Summer of War II

Bessie’s first trip to Europe was always destined to be France,  Colin and I are both confirmed Francophiles and being unsure of the roads or how the van would handle on the other side we thought Normandy was a good bet.

Apple Orchard

Once the destination was decided my expectations were simple.   Sample again the delights of France and see the Bayeux Tapestry.  Picardy would be a bonus, but I am ashamed at my poor French geography.  I had no idea Bayeux was close to the D Day landing beaches and that Bayeux was the first city of the Battle of Normandy to be liberated. 

Road to Rouen

 The ferry sailed from Portsmouth to Le Harve, and on the way south we stopped off in Jumièges, a little town in an almost peninsula on the Boucles de la Seine (The Buckles), where the Seine makes its final snake and wind before emptying into the Channel.

We booked into the excellent Camping de la Base Loisirs for two nights. We loved cycling round the quiet roads, through apple and plum orchards and watching the little ferries (bacs) cross back and forth on the Seine as part of the road network so we stayed another night.

The town of Jumièges boasts a cathedral with links to William the Conqueror, and although it is a ruin it attracts some interest, but the buckles are a detour so the town was quiet.  One evening we ate in a small bar on the cycle back to the camp site.  The owner was a cheery lady with few teeth and a walk with a hobble. She spoke no English but corrected our bad French with zeal. She impressed on us the delights of pomme de terre à la maison and what she brought us to accompany the steak was the best chips I've tasted since my mum threw out her chip pan.

Bayeux

But Calvados beckoned and after a short stay in a very busy, Brit filled site at Le Brévedent, where the kids seemed to be competing in 'who is the loudest brat competition', we headed for Bayeux. 

The Municipal site on the edge of town was spacious and the pretty town was only a river path cycle ride away.  The weather had been hot and sunny so far but the wind picked up and ominous clouds gathered so it was no hardship to head for the museum and the Tapestry.

River Cycle

The Bayeux Tapestry is actually an embroidery, thought to be commissioned around  the year 1070 and is over seventy metres in length. It depicts the history of William the Conqueror's claim to the English throne culminating at the battle of Hastings.  The regimented visit snaked along a queue rope with the rest of the tourists after being handed an audio just before entry to a darkly lighted room that held the tapestry.  This audio is supposed to aid your progress, describing each panel as it came into view, but the plumby English commentator races through the story and only tells the half of it. On each panel there is the main action but along the bottom sub plots emerge, some are quite pornographic in nature, this is ignored and after only ten minutes we were back where we started feeling slightly cheated. It is possible to go back before leaving the gloom but I was blinking in daylight before I knew it and it was then too late.

Caen Graffiti

The next day it poured so we took the train to Caen. Although known for being the City of William the Conqueror it also featured heavily in the Battle of Normandy and huge parts of it were destroyed during that time. The Château de Caen is well worth a visit, with ruined battlements for clambering over and liberal pieces of artwork to view. There is a fine memorial there for the soldiers lost in the liberation.

Caen Liberation Memorial

Back in Bayeux I was determined not to leave before paying my respects to the three thousand plus service men and women buried and remembered in the British Commonwealth War Cemetery. It was moving and I felt a real sense of gratitude to them. I feel the French do too. The liberating allies were celebrated everywhere in the region. 

Bayeux British War Cemetery

We left Bayeux in a squall and headed for the landing beaches, Omaha beach was a blur of high waves and flapping flag poles – we didn't stop. The weather had improved when we reached Pointe du Hoc the highest point between Omaha beach and Utah beach, where US Army Rangers climbed the cliffs and captured the position. And by the time we reached Utah Beach the sun was out. Although busy with tourists the beach was quiet.   Someone had laid a cellophane wrapped bunch of yellow roses randomly on the beach -a touching gesture and yet for me this wasn't a sentimental journey.  With the exception of my uncle who was lost in Italy, I have no connection to WWII. Maybe it was the John Wayne effect.

Looking out from battlements, Pointe Du Hoc

We travelled north from there to the little commune of StVaast de la Hougue.  Famed for its oysters and its twin Vauban forts this was a must destination. For some reason I love Vauban forts. I suspect it is their location round the fringes of France that attracts me rather than their architecture although that is pretty impressive too.

Tatihou, island fortress

Vauban is France’s most famous military architect.  He designed and built forts during the reign of Louis XIV making Frances borders more secure.   The twin forts at St Vaast were for keeping the English at bay.

La Hougue, land fortress

I first encountered Vauban in 2012 when visiting the fortification of Mont Dauphine and then again in 2013 when on a trip to The Alps we spent some time in Briançon where there is a fantastic example of his forts. None of this Vauban bagging was intended it just happened. So I now wonder which fort I will stumble upon next year.

I started the holiday with one war based novel and finished it with another – Dr Zhivago.  This epic begins in WWI and ends with the Russia Revolution.  Again not an intentional choice but a bargain book that subliminally made it into my hand.  In the windswept sunshine of Normandy reading of the cold harsh weather in Siberia somehow did not feel strange.

Food on the hoof

We’re just back from our longest Bessie trip so far.  Three weeks living in a campervan.

When we booked our ferry tickets from Southampton to Le Havre and mapped out the logistics, it made sense to drive south from Scotland a week before and spend a working week in London before the holiday.

We booked into The Caravan Club site at Crystal Palace and while I kept camp and scribbled about Colin commuted to work in central London every day until the time came when we could put on the ‘Out of Office’ and head for France.  

Camp Crystal

But more of that later. This blog is all about preparation.

