The Villemarin campsite is an aire naturelle and is excellent … on six days of the week. We’d arrived on Friday having travelled from Fanjeaux and set up. We have been here before so we were somewhat prepared.
All was well until Saturday night. Villemarin is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, almost equidistant between Mèze and Marseillan. Well, ALMOST in the middle of nowhere.
Immediately adjacent is a neighbouring property that tends to host functions on Saturday nights. The functions, of course, come with accompanying music, either live, recorded or both, with absolutely no regard for the neighbours, in this case, us and our fellow campers.
Friday night had been bliss listening to a collection of Eurasian Scops Owls and their rhythmic hoots at 3-second intervals. The notes vary from owl to owl, I was a bit surprised to note.
Saturday night was an absolute nightmare. I’ve no idea what the function next door was but misgivings began on Saturday afternoon with what seemed like soundchecks for some live musicians. Sure enough, in the late evening the racket began, and it wasn’t Brahms 3rd racket.
Just when you think it’s finished, an alternative racket began which went on interminably until 03:00, by which time I’m over-tired, wound up tighter than a watch spring and can’t sleep anyway.
To add to the entertainment there was what I think must have been a rave going on all weekend, 24hrs a day. This, mercifully, was far enough away to cause no real nuisance. We’d heard this before on a previous visit, too, so it’s obviously a regular thing but it really isn’t a problem.
We had originally intended to stay until the following Sunday but couldn’t face another Saturday night so I went to pay up on Friday to leave this morning. Frodo needed to turn his wheels over, anyway.
As we were beginning to pull out our delightful French neighbours came over to bid “adieu”. As part of our conversation I wished them good luck for tonight. “Oh, we’re going to a hotel nearby”, they said. Bloody excellent! Oddly, that thought had crossed my mind to help me spend a long time here. These guys were actually doing it.
Francine’s initial cunning plan was to stop at a CCP at Cavalerie, just south of the wonderful Millau viaduct. CCPs (Camping Car Parks) are a useful but basic addition to the battery of places to stay with a Motor Home but are essentially car parks with a service point. Nonetheless, the location looked interesting.
We spent the early morning shopping in luxury at the Mèze Lidl, before calling in to the much more salubrious Caveau de Beauvignac right next door to stock up on our favourite Viognier and Picpoul de Pinet. Interestingly, their BiBs (not that we were buying BiBs) don’t seem any more expensive than many in supermarkets and the wine would certainly be superior.
As we were on the road, Francine developed plan B. Rather than a car park, she’d found a campsite with good reviews slightly short of our first destination at Cavalerie. This was at L’Hospitalet du Larzac, on the Plateau du Larzac in the Parc Naturel Régional des Grands Causses. [I’ve taken a bit of a liberty with the title since I don’t know if there’s a singular of Causses.] This is the high country around Millau. We’re at 800m and the picturesque climb up La Méridienne autoroute, the A75, lost us 5°C.
Reception at the campsite was in a bar [good start] and the price for a bona fide campsite is only about €3 more than a car park.
A bit of an aside at the risk of being repetitive, here’s something than I find baffling. Many motor home folks get awfully excited about staying on a free, or very cheap Aire de Camping Car, often gravel or tarmac areas. Of course, with European weather and 3500kg vehicles, hardstanding is sometimes necessary but why would you spend £70K on a motor home only to habitually scrimp on where to park it? Wouldn’t you like to be able to sit outside on grass, with a table and chairs [many Aires do not allow this] enjoying a decent environment? I know I would.
As we were pitching up I scared up absolute swarms of one particular type of moth, which I hadn’t even noticed was there. I missed it because the little tykes had been sitting hidden on the underside of the leaves. Walk past and up they flutter in a frenzy. I did manage to catch one that settled and forgot it was supposed to be on the underside of the leaf. Shortly after snapping it, however, it remembered its job description and hid. This is the notorious Box Tree Moth (Cydalima perspectalis) which is currently wreaking havoc to Box bushes in various parts of the UK. There are absolute swarms of ‘em here but, oddly, we haven’t seen any Box.
End of wildlife for today, it’s pissing with rain.
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