We’re hitting the road to get to Spain, but who can resist France in springtime? So a few detours are in order. Our first stop is Nantes, a city surrounded by rivers – the Erdre and the Loire, in the Loire-Atlantique area.
The only reason we choose it is because Nantes Camping is open as so many campsites only dream of opening until May. I’m a little disappointed as I was lusting after a rural retreat in French countryside, which I’ve always loved. But what a city it is – it surprises me, with its green lung of woods and wide river running from the campsite to the centre of town, a 40 minutes stroll along dedicated walking and cycle tracks.
We pass yellow marsh marigolds and watch herons flying over the water. We pass runners and cyclists and strollers and picnickers – and do not see one car en route to the centre.
The university rowing teams are out in force. In the centre, we stroll around the ecologically planted island midstream before heading towards the cathedral which dominates the skyline.
The statue of Deliverance is a must-see. Controversial in its time, a bronze, naked woman holds her sword aloft – beautiful in her Amazonian stance.
Sculpted just after WW1, she was placed on her plinth in 1927 to much disgusted outrage, even once being pulled down. But to me she is a symbol of strength and I like to think of a female deliverance from the devastation of war.
The war memorial with its long list of those lost is so sad, and at the present day, so poignant – Ukraine not being far from either of our minds.
To cheer us up we dive into a tiny, typically French bar, the toilets out down a narrow alley between buildings, locals enjoying an aperitif and I enjoy my first cheeky Kir of the tour. At night, surprisingly, all we hear is an agitated owl and its haunting hoot.
Our next stop is about as far from city living as can be, Camping Solanilla, is in sleepy Lelin-Lapujolle in the Midi-Pyrenees.
A little scruffy, but here’s my rural idyll, a boisterous cockerel waking us up, zero sounds of traffic, chaffinches, chickens, goats on the roof of their shelter and two jumping kids, not long born.
Wild flowers line the undulating lanes which take us between vines which look crucified on their wires.
The new vine leaves are just unfurling, which brings on a fit of the bard in me, as its Good Friday, twenty-five years since the Good Friday agreement.
If you want to read my rushed and far from perfect efforts, with the snappy title, Good Friday in Lelin-LaPujolle 2023, click on this link: Good Friday
From the campsite the jagged, snow-topped Pyrenees make us impatient to get there. We head for the Somport Tunnel into Spain, by the jade green Gave d’Aspe river, driving through gorges and always with those snow-topped peaks on the horizon.
Even a parking spot here is majestic as we watch vultures wheel high above our heads.
Campervan Therapy 
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