Friday 7th August
I’m now in Ile de Re. I seem to have accumulated a number of insect bites at various places on my left leg. I’ve now retrieved my 100 percent Deet to keep by me at all times (which I didn’t need last night despite the evidence of a mosquito net over the window of the bedroom I have here).
The last twenty four hours have been uneventful. I moved pitch back there on the campsite, went for a 7k walk, through beautiful woodland paths, enjoyable until my footwear, unsuitable for walking, started to give me blisters for the last kilometre. Two ageing men invited me for drinks on the campsite last night and in the spirit of the place’s friendliness I went to join them. They served me white wine but disappointingly it had obviously not come from their caravan refrigerator (they had a satellite dish too, a large one). They talked to me about the round the world cruise that they took in 2008. I must say virtually everything they told me about it strengthened my opinion that I would never go on one including a fight breaking out in the launderette resulting in the two involved families being ejected from the ship at the next port of call and having to fly home at their own expense (apparently this potential penalty was made clear to passengers at the time of booking). I stayed for an hour and went to bed in not the best of moods. During the night I was awoken by scratching sound apparently just under where my head was lying. I remember having this experience in a campsite in Germany. I was convinced that it was a small burrowing animal emerging under my tent.

I woke finally at seven and decided to get up and get packed, though with waiting for the dew to dry off the tent and bequeathing a few items off food and drink, I finally rolled out at 9.30. The twisty roads leading to the main road were enjoyable but once on the main route I concluded that French roads don’t have much to recommend them. But, after filling up with petrol (the GPS led me very efficiently to two petrol stations that obviously had not served petrol for years) I finally made it after nearly four hours riding to the beautiful Ile de Re that you reach over an impressive long bridge over the sea. It costs three Euros to cross. Suddenly there are people everywhere, mostly on bicycles, all clearly on holiday and nearly all young. I realise what a different slice of people I have been spending my time with over the last week and a half. I arrived at Helen’s family’s house in a beautiful web of small streets with white painted cottages and bright coloured flours. I made heavy weather of getting Belinda into their garage but I am promised significant brawn to help me pull her out backwards on Sunday when I leave to take the five plus hour ride up to Caen. I took a stroll through these lanes down to the beach here. It is a stunning Atlantic beach crammed with brown bodies but with, strangely and rather ominously a military looking plan circling very low above. Where they looking for terrorists about to launch a beach attack? Whatever, I decided to retrace my steps back to the house.