WEDNESDAY, 23rd August 2006 – Chauvigny to Bourges

Cross country run.

The showers got a 6 from Annie, because the hot/cold mixture tap worked backwards, and she shared her shower stall with a cockroach. I, on the other hand, did not have the luxury of a cockroach to assist me with my ablutions, and my mixture tap seemed to work the right way round. So I gave it a 7.5. The only downside was that the dividing wall between the wet area and my clothes was a little short, so my sandals got wet. Never mind. The problems of foreign travel.

The bread woman came at 8.15, and we munched on pain au raisin, and then we visited the excellent camping car service area, where we took on what we needed to take on, and we dumped what we no longer wanted. When the office opened, we paid a grand total of €7 something for a pleasant, grassy, fairly-flat pitch, including electricity and toilets and showers, with free cockroach thrown in. It can’t get much better than that.

Catherine was on good form, although we ignored her very first instruction because I thought her head wasn’t screwed on right, since she could only see half a satellite due to the trees and tall stone buildings. Seems she was right anyway. Tsk.

We managed to drive 150km or so without having to pay any money, which must be a first. Lovely long straight roads, punctuated by village, hamlet, town, hamlet, village, and so on. Very nice.

Slight panic stations when we needed diesel, and we went off the main road to find an Intermarche which sold go-juice, only for it to reject both of our cards, and there was no attendant to remonstrate with. Fortunately, in the same town, there was a proper filling station, where we filled up. This rejection of cards has happened in previous years at automatic petrol pumps. I guess we’re not quite a fully integrated European community yet.

I’d noticed signs about a diversion somewhere, but since the diversion said “head towards Bourges,” where we were going, I took no notice. We joined a queue of about five vehicles at lights, where they were repairing a very old bridge, and they were restricting traffic. Nothing over 3.5 tonnes. No problem. Nothing wider than 2.2 metres. Hmm. Should be OK, because one side is a pavement (I hadn’t seen the concrete bollards guarding the entrance to the bridge). Nothing higher than 2.9 metres. That’s tricky. I have no idea how high the van is (still don’t), but I was concerned. I’m a bit less than 2 metres, and don’t come up to the top of the cab window. Then there’s the overcab, which must be a metre or so tall. I was concerned, and about to turn around and take the deviation when I watched a couple of vans come through without any problem, one a high top, so I thought the height would be OK. By now, I’d seen the bollards. Big, and very solid, they were. But they looked wider than 2.2 metres. I was going through anyway. Our brave lads didn’t release the French nation from under the kosh of the hun by not going between a couple of bollards. Mind you, I didn’t have John Wayne in the van with me. Just as well, ‘cos he would have smelt a bit.

We got through OK, and powered up the hill on the other side.

We arrived at Bourges at around 12.30, and Catherine delivered us to the door, since we’d been able to give her the address. In fact, I think she might have said we were at our destination about 20 metres from the entrance, but I think we can forgive that little inaccuracy.

Another camp municipal, beautiful surroundings to the site (lots of trees, that means), and each pitch had electric and water. We did have to choose, when we checked in, between 6 Amp and 10 Amp electric. Strange request. Presumably it costs more if you want more Amps. I shrugged, Gallically, and said “six” (except in French), and we were in.

After lunch, we walked up to the old town, which was all right. Lots of big old buildings, shops, stuff like that. Even a dog-washing shop (which was for sale - tempting!) We walked for around two hours, after which we reckoned we deserved a glass of rose and a beer. Or two.

Tea was goats cheese pasties and potatoes, which later on gave us wicked indigestion and heartburn. I guess we’re just not used to rich, fatty food like that.