dream and the sun shining everything seemed to be going rather well.  We set off to have breakfast with Tintin and crew in La Rochelle before the next stint to Spain and San Sebastian.  Whilst glad it was blue skies, I found the heat made wearing a onesie very uncomfortable.

Spot the Screwballers cars!

Why are pirates called pirates?  Because they aaarrrrrrrrr.

We parked on the harbour front and by the time we reached Le Maritime restaurant to have breakfast of coffee, croissants, bread and jam, the Pirates were already on their second coffees and having their photos taken by locals and passers by. 

Taking a break from pillaging.

Tintin, us and the pirates

The pirates left dubloons as a tip.  Classy!

Back at the car we found we'd been 'Grog'd' by the Pirates!

Not wanting another 'Calais' moment, we followed Tintin out of La Rochelle.

La Rochelle harbour