We had a bit of early morning excitement when Francine spotted a magnificent Stag Beetle that appeared to be warming itself up in a patch of sun just outside Frodo. We were a bit worried about forgetting quite where he was and stepping on him; all was well, though.

There is a small nature park, favoured mainly by the birding community, about 11 kms from Rosnay. It has been good for odonata, too. Francine fancied cycling there and back largely to give our new e-bikes more of a stretch so we could become more familiar with them.

Happily, for some reason best known to her, Francine checked the Maison de la Nature on the good ol’ internet and discovered that it was closed on Tuesdays. At least that saved us a wasted 22km round trip.

Plan B.

About 5 kms in the other direction is the Maison du Parc, a similar celebration of La Brenne nature with a pond suitable for dragonflies. I not sure this one is quite so appealing to the birders but we saved that for the afternoon.

For the remainder of the morning we headed south of Rosnay to check on a field that we been to on a previous trip, Les Communaux de Rosnay. It’s a flowery meadow with orchids that lies at the end of a hedge-lined track which had also been home to a few odonata. We pushed our bikes up the track only to find the way blocked by strands of wire, not to mention unappealing looking mud from the recent rains.

There wasn’t any suitable structure to secure our bikes to so I remained outside on the track while Francine managed her way round the fence and mud into the area so she could check on any orchids. What she found was a lot of Tongue Orchids (Serapias lingua), which are quite abundant on the Rosnay campsite, where they carefully mow around them so as to protect them. Impressive.

Insect life along the track wasn’t scintillating until we were pushing our bikes back to the road. As we did so a larger dragonfly flew in and began settling on the sunlit hedge. After disturbing it once or twice I finally managed to sneak up close enough to it. To lighten the load in my rucksack when cycling, I’m trying the smaller Olympus camera with the 40-150 lens mounted on a 2x extender. A doubler is inherently less sharp but the combination can be easier to deal with. My friend was an immature male Blue-eyed Hawker (Aeshna affinis) which was a good one to add to the collection.

In the afternoon we jumped on the bikes again and set off for the Maison du Parc. As we approached I saw builders’ fencing and I feared this might also be closed. My fears proved unfounded, though; the fencing was associated with an adjacent property rather then the Maison du Parc. We secured our bikes and went down to the pond edge.

It was more or less completely covered in duck weed, which isn’t the best but there were a number of dragonflies zooming about and occasionally tussling. At first they looked like Black-tailed Skimmers but, when I caught one in my viewfinder, it was actually the very similar White-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum albistylum) which is much more interesting, not being a British species. Once you get your eye in, they do look noticeably different.

We needed to get from Bourges to Arçais in the Marais Poitevin by Thursday. It could be done in one longish hop but we decided to break the journey into two easy, shorter legs. Stage one, we decided, would be to visit the camping municipal again at Rosnay in La Brenne.

This was a short hop of just 115kms. Soon after leaving the Bourges campsite we happened across a Carrefour supermarket and called in to top up supplies and the fuel tank. I would have plenty now to get to Arçais without worrying.

We passed Châteauroux and its airport, dropped onto the free autoroute for a couple of junctions and then took the occasionally jiggly cross-country route to Rosnay.

Given the so-called spring weather that both we and the French have been “enjoying”, I was surprised to see the campsite so busy. I was not surprised to see the ruts in the mud on various of the pitches nor the gravel that had been placed where there had clearly been large mud wallows. All the sunnier pitches seemed to be taken but we found what was currently a secluded shadier pitch complete with its own pile of gravel over the entrance. I had feared that the French campsites might be having such difficulties.

Shortly after we pitched up a tractor turned up with its front bucket full of another load of gravel. After dumping that strategically it went to a motor home which we driven past, just, because it looked as if it were half in and half out of a pitch. Now we saw why, it had become stuck whilst trying to reverse out and leave. The tractor driver attached a rope to the van’s tow bar and pulled it out.

I have a feeling that the camping contraption parked nearby wasn’t about to get stuck in anything.

Today was forecast to remain dry. Francine had so far been unable to do any laundry ‘cos we hadn’t had any drying weather. She was looking forward to getting some clean clothes now, fingers crossed.

Meanwhile, I wandered around the onsite lake checking on the dragonflies and damselflies – they would also have been fed up with the weather, no doubt.

