FRIDAY, 18th August 2006 – Le Chapelle Achaud to Cognac

High Plains Drifter (or – sniffing out the Cognac)

A good evening’s sleep saw us up and away by 8.30 the next morning.

Norman’s suggestion of Cognac for a destination, with a campsite next to the river, sounded just the business. Once out on the autoroute, we cruised at a steady 65 mph, although the crosswinds were still a trial. We arrived at Cognac, and attempted to navigate our way through the city, following signs to Centre Ville and then following the little signs to the 3* campsite. We found it OK, and indeed it was next to the river, heavily wooded (i.e. lots of shade), with flat emplacements.

Annie decided we deserved a nice campsite break, so we booked 3 nights. Such decadence!

However, the first spot she found for us was too close to the main road, with screaming mopeds and nihilistic trucks flashing by every few seconds. I also discovered that the mains outlet used the standard domestic-type round plug. Now, I’d half prepared for this, having brought a spare blue plug and cable, but of course you can’t buy French mains plugs in England – well, not at our local B&Q you can’t.

So, summoning up my best French accent, I went and asked for another pitch. When she asked why, I told her “the road, the road” – which was probably close enough to an explanation for her to understand, and give us the pitch furthest away from “the road, the road”. I also explained the problem with the electricity. “I need to buy a connector,” I said. She showed me the way to a Mr. Bricolage – a sort of upmarket B&Q, like Homebase but with more stuff - on a map. It looked easy enough.

We moved the van to pitch 30C (which looked like “JOE” upside down), which was much quieter, and had a view of the river.

A bits and pieces lunch, and then it was time. “Fancy a stroll to the hardware shop?” I asked in all innocence. To be honest, the response was more “if we must” than a “fantastic idea, darling – let’s go.”

So we walked, and we walked. Up the main road with the mopeds and lorries and assorted lunatics, to the top of the hill, and then down towards the town. It was about this time that I thought about getting the map out and checking for shortcuts through the back streets. It was very shortly after that I realised I’d left all three maps of Cognac in the van. And it was shortly after that when it started to rain. Not good.

With hindsight, we should have turned back and got the van. With hindsight. Because at the time, it seemed to me that Mr.B was “just down this road a bit and to the left.” That’s what my memory of the map told me. So down this road, and the next one, a bit to the left, then a bit to the right because it was a dead-end, and we hit the main road. No sign of Mr.B. There were hundreds of signs to everything else, but not that.

We sheltered under a shop awning for a few moments, and I popped into an antique shop to ask for directions. I’d obviously disturbed his lunch, which wasn’t a problem if I was going to buy one of his pieces of old tat. It was a problem if I was a dripping English person asking directions to a shop which was miles away. However, he was, like nearly all French people, pleasant enough.

Long story short, and we walked, and it rained, and it threw it down, and we got soaked. We got to the industrial estate where Mr.B was. “Right at the roundabout” said the sign. We turned right at the roundabout. Hurrah! We could see it. On the other side of a huge main road. And the only way to get there was to walk further down, round a few more roundabouts, and then back on ourselves.

The good news was that they had the offending plug (€2.30). The bad news was that we now had to walk all the way back. Yes, I did look at the bus timetable, and we could have caught a bus to somewhere (God knows where we would have ended up) if we were prepared to wait an hour and a half. You see, that’s the thing about out-of-town shops. They’re designed to be driven to, not walked to. So tortuous road layouts and lack of pavements and paths through the seedier side of town are not normally a problem.

Anyway, after about 3 hours walking in total, we got back to the campsite, and while Annie went to the shower block to have a wash, I set to making up the lead with my new connector. Just before I did that, I thought that I should check the hookup post – just in case I’d bought the wrong connector. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?

Five minutes later, we had hookup, and the fridge was switched over, and the hot water immersion was on, as was the electric kettle. Annie was pleased. And I have the connector ready for next time, because the mains post on our new plot had a standard blue connector, and I could plug right in. The trip to Mr. Bricolage wasn’t necessary after all. Don’t tell Annie, will you?

Anyhow, we were a bit unimpressed with the campsite, and resolved to move on the next day.