As a keen gardener I was nerdily excited at the prospect of using my own produce to cook meals with limited preparation and cooking facilities.

Normally we holiday in June and July; weeks before the main crops harvest when there is only a few bags of salad and spinach ready to take with us.

This year, not only did we holiday in August, but the good weather in March and April meant the crops were early.  My garden was groaning with good grub.   My single courgette plant was already giving me a glut problem.   

The week before I left I had to pick all the blackcurrants to make jam.  Thankfully the garlic and onions had been lifted and plaited earlier in the month.  On the morning of our departure I lifted some potatoes and carrots, pulled more courgettes, picked broad beans, French beans, peas, spinach.  Not forgetting to choose some prime red and brown onions from the store.

Even the greenhouse plants were bearing fruit early so I chose the largest green peppers, a bag of chillies and bag of cherry tomatoes and even some green tomatoes to ripen in a brown paper bag.  Last of all a snip of salad and herbs; parsley, mint, thyme and basil. Bessie’s wee fridge was bursting at the hinges.

Tatties

In the kitchen the courgette bread was working its way through the bread machine programme but as well as the bread I had two other things in preparation. 

From past experience I know France means never missing out on fresh baked croissants for breakfast, but we oat eating Scots aren’t used to too much white flour so homemade granola and muesli made a good addition. It’s easy to make and delicious served with soya milk, yogurt and fruit.  The granola is slow cooked and the muesli only requires chopping and mixing.  I made enough cereal to last the whole three weeks.

Also getting up early to commute into Central London required a quick nutritious breakfast.  So these two breakfast recipes, written into my personal recipe book about thirty years ago, were happily resurrected and from now on will be a staple for all holidays.

A post script to this was the return.  While I was away my neighbours watered the garden and helped themselves to any crops that ripened. It's just a pity they don’t like courgettes.

Courgette anyone?

Sleeping in the heart of a volcano

A volcano?  It sounds bizarre but that is exactly what we did.  The fact the volcano erupted fifty five millions years ago doesn't detract from the glamour.

This all took place last weekend when we drove Bessie to Ardnamurchan in the West Highlands of Scotland. Although Ardnamurchan is a peninsula, the five minute Corran Ferry crossing saves an hour drive and gives the trip a real 'getting away from it all' feel. We have made this crossing many times but this was the first with a van and we only just squeezed in behind a huge lumber truck.   The peninsula is ribboned with mostly single track roads but we reckoned if the truck can do it so can we.

Corran Ferry - Bessie's first ferry crossing

Our first night was spent at Far View Campsite in Kilchoan, a motor-home specific site that had all we needed for a stopover. The owners keep an impressive garden and sell honey and herbs. It is situated in walking distance from the pier where a regular Mull ferry and trips to Staffa leave daily, so it would be an ideal base to leave the van and take a day trip to the islands.

The Ardnamurchan Lighthouse is reported to be the most westerly point on the British mainland, but Corrachadh Mòr, a wee tip of land a kilometre south of the lighthouse, should hold this title. Never the less a visit to this Stevenson lighthouse is a must.  The climb up the stairs of the thirty six metre tower is not too hard and rewarded with amazing views to the islands on gfood days.

From there we drove through the Ring of Ardnamurchan (the volcano crater!) to the small crofting community of Sanna.  There large sandy beach is littered with lava rocks and an abundance of cockles. The now rare sound of a skylark heralded our walk. Along with other walkers on the beach I craned my neck to spot and there it was, a speck, way up in the sky, warning us off with its distinctive chirup.

Sanna is an idyllic spot on this remote west coast, but life has been a struggle for the crofters there.  The excellent lyrical memoir Night Falls on Ardnamurchan by poet, Alistair Maclean laments the decline of Sanna's crofting community and is worth reading if planning a trip to the area. Because if the precious nature of the crofting land here we were forbidden to park the van overnight, so we headed back into the crater.

Wild Salmon and squeaky cheese kebabs

 We found a perfect flat piece of land just off the small road, put a couple of blocks under two wheels and set about preparing our first Bessie barbie.   Upon leaving Kilchoan I popped into the well-stocked village store and bought a couple of pieces of wild salmon to go with squeaky cheese and veggie kebabs. Colin had our spanking new Blue Mountain folding BBQ smoking in no time and then stumbled on a wee pile of wood, just perfect for a camp fire.  

Smoking in the crater

As the sun set behind the western ridge of the ring and a golden hue burnished the van, it felt as if we really were inside a volcano.  

The night was empty of animal and bird sounds.  Only the disturbance of a car passing on the road about four am broke the impression of total isolation.

The next day broke warm and sunny.  We donned our running shoes and ran a trail over a hill track, past a ruined hamlet of Glendrian until we reached the trail end in a remote pebble cove northeast of Sanna.  The first and last parts of the trail were good drove roads but a bog trot in the middle soaked our feet. I guess this route was once used by the crofter of Glendrian to take cattle and sheep to boats, but sadly this pastime has long ago fallen into history.

Maybe the dry sunny weather contributed to the enjoyment of this trip, but I suspect in all weathers Ardnamurchan will remain a special place.

The sound track for our trip was unintentionally in keeping with the remote, mountain and island theme.  The recently acquired Fred Morrison CD Outlands is a blend of whistle, Highland, Uilleann and Reel pipes accompanied by banjo, mandolin and bodhran to create a rollicking blend of Scots Trad with an Appalachian feel.  Yea hah.  

 Eigg and  Muck with Rhum in the background