Vaguely more entertaining in a slightly unsettling way was a Brit motor home which was being driven around the campsite as if to take no prisoners. As it turned a 90° corner, the passenger door flew open, clonked one of the many trees and the van continued undeterred. As it came past us, we saw a moulding panel from the door being dragged along the ground, still attached by what I think were electrical wires (probably a repeater light in the panel). Just beyond us around another corner, Mr. Rally-Driver disembarked and attempted to effect a repair.

I went to offer tape but he had some. He reckoned Mrs. Rally-Driver had opened the passenger door as he went around the corner. Why? Maybe she was attempting to bail out ‘cos he was driving too fast. “What are the attractions round here?”, he asked, adding that his son lives here. “Well, he’ll be able to tell you, I imagine.” He’s trying to glue a dislodged panel back onto the door of his motor home and making small talk. Bizarre. Distraction technique, I shouldn’t wonder.

To add insult to injury, he next proceeded to squeeze his injured motor home in between two other units where there wasn’t an extra pitch. Utterly unbelievable. This was the kind of a***hole that makes you ashamed to carry a UK number plate. [I already am anyway but that’s an entirely different issue.]

The sun continued to shine and we did, at least, manage to sit outside with a beer or two and some vino.

Halle-bloody-lujah! This is our 11th day sur le continent and it’s the first one that hasn’t had any rain.

We left our very well designed aire de camping car in Troyes soon after 09:00 and set the controls for Bourges. It’s a Sunday so driving was easy, light traffic and no trucks. We soon came across a Super-U which was both open and had ample space in the car park for Frodo. Needing at least fresh milk, in we went. Francine’s been getting withdrawal symptoms from Ricard and we managed to fix that, too. (Mind you, it isn’t Ricard weather at the moment and it’s the weather that needs fixing.)

That was the highlight of the day; from here things went downhill. We were soon driving through the cloud, which was on the deck. The temperature was pretty much on the deck, too, registering 12°C and occasionally 13°C going across country, which ordinarily would have been nice except we couldn’t actually see the country through the murk.

Then one of the villages that we needed to pass through was blocked but, it having first of all frozen requiring a reboot, the on-board satnav kept trying to get us to return to the blocked village. Using vintage maps left behind after the Nazis were kicked out, primary navigatrix Francine took over. Sometimes the old ways are best.

Finally, after 240 rather stressful kilometres we arrived at the Borges camping municipal at 13:45. Reception didn’t open until 14:00 and a French caravan was already waiting to book in blocking most of the short approach road. We reversed into a small parking area opposite and waited for the office to open and for the bouchon to clear so we could get to our pitch, which would best be described as adequate; at least it was flat.

We had a lunch of bread and rilletes and wandered into town for a look-see.

Bourges has another cathedral and a very tall one at that. We wandered in to have a gawp in the customary manner. I always find myself conflicted in such places. Whilst I think that spending generations building such huge edifices in honour of a non-existent omnipotent being was a complete farce, I can’t help but think that the world would actually be a more mundane place without them.

Inside, the ceiling was a very long way up and the stained glass must be some of the most impressive we’ve seen, with a lot of very rich blues dominating.

We set about finding the old town which proved to be a little more difficult than we expected but we eventually triumphed. There were some timbered buildings but I wouldn’t exactly go overboard.

We arrived sur le continent  on 24th May. It is now 1st June and it has rained every day that we’ve been here. I was very lucky in the Netherlands in that it didn’t rain where Antonio and I were looking for dragonflies but it did rain at Jelly’s Hoeve in Havelte. Much of the rain there was overnight.

Today in Troyes, it looked as though we were going to get our first dry day but not so; it began mizzling shortly after we returned from exploring the town. At least it had the decency to wait until we returned from town rather than wetting us while we were in town.

There is an Aldi literally just outside our aire de camping car. We shopped there when we arrived but it is seriously limited.  This morning, to get the remaining shopping that we needed, we decided to wander the extra kilometre or thereabouts to a Lidl further into town. It was much larger and much better. We returned with our rucksacks packed with goodies.

Following that, we wandered back into town, passing Lidl and continuing into the old town of Troyes.

