63. Last port in France

Saint-Jean-de-Luz - France (near Spain)

Navigation seemed determined to have us on toll roads today and though they are easy, you see nothing of the countryside and villages. Ignoring the courteous but insistent instructions from the gps we diverted through the middle of Bayonne and six faces were rewarded with handsome views of the Adour River and the Cathédrale Sainte-Marie de Bayonne.  

While six faces were peering out about six hundred were looking at us. The French certainly take a great interest in our rig.  The dinghy on the roof of the Disco seems to surprises them the most.  Such a sight is often seen in NZ and is absolutely common in Aussy.

Departing the Aire this morning

The days driving went without event till we were within a minute of our destination and the road was blocked for what appeared to be an incredibly minor incident.  We were waiting to enter the roundabout as the exit was blocked by backed up traffic also waiting for the incident.  I suppose the Giantavan completely blocked the vision of the Peugeot behind us and he was forced to blast   -- --- ...- . / -.. .. -.-. -.- .... . .- -..  which had no effect on me (only my pilot instructor Les would be insulted) as I am not Morse fluent, but did cause consternation amongst the kids. Once we turned into the roundabout he would have had a clear view of the holdup so I hope that he revised his opinion of sanglant anglais touristique.  I liked that he was stuck behind us in the queue for the next ten minutes to stew.

Set up, BBQ lit

We cleared the incident with two hundred metres to our turnoff, the campsite a stones throw beyond, however, the intersection was closed with roadworks.  Like the venous system, roads turned into capillaries and the Giantavan does not have the red blood cell trick of folding upon itself to get through tight squeezes as we explored the delights of a village called Urrugne. As the roads constricted I was lucky to have the expert advice of five and even the Disco's powerful AC system couldn't stop my overheating. Roman also spotted the fuel light from his centre seat throne, read the dash, announcing to the cabin that we only had three kilometres range.  As pilot in command I had thought it better to keep that information to myself however that would have denied my copilot the opportunity of presenting the learning opportunity.

Needless to say, luck was with me, we reversed our tracks, arrived at the service station with the display now saying eighteen kilometres range (thanks for nothing JLR) fuelled, accessed the camp from the other end of the road, delighted Audrey that the camp has a 28º heated pool and later Roman when he discovered a play café in the playground which he spent considerable time cleaning and sweeping out.