“She’s got us in some place in the old town, half seven-ish,” Caro reported having been delegated as the best French speaker in our collective.
“Right folks,” Dad mentioned quite loudly to be heard over the various conversations taking place, “looks like we escape the drive thru after all so Apollinaris people uniforms please, BC, smart please, you all know the score.”

There were of course moans all round, none louder than my own. Its not even the dresses themselves so much but having to wear heels, slap and so on just to eat dinner. Oh, and we girls look like we should be pushing a trolley up and down the plane for some budget airline. We all trooped off back to our rooms and no I’m not sharing with Josh this year, I’ve got Mand of course, well its just easiest.

“I could eat a horse,” de Vreen suggested as we dolled ourselves up.
“Be careful what you wish for,” I warned.
“I thought that was just Belgium?”
“Watch out for the un-named meat is all I’m saying.”

 
By using the BMW and the minibus we all arrived in downtown Poitiers and after a couple of false turns arrived at Le Bistro Alain, best described as a typical French bar / restaurant. Dad and Caro went inside leaving the rest of us milling about outside where tables filled a good lump of the street.

“We’re probably gonna eat on the roof,” Gret suggested.
“Yeah, bit suspect fitting us lot in on a Saturday night,” Tal opined.
“There’s not many people about like,” Josh observed.
“Maybe they don’t come out until its dark,” Mand proposed.

Hmm, there could be mileage in that idea.

 
Dad came back out and somehow got our attention again.

“Right, so they’ve put us on a couple of tables in the garden at the back, we’re having the fixed menu, if I understood the maitre its some sort of salad, main course is chicken then coffee afterwards. they’ll come out to get the drinks ordered, soft drinks only please.”
“What are you looking at me for?” I asked, well he was looking at me when he issued that dictate.
“I wasn’t picking on you kiddo, its the same for everyone.”
Mand whispered in my ear, “maybe he’s heard about your camping trip?”

Well, the fear of that was enough for the colour to drain from my face. I missed the rest of what he was saying, I just followed as everyone filed inside the restaurant. No he can’t know about Bad Dürckheim, can he? I mean he’s not said anything but would he, and who’d tell him anyway?

“Gab, you sitting or what,” Lor queried breaking my daydream.

 
It was clear the garden wasn’t usually used for food, the tables were those round cast iron things, several pushed together to make each bigger table. No one actually lost more than cutlery but there were a few close calls with the drinks. Still, we were getting fed and it wasn’t burger and fries which is okay but not great fuel for sports peoples.

Considering the price, seven and a half euros a head, I think we did pretty well. The salad turned up in huge bowls, self serve which was actually quite good and I could’ve happily eaten more bread dipped in the light dressing. The main course was something apparently called Poulet Basquaise, well that's what it said on the chalk board anyhow, chicken pieces with ham, mushrooms and stuff in a white wine sauce served with ‘wild’ rice.

The courses were delivered to table quickly, evidently they wanted shot of us before the ‘regular’ clientele arrived. Even so it was approaching nine when we left.

“What now Mr Bond?” Claire asked as we made our way back to the transport.
“Now,” Caro intervened, “its back to the hotel and an early night, we’ve got another early start and a fair way to go.”
“What did you think,” Sal added, “we were going clubbing or something?”
“Well no,” Claire allowed.
“Breakfast is at seven so set your alarms, bags at the same time please,” Dad told us.

 
“Well it wasn’t horse,” I stated dropping onto ‘my’ bed when we got back to our room.
“I thought it was quite nice, bit tight with the coffee mind.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, the cups had been tiny, the coffee thick and strong, “we have got the kettle.”
“But have we get anything else?” Mand posed.

Don’t look so surprised, Mum kitted me up last year and the stuff is an admittedly little used fixture in my case. I fished in the bag and pulled out said plastic box.

“Kettle, cup, tea bags, coffee and yes milk.” I crowed finding the supply of creamers filched on a Dinea visit a few weeks ago.
“Only one cup?”
“We can use one of those plastic glass things.”
“What’re we waiting for, gis the kettle.”

 
“You awake?”
“Hmmm?” Mand mumbled from the other bed, “wassa time?”
I checked my watch, “half five.”
“Urgh, go back to sleep!”
“Can’t, its too light.”

Which was the truth, the curtains may as well have been open for what good they were doing, the sun streaming in as if a searchlight was mounted outside the window.

“Urgh!” Mand complained pulling her pillow over her head.
“You want a drink?”
“Whiskey and soda,” came the mumbled reply.
“I meant like tea,” I pointed out, “didn’t take you as a spirits drinker.”
“Not but it might get me back to sleep.”
“Well I’m having one.”
“Whisky?”
“Tea stupid,” I replied as I adjusted my pyjamas to something closer to decent.

 
Breakfast might’ve been planned for seven but clearly I wasn’t the only one not able to sleep, we were pretty much all in the breakfast room somewhat before the allotted time. It was hardly a vast repast on offer, croissants, fruit, cereal and machine coffee but it was better than nothing. There was a bit of jiggling of the seating arrangements, Lor returned to the minibus and instead Josh and Tal occupied the BMW’s rear seat.

