The Last Post

As we whistle through the French countryside on our way to Calais, attempting to catch the earlier ferry, it gives me time to reflect on the trip. Well, when I'm not hanging on for dear life with Eileen's London style driving or attaching the bungee to the gear stick that is. 

We started route planning for this trip as we returned on the ferry from the last one. Needless to say, the rough idea of that route changed a bit. No, actually it changed direction entirely. Several times. I had things that I really wanted to see and do. Roads that I really wanted to drive on. Oh well, they will still be there for future trips. 

There is a saying, "It is either a good experience....or it is a good story. ". I think that very much holds true from this trip. Yes, we've had the odd mechanical issue. We've found the odd slightly ropey campsite. All part of the rich experience of the trip though. Most of the campsites were excellent. The positives easily outweighed the negatives. My personal highlight was the Haro wine festival for its brilliant atmosphere and ridiculous wine fight. I think I'll be back there sometime. I hope so anyway. 

So, from Sully-Sur-Loire we drove north east. Eileen and I were in the slightly disconcerting green campervan of Sarah's (the green is disconcerting rather than the van, though Sarah can have her disconcerting moments too). Jezebel had chosen a different route, with Marc, Kath and Jayne, via central Paris. I've been there. It's great to visit, but I've climbed the Eiffel Tower three times now, Champagne sounded more appealing. 

We stopped with Jeff, Laine and their dog Ellie at a small bar in a small town on route for a coffee. Well, it was called coffee. More like a thimble full of black treacle. Eileen was more sensible and had the first beer of the day. 

Lidls in Epernay, the capital of the Champagne Region, was odd. I found it hard to believe a supermarket in Epernay sold absolutely none of the local produce ! We found a L'Eclerc that did though and stocked up on oysters, smoked salmon and steak as well. 

And so, the last night shenanigans. 

The fancy dress theme was 'millionaires'.

A tough one I'll admit, but we had an inventive lot in tonight. 

Champagne and beer flowed. Certificates were issued, speeches made, goodbyes said and at some point, after the noise police had made sufficient efforts to shut us up, we drifted off to bed. 

So, here I am, passing through the area of the Somme (another poignant European destination if you've never been) where there was so much bloodshed 100 years ago to the day. Already I'm plotting the next trip (or two). Where are we going, I hear you ask ? For Gods Sake ! How many times ? It's a mystery tour ! You'll find out the day before we get there ! 

I hope you've enjoyed reading the blog as much as I have writing it. I hope it has provided a good idea of what a Windy 500 Mystery Tour is all about. If you feel that you might be interested in the next one, if you think you have a sense of adventure, a sense of humour and a desire to fix unnecessary LED lights to an inappropriate vehicle of your choice and head off in to the unknown, well drop us a line or follow us on Facebook. We're always looking for fresh lunatics. 

It's been a blast. Signing off.  

Spooky

Buzzing

Sully Sur Loire. As the name suggests, it is on the bank of the Loire. Prime winemaking and Chateau building country. In fact there is one within view of the campsite. 

Around here the majority of the population live in Chateaux, have several acres of vineyard and go by the name Compte. The closest we have to aristocracy in the Windy gang is Compte Robin Mann in his mobile chateau Gilbert. 

Although the Justices do have a limousine and their chauffeur lives in servants quarters. 

This is our penultimate stop on this year's Windy journey and the weather is already becoming a lot more British. Drizzle and cooler temperatures acting as a taster for our return to reality. We are north of the Loire, which is virtually Blighty isn't it ?

Team Midlife Crisis and Team Mini have headed for the bright lights of a night in Gay Paris, skipping Sully Sur Loire entirely. We shall see them at the next stop. 

As for Team Jezebel (and the Little Green Bus and Team Flo), our first stop of the day heading north from Montpon was the town of Oradour. A place with a fairly gruesome history. In 1944, almost the entire village of 630 men, women and children were rounded up by the Nazis and slaughtered. The village was burnt. 

The village has been left as a memorial to the dead and to what man is capable of doing to his fellow man. 

Well, say this our first stop. Not technically true I guess. We had a mechanical failure in Jezebel, requiring some remedial work and ingenuity. The accelerator cable snapped. It's now held together with an electrical connector. 

Does the job ok. Hopefully it will get us home. 

Sully was also the last port of call for Team Haggis, Joel and Fraser. They have a ferry to catch from Amsterdam. I heard them leaving at around 5.30am. Should give them plenty of time to shop for local Amsterdam produce on their way through, assuming they need Edam cheese, clogs, unusual tobacco based products or latex. See you chaps, it's been a blast. 

So, a quiet night (apart from Team 9 and their mobile 80s disco and the Wales v Belgium match on my phone) sat around smoky fires to keep the mosquitos at bay, wine and rum the favoured tipples. Compte Robin and I, plotting ideas for an event in Blighty and planning the next stop on Le Tour De Windy. Epernay, in the heart of the Champagne Region. Well, where else could you finish a wine tour ? 

