Campervan Therapy

Matthew, our local butcher, says that our route to Spain and Portugal would win a prize for the strangest journey to the sun. Logical people would head to their closest port, Newhaven, for a ferry to Dieppe. But we are heading west to Topsham in Exeter, to visit our son and his lovely family.

Driving in the Opposite Direction

So far, not too strange you may say, but the next stage could leave you nonplussed – Wales then Ireland, to get to Portugal and Spain from Sussex?  Well, we were due to be in Glendalough for Seán’s mum’s birthday, and from there we were going to pick up Irish Ferries’ WB Yeats from Dublin to Cherbourg. Sadly, Betty is no longer with us, but the ferry is already booked. One thing is for sure though campervan therapy is much needed by the two of us at the moment. Wandering around new places and old favourites is in demand. Of course, a little sun and sangria wouldn’t go amiss either.

Food for the Soul

Even the journey west feeds the soul. The New Forest is covered in cheeky yellow flowered gorse. Rolling down the window, its hot coconut scent fills the van.  

We camp at Highfield Farm in Topsham, on the Exe estuary. The daffodils are out in full force, the green rolling hills of Devon all around us.

An essential ingredient of campervan therapy is the food, so we trundle down to The Globe where we’re treated to chargrilled goat’s cheese salad with yellow and purple beetroot, followed by pumpkin ravioli in sage butter – not bad for a Monday night.

Afterwards, we stroll along the estuary, the avocets, curlews, sanderlings and oystercatchers asleep; past the ancient warehouses and the Medieval port walls, past houses built in the Dutch style. Topsham once had trading links with Dutch ports and the influence on the architecture is clear.

The Wonder of Wales

The romance of Wales hits us in the borderlands as we drive past the mist shrouded Castle Raglan ruins. Rain lashes the van as we arrive at Blossom Touring Park, a short walk from Abergavenny, but in true campervan therapy style, I hand Seán his waterproofs and shove my reluctant rambler out the door.

The Sugar Loaf mountain’s on the skyline, matching the one in Seán’s home county of Wicklow. We’re surrounded by the Black Mountains, just like in my parents’ home county of Wexford.  New leaves are unfurling on the trees and hedgerows. Majestic woodlands surround the town and the rivers Usk and Gavenny rush through the steep valley – the walk may be soggy but it’s balm to two troubled souls.

The Art Deco Portico Café Bar is full of paintings, both old and current, and they’re striking: a woman in a blue 1940’s dress stares out at us, her eyes vivid blue too; two hikers stand on the top of a mountain, looking as if they’ve stepped from the cover of an Enid Blyton.

We feast in Casa Bianca, an Italian restaurant, run by a family from Cyprus – modern Abergavenny alive with its vibrant blend of cultures.