Saturday, we got up early having learned from the previous day that the coolest time for driving is early morning (or in the dark). Let me rephrase that, we got up early – in our dreams. When we woke at 10 it was no longer early. We had learned to be less optimistic about the length of time we could spend driving in this heat – also in our dreams. And we drove for exactly the same amount of time as yesterday. I can’t help but feel disappointed in us, we could have done so much better.

But we weren’t punished for our lack of learning and within a half hour of our destination we noticed clouds. Would there be rain?

Indeed there would be rain. Not a lot but enough and the thunder we heard promised more. We were staying the night in an old French campsite with more rules than we are used to from the French. Having travelled for, the now regular, 7.5 hours to get there I was less than on top form for translation but Denis enjoys leaving the sign ins to me. Ce qui sera, sera.

The French receptionist didn’t speak English and as I alluded to yesterday I don’t perform well in the heat (also not in the rain or impending stormy weather). So I agreed to all the rules and paid up. I directed Denis to park in the manner I understood was necessary to be a good camper and made myself comfortable.

I woke up to find Denis and the husband of the receptionist discussing our parking… it seems we were on the wrong side of the tree and pointing the wrong way. There was a storm coming (yippee!) and our position was dire and would cause us storm damage. I could hear Denis’ incredulous, “Really?”and the husband repeating (in English) “Really!” We had to reposition.

The storm turned out to be a little lack luster but the rain did not come in our open door and we did not have storm damage. But the rain meant we would not be making the 10 minute walk to the town for another chance of a French meal. Probably just as well, our eating out budget was already over stretched. French restaurants charge the same as Irish restaurants, our budget is more Portuguese inspired. Fortunately, we had visited a supermarket before we left Fontenay Le Compt and dined on fried fish and salad leaves listening to the thunder.

Next morning we set off (no, not early) in fog and mist feeling a little chilly, thrilled with ourselves. Today we would be crossing the border into Spain, a journey of little over an hour. As we got closer I remembered something I really needed and googled a supermarket just kilometers inside the border. The French love crafts and a lot of their craft magazines are exquisite with lots of pictures, making the language barrier almost insignificant. Today, I would be the happy owner of one more. (Yes, I have a collection of them at home. Yes, I do need more.)

We arrived in the car park, me like a child at Christmas. Until I noticed the sign, Ouvert Dimanche Matin… Noooo, it’s Sunday! “What time is it?” It was precisely 12.30pm. Precisely. That is the time French supermarkets (the few that open on Sundays) close on Sundays. There would be no craft magazine today… my little heart was broken…

Oh no hang on I’m grand, maybe the Spanish like craft magazines?