Drifting Away

From 15 teams who left England 2 weeks ago, we were temporarily up to 17, but over 24 hours two teams have left us and we are due to lose another one on Saturday morning. 

Nik and Gemma of Team 27 in their reconditioned air cooled T25 called Bob have been dragged away to a Chateau for a wedding. 

I think they've enjoyed themselves. They've visited two Formula One tracks in Monza and Monaco. We've shared a few beers, a few laughs and a few pickled eggs. Accidentally sent them to the fictional town of Steirscheisse in Germany and dragged them kicking and screaming around 10 different countries. Like bad pennies I expect they'll be back. 

The other team we lost were Ian and Ann. Carburettor issues meant they didn't feel that mountains or motorways would do them any favours. They were with us to Switzerland, then across the bottom of France and in to Spain, but the Pyrenees may have been a step too far. They drifted north in to familiar territory of France and should arrive home on Saturday. I hope they take some fond memories of fondue night under the North Face of the Eiger. 

As for the progress of the others ? Well, after 2 nights at Haro and having washed the majority of the wine out of hair and orifices, we had a long haul up north in to  France. Montpon near Bordeaux to be exact. Cracking camp site on the banks of the River Isle and a fraction of the price of the site at Haro.

A three course lunch on the way with wine, then a nap as Eileen took us on a dubious non toll route for the last hour or so.

I found some oysters for our evening starter. Now there is a puzzling creature from a theological perspective. If Mr Darwin is right, what on Earth has an oyster evolved from ? An animal who's sole existence is to filter poo and look like snot. But if the religious side are right, well what was God thinking when he made that one ? If Noah did get two on the Ark, wouldn't they just go off in the sun ? 

It was a relatively subdued night around the camp fires. Milly limped in a bit late due to a cracked part in their cooling system needing to be replaced. Team Swede linked up with us again after 3 days break with an exhaust and spark plug issue. 

We are heading north. The weather is cooling down. I'm led to believe it is raining in Blighty. Oh joy.

 

Wine Stains

The Spanish it seems can throw a wicked party. Here in Haro once a year they have a party unlike any other. Yes, I know, live music and alcohol until late aren't exactly rarities, but the atmosphere, the friendliness, the anticipation, I've never seen it matched. And as for the ridiculous wine fight the following day... Brilliant !

Haro is a pretty town in northern Spain that attracts people from all over the world. People who are there to have a great laugh. Sitting in the main square listening to the live music from the stage and also from the occasional wandering bands, we found ourselves shaking hands and talking to citizens from all over the World. No politics, no barriers. Everyone was friendly. 

The majority are dressed in white as they prepare for the following days activities. It may be 12 hours away but there is a fair bit of socialising, singing and dancing to be done. 

Pacing myself was key. Difficult when bottles of Rioja wine are only 7 euros and the party is rocking. 

Silliness levels rising as night falls. Further increases in silliness as the clock approaches midnight...

Cheesy music keeps the die hards going through the early hours with Grease, Nelly the Elephant and Abba. 

Whilst some drifted off to grab a few hours sleep, those of a more determined nature soldiered on as dawn broke. 

Finally, at 8am, with many returning bleary eyed to link up once more with the party, it stopped. Brass bands led the crowd down the hill. A fleet of tractors, trailers, people dressed in white hanging out of cars and a fleet of coaches. With horns blazing and raucous Spanish singing people filed on to the coaches for a short trip through the vineyards. 

There was a short walk up the road, a steady stream of excited people and vehicles. 

At the top of the hill, a group of white robes people with buckets, back packs and liquid sprayers. White t shirts immediately ruined in the name of fun. 

Many had water pistols. Some just picked up plastic containers and emptied them over complete strangers. Rioja stings the eyes when somebody empties a bucket load over your head. 

As we walked away, drenched in Rioja, there was still crowds winding their way up the hill to be doused themselves. The fight goes on for several hours. 

I was broken. No sleep, a steady flow of wine all night and now squelching my way down the hill in soggy clothing. 

John provided the lift back. His poor mini struggling with 4 large males and sodden clothing. The tyres rubbed on the wheel arches. 

Bed. In the heat of midday I slept. Perhaps I should have drunk water first, I was very dehydrated. Too tired though. A brilliant, brilliant event but I was going to regret it...

Blessed are the meek...

On the morning after another feeble capitulation by the England football team, we are on our way again, this time to Haro for the annual wine festival. 

What has happened to this once great country ? From conquering great swathes of the World, taming the wild and belligerent Scots, standing firm against German invasion....We are now a country where the men think it's cool to wear aprons when cooking. The country that invented the crumpet. Where scrambled egg is considered acceptable as a meal. Truly a weak and wishy-washy nation, reflected in the performance of the football team. 

Iceland. Plundering and pillaging is in their blood. They live on the sides of volcanoes and eat fermented shark. They can listen to Bjork without wincing. Didn't really stand a chance, did we ? 