Rather than the A10 which heads out towards the coast we took the more direct N10 which it turns out is mostly quite a good dual carriageway. Dad reckons its a bit shy of six hundred kilometres today under another blue sky interrupted only rarely by the odd cloud scudding high above.

“You mind?” I asked Kat waving a cassette tape I’d found in my bag.
“Sure, this French station is appalling.”

You had to agree with that statement, I’m not saying all the German stations are great, Radio One they ain't, but compared to French pop they are brilliant. I slipped the cassette into the player and hit the play button, after a moment or two of hissing the familiar intro to Queen’s Bo Rhap filled the car. Everyone knows Bo Rhap, like everyone knows the Beatles catalogue, Kat was soon tapping the steering wheel.

Of course I was soon singing along with some gusto, the familiar lyrics tripping off the tongue. Of course I changed the words like I do with BlauHase, boy becomes girl, he becomes she, not sure if anyone else ever noticed, no one said anything anyhow. With Josh and Tal otherwise occupied it became Gabyoki with occasional input from Kat as we headed ever southward.

 
We had a comfort stop outside Angoulême as much to give the drivers a break as any real need for the facilities. It was still about a hundred and fifty kilometres to Bordeaux so the first tape having finished I rescued a couple more from my supply in the Hymer. There hadn’t been any complaints about my yodelling so once we got underway again I set the BlauHase tape going.

“That girl sounds just like you Gabs,” Kat suggested.

There was a stifled guffaw from the back.

“What?” Kat asked with a quick glance into the back.
“Road!” the rest of us chorused.
“What’s funny?” Kat posed.
“It sounds like Gab because it is,” Tal told her.
“Get off! Gab?”
“Um,” I managed.
“No way! you’re in a band?”
“Er, sort of,” I admitted.
“Aye she is,” Josh added, “she sang at that festival thing the other week.”
“Mosel Fest,” Tal filled in.
“You’re kidding?” Kat suggested.
“Straight up like, we were there with her boyfriend,” Josh excavated my hole a bit deeper.
“Gab?”
“Uh huh,” I agreed.
“How cool is that? You aren’t just a pretty face Bond.”
“So I’m told,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”

 
We stopped for lunch just before Bordeaux overlooking the Dordogne river for which I was quite grateful. It wasn’t so much hunger but after being outed to Kat as Erdbeere, singer with rock / grunge band BlauHase I then had to recount the whole story. Well I missed out getting drugged and the sleeping arrangements in Bonn but she wanted to know everything.

Back on the road we joined the busy A63 which will take us to the Spanish border a further two hundred or so kilometres away. No sooner had we cleared Bordeaux than we entered the Foret Hezer, part of the almost flat, tree covered area that stretches almost as far as Bayonne. I was bored after the first few kilometres and by the quiet behind me, so were the others, Kat was tapping along to the BlauHase tape again so I got comfortable and settled down for a nap.

 
I was woken by someone shaking me, “the sea Gab!”
“Hmmm?” I cracked an eye as I turned to look out of the window, ”where’re we?”
“Just past Biarritz,” Kat advised.

And there it was, sun glinting off the waves, the Atlantic Ocean, well that bit that makes up the Bay of Biscay at least. We sort of tracked the coast for a few kilometres before we turned away from the coast and started climbing away from the coastal margins. With more interesting terrain I was taking more er, interest and then we dropped around a sweeping bend and as quick as that we were in Spain.

I hadn’t really given it any thought but of course San Sebastian is only just in Spain, within ten kilometres we were following signs into the city. Of course, we aren’t staying in the city, far too expensive, no we’re camping, not literally, in some place called Lezo. We pulled into a lay-by for a few minutes to let the others catch up and, well, let Dad pilot the way to our accomodation.

 
Last year, down in Italy, the hotel was, how can I put it, rustic. The Villa Lezo Atlantico is certainly not rustic on any level, not a resort hotel but certainly a modern, angular building. Our convoy came to a halt on the small forecourt area and we all poured out into the mid afternoon heat.

“Not bad,” Daz opined.
“Better than last night,” Claire suggested.
“Can’t argue with that,” Josh agreed.

Dad, Angela and Caro had already gone inside and the rest of us wandered in the same general direction as much to escape the sun as anything. Inside, the place was more ‘lived in’, not dirty or anything but worn.

 
“Okay people,” Dad started, “Angela has your room keys, take your bags up, get settled in, if you can be down in the restaurant for,” he checked his timepiece, “shall we say five?”

I checked my own watch, ten past three, loadsa time.

There being no dissent Dad went on, “okay five it is, Josh, Jamie, can you give me and Darren a hand with the bikes?”

 
The rooms aren’t huge but there is a balcony and me and Mand are on the top floor so we can just see the actual sea out over San Sebastian itself.

“Well I’m having a shower,” Mand announced.
“Don’t use all the cold water,” I called after her.

 
Maddy Bell © 22.03.2018