Trying to work out where to stay on our return journey northwards is always a bit of a challenge. We’d stayed two nights at L’Hospitalet du Larzac which, though it was an OK campsite, was a night too long; there simply wasn’t much entertainment to be had there. (Francine had been hoping for some interesting meadows on the high causses but our positioning was just a bit off.)
We hadn’t yet made that much northerly progress, a bit less than 90kms. Now we had to figure out how best to cover the remaining 800kms to get to Neufchatel-en-Bray, our last stop before our Eurotunnel return, and where best to stop. We had no time pressure; there were still four days to go, we just wanted a little more leisure time.
We have a favoured useful stopping point at Hérrison, 360kms north of us, which is handily close to the A71 autoroute and would more or less halve the distance. We’ve used it a few times in the past. It’s a classic French camping munipal and has always had space for us. Decision made for stage one.
The journey was easy until our approach in mid afternoon caused a bit of a flutter. The campsite lies right on the banks of the river Aumance and, given the spring rain that France, along with the UK, had been “enjoying”, we’d been a little concerned about the state the ground might be in. The final road down to the campsite had a “route barree” sign along with “deviation”. Whoops, maybe?
We went down anyway. The entrance to the campsite is immediately before a sort of causeway over the river. It was this causeway that was closed; happily the campsite displayed on open sign. We went in. Finding the ground to be in decent condition – sigh of relief – we picked a pleasant hedged pitch facing the river and got Frodo level and settled. This is one of those campsites where you get yourself installed and wait for madame to arrive at about 18:00.
This is one of my happy places. After about five hours behind the wheel, if conditions are fair, there really is nothing better than to sit outside with a beer or three, staring at this view, listening to the constant babbling of the weir just downstream at the causeway, with swifts screaming overhead, the frequent quack of ducks paddling up and down the river being interrupted by, if you’re lucky, the occasional ragondin [coypu]. A pair of blackbirds was busily gathering worms to feed a brood of chicks. It truly does feel idyllic. Not for the first time here, I thought, if I die now I’ll die happy. [Morbid git. There is a maison de retraite over the river; maybe …]
The village across the river is very quiet. The frontage on the river is, as you can see, wonderfully French and quite delightful in appearance. The village has what some have described as a quirky bar, which is pleasant enough to have a drink at – if you can cross the causeway. There’s also a small local store for provisions but that’s about it.
The downside is then, that there really isn’t a lot to do here for anything more than a 1-night stop. Given this situation, I’d really like to stay for longer but I fear that, cathartic though this riverside view may be, a whole free day may be just a tad too much.
Most of the longer term inhabitants come equipped with multiple fishing rods and I don’t have the patience for that.
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