With Eileen driving, we fell foul of the authorities not once, but twice. Firstly as we tried to escape from Andorra, Eileen looked dodgy enough to get pulled over by a customs officer. 

As we sat there answering his questions and showing him my ferocious mother-in-law in the back, all manner of far dodgier vehicles were able to sneek through without being stopped. 

Further on we can to some sort of accident. Police had coned off one lane. Two vehicles had stopped in a queue. Eileen crossed the solid white line to jump to the front of the queue. This earned him a severe verbal spanking from the grumpy Spanish police officer. We apologised profusely and narrowly escaped a fine. 

We had opted for the longer, less windy route. Partly to spare the gearbox and partly because the sat nav wasn't in an adventurous mood today. I'm led to believe the mountain road was truly spectacular, as was Ainsa, the suggested lunchtime destination. A picturesque mediaeval Spanish town with stunning views of the river. We settled for a squalid bar in an uninspiring town instead. 

Oto, our home for the night is a tiny little place. In fact, the campsite is probably bigger. The pool was large and inviting, not just to weary travellers but also to thousands of suicidal flies. 

With not one, but two football matches lined up, we settled down with some cheap, cold beers to watch Spain go out of the competition. 

With England up next, we watched on with rising uncertainty as Spanish TV continued to dissect the Spanish loss. With rising panic as 9pm came and went we appealed to the bar staff, who flicked through a couple of channels and shrugged his shoulders. No football ! 

We surveyed the technology to hand and came up with a mobile phone to watch it on. 

Surely some sort of fault, it was suggesting the score was already 1-1. It got worse. The small screen failed to show a single England shot on goal all match. I think we had gone to more effort to get the game on than that bunch of spineless gits in the white shirts. 

Bed was calling. 

Eggs

Well that should see off any signs of Delhi belly for a while. The odd pickled egg or two is good for your constitution. Three or four is probably starting to get excessive. Ten ? Now that's just silly. 

Near Err there is a spa. We made a swift visit first thing, leaving towels in the van. Won't need them. I also left the van keys hanging out of the drivers door. Won't need them either. 

We dried ourselves under the hand dryer as we hadn't brought towels and fortunately my keys were still where I left them in the door when we got back.

Andorra is a land in the clouds. We wound our way up the hairpins to Pas De La Casa. It's a bit like a cross between Las Vegas and a ski resort. A real frontier town with many hyper markets and tax free shops. We fuelled (1.04 euros/litre !)

then found the winding mountain road called the Col De Ordino, infested with Lycra clad, skinny people. One of them overtook us coming down the other side. 

The campsite restaurant had a special offer on food. Eileen translated it as "all you can eat" for 13 euros. It was actually all you can eat, as long as you pay the going rate for it. We massively over ordered tapas and beer. 

Evening arrived, as did most of the teams     Tonight was going to be the nail game. 

A shot of something before you were allowed a go, then another shot forfeit if you took over 10 hits. 

I may have had a few goes. Quite a few goes. 

It was at this point in proceedings that I spotted that the lid of my pickled eggs was damaged. There was no way we could take the eggs any further. There was nothing for it but to declare this as Cool Hand Luke night. With a full bowl of eggs in front of us, Nik and I sized each other up and commenced the celebrations. 

In the end I claimed a convincing victory. My prize ? The prospect of probably needing stitches when I finally go to the toilet again. 

Substitution

Well my wife Jo and her sister Vicky have flown home, only to be replaced by their mother Kath, or Dwarf Mumsie as she likes to be called. Well I assume she likes it anyway. 

With teams departing early and heading back towards France to our destination of Err, we had a more leisurely start. It gave me an opportunity to look at our gearbox issue. It also gave Jo an opportunity to fix the skylight that she broke. 

It is now taped up and (hopefully) waterproof. It'll do until we get home. 

I need that damn tool to get in to the gearbox. Really annoyed I took it out of the van now. 

We headed off to find a suitable beach for snorkelling. Their flight wasn't until the late afternoon so we had time. We failed to find a beach, it was more of a rocky cove with sharp rocks and crystal clear water. Pleasant to look at but painful to walk on. 

They even let me borrow one of the masks and snorkels. Grey fish and many sea urchins. 

Cap De Creus is a protected marine area just north of Roses. Allegedly there are whales and dolphins out there but with all of the speed boats zapping past, they've probably all been turned in to mincemeat. 

Girona was nice. Olde worlde narrow cobbled streets and restaurants aplenty. 

It's somewhere I'd be happy to return to for a weekend. 

Kath failed to turn up on time. I guess this is where her daughters get their abysmal timekeeping from. She blamed the pilot. As a result we trailed in to camp at about 11pm, only to find a raucous bunch of reprobates still up drinking and socialising. I grabbed a lump of cheese and a cold beer and joined them. That gear box will just have to wait another day.