Whatever that means
After sitting in the queue of cars in the heat of Hull we got into the comfortable wee cabin trying hard not to remember the Herald of Free Enterprise or think of the cabin as a floating coffin. Kids had a fine time in the soft play since they seemed to have it all to themselves and also enjoyed playing on the bunk beds. It just reminded me of too many nights on the sleeper to London albeit with a bed that was actually bed sized.
On Friday got off the ferry to the fairly staggering heat of Zeebrugge and drove the 600km to the campsite at Orbey giving copious and regular thanks to the person who invented in-car air conditioning. Eventually found the wee site we had been aiming for halfway up a hill out of the pretty little village of Orbey. The site was mainly caravans that were obviously permanently pitched, with makeshift extensions and overgrown by foliage but it had a good shaded grassy bit in the middle for tents.
Like our friends Graeme and Clare (and daughter Hannah – henceforth to be known as The Moores) who we were travelling with, it was the first proper pitch of our new, smaller-than-the-old-tent-and-much-smaller-than-the-giant-tent tent. Because we’d been driving all day and then pitching the tents (and blowing up thermarests etc) we ate late so the kids stayed up late and had a more enjoyable play once the temperature started to drop a little.
The adults made madame’s day by failing to buy any wine among the way. She was delighted to sell us a bottle but obviously at the meme prix de la wee restaurant on the site. Oui, bien sur. So 11 euros for a bottle of wine. Not extortionate except that we could buy the same wine for 3.80 at the Intermarché