16 – ready to move on

It became clear that very soon we would have to consider moving from Salvatore’s campsite, as the summer season was fast approaching.

Dear Salvatore had allowed us to remain with our two hounds as a special favour, although his campsite had an official policy of “no dogs”.  He had been so concerned for us and had tried his best to prolong our stay, but before long another family from Rome would be arriving, expecting to park their caravan on our pitch.  Already at weekends several families had begun turning up, busily organising themselves for the summer months.  They arrived with their cars packed to the gunnels with crates, plastic tables, chairs, sun loungers, umbrellas, fridges, cooking stoves, plastic cupboards, shelving, fans, TV’s …… even canaries in cages and pet cats.  This was an almost “home from home” relocation – Just how much could more could they manage to cram into a small caravan and awning, we wondered?    

All the little local campsites, shops and restaurants dotted along the coast road had started springing into life, preparing for the onslaught of summer visitors.  Boards were prepared advertising the local cuisine and delicacies such as zuppa di pesce, tiella and fresh mozzarella di buffala.  Stalls appeared setting out a colourful array of holiday goods. Over-grown verges were cleared for parking so that in August hundreds of cars could squeeze into every little nook and cranny of space available.

At one stage we considered purchasing a second-hand mobile-home to accommodate us all on the building site, while the necessary renovation work was being undertaken on the farmhouse. 

However in due course we abandoned this notion and decided that the quickest solution was to find a suitable rental property in the Itri vicinity.  We had not taken into account that rental prices were significantly inflated during the profitable summer months, thus we were greatly relieved when Giampiero, the estate agent, came up trumps by locating a more reasonably priced property, which could solve our accommodation problem, at least in the short term. 

This was merely a small, simple country villa, but to us it felt perfectly luxurious and spacious, compared to our compact little caravan quarters, and best of all it had a bath and lots of hot and cold running water.  

Yet we were particularly sad to conclude our stay at the campsite, as we had very much enjoyed our spell there, under Salvatore’s watchful eye.  We promised to drive down to visit him and his family regularly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

04 – full speed ahead

Almost Ready

A few days later Paul and I,  our younger son and our two faithful hounds prepared for the off.  We were to lead the way, towing the caravan, I was to navigate, and our son was to follow behind in a second car.  Thus our mini convoy rolled out on the first leg of the journey to West Sussex.  We were in high spirits as we trundled out of Wales, over the Old Severn Bridge and into England. 

We stopped over night with family in Storrington and the next morning, feeling re-energized, we set off again heading for Folkestone and the Channel Tunnel.  Here all went extremely well, the dogs’ Pet Passports were hardly required. The “crossing” was remarkably painless, considering how concerned I had been about feeling claustrophobic during the subterranean train journey.

Entering Channel Tunnel Train Carriage

However, as we emerged on the other side of “La Manche” we found that the French weather was set against us, as the rain lashed down while we struggled to fit headlamp converters to the cars whilst endeavouring to shelter under numerous jackets and coats. Foolishly we realised that it would have been so much easier to have done this task during the boring but dry train journey. With window-wipers vigorously swishing back and forth onwards then into Belgium, to the Flemish city of Ghent, where we spent the first night of our journey in our compact caravan home in a distinctly damp campsite near the waterway at Blaarmeersen. 

The next day as we progressed on our journey, we were buffeted by mischievous side winds which made towing the caravan something of a challenge. As we traversed the seemingly endless flatlands, we saw signposts to some of the renowned Battlefields of the First World War. It seemed incredulous that this now peaceful pastoral landscape had once been a quagmire of muddy trenches, a site of horrific slaughter and carnage, where countless good young men had been savagely cut down in their prime.

* Alsace

We entered the Wallonia region of Belgium before heading south, through the wooded hills of the uplands of Luxembourg. Finally we reached the Alsace region in situated in the north eastern corner of France, where the blend of French and German heritage was very apparent. We opted to take a slight detour towards Colmar, wandering through the charming verdant countryside passing small farmsteads, vineyards and blossoming orchards along the way.

Then on to the small city of Mullhouse, on the Rhine, near to the German frontier. Locating this campsite proved to be tricky, as we found our convoy repeatedly circumnavigating the bustling town centre desperately looking for campsite signposts. Eventually we parked up near the train station and were fortunate to be rescued by the owner, who sportingly came out in search of us and kindly escorted us to his premises.

* Alsace (www.all-freephotos.com)

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~