Troyes is not short of large churches. We saw one and wondered if it was the cathedral only to see, not so far away, a huge edifice that WAS clearly the cathedral. In we went. There were some interesting lighting arrangements lending themselves, I thought, to worthwhile snaps. These are just on the phone camera so don’t expect anything that great.

Troyes is an old town with a host of timbered, colourful buildings, many of which are now at rakish angles. Capturing them in the confined space, even with the wide angle of a crappy phone camera, is a challenge. Here’s an attempt.

We found a quiet bar (apart from the fact that the TV inside was showing a program featuring Jeremy Clarkson) and I ordered a couple of Leffe beers to refresh our weary feet.

Then we decided to return to Frodo for a lunch of bread and rilletes rinsed down with a couple of glasses of wine, of course.

Then it decided to rain – again.

We’d spent a comfortable night in Frodo off-grid in the parking area provided by the Belgian Brasserie des Fagnes.

We got ourselves ready in a leisurely manner as the rain came down yet again. It has actually rained at least once on every day we’ve been here. The rain abated and I got Frodo off the levelling ramps, which was all I had to retrieve from outside before hitting the road at 09:30 heading for France. Yeah! We are only a few kilometres inside Belgium.

Incidentally, I had levelled Frodo a little too well on the ramps because the overnight rain caused an irritating drip, drip, drip, on Frodo’s rear mouldings – he needs to be slightly nose down so the rain runs forwards.

On the motorway we passed the sign I was looking forward to saying “France”. The free autoroute continues to Reims, from which we planned to head through Chalons-en-Chanpagne and onto Troyes, where we planned to stay two nights to investigate the town.

Now, the main route between Reims and Troyes is a péage autoroute. We have an electronic toll tag to make paying the tolls easier but there are management fees associated with it: a yearly fee of £10 plus a £6 charge for every month that you use it in. Today being 31st May, it seemed a bit silly to get lumbered with another monthly charge for the sake of two junctions on a péage autoroute when there was a perfectly decent N-road running parallel. We took the N-road.[Cheapskate!] Actually, you get to see a bit more of France, that way.

There was a “Route Barrée” sign in one of the towns we needed to pass through so we got an even more interesting diversion through some country lanes and villages before picking up the main track again.

And [lose another 100 points] so, after 250kms, to Troyes. We have stayed here once many, many years ago, That was on a campsite with a caravan but we can’t remember where it was. This time Francine had found what used to be the camping municipal site within a 20-minute walk into town. It is no longer a camping municipal; it has transformed into an aire de camping car with automated payment and entrance control – tell the machine what you want (1 night, 2 nights), how many people, add water if you want (electricity is included), waggle your contactless card and get a ticket with a QR code to open the barrier and dispense water.

It’s the way things seem to be going; automated aires for camping cars. The other way things are going is that we are losing some campsites suitable for all to motor home sites, probably because there are so many people swanning around in very expensive fashion accessories. There’s clearly no shortage of money for a serious chunk of the community.

We used a similar aire de camping car last year. That one was no more than a tarmac parking area with plug in points for electricity and water. This conversion in Troyes has been exceptionally well thought out and done. All the tracks around the site and all the pitches are made of lattice concrete slabs which stop 3500kgs vans sinking in but allow grass to grow through.

Excellent (except for the losing general campsites aspect).

Our overnight stop at Bunnik would best be described as adequate, once we found a pitch that was not waterlogged. It’s not the sort of place I’d want to spend any more time so Darwin knows what the seasonals did there, and there were quite a few of them.

We readied ourselves and set sail at 09:30, heading for Couvin, preparing to do battle with the ring roads of Antwerp and Brussel. We expected these to be a nightmare and we were not disappointed. Antwerp in particular was a bear. As in Germany in 2019, the Belgians had seen fit to put roadworks at the motorway junctions adding to the chaos.

Eventually, after much grinding of teeth, we passed Antwerp and headed for Brussels, which was slightly less chaotic … slightly.

With Brussels happily disappearing in the rear view mirror, Francine spotted that we passed within a kilometre or so of the Waterloo 1815 memorial. Well, why not? It would be rude not to.

We dived off the autoroute and followed signs to the parking. The car length spaces were fine for Frodo ‘cos I could put his rear overhang over the flat grass behind the spaces. We disembarked and went in search of the memorial, which largely seemed to be a huge earth mound topped with a lion.

Clambering up the mound looked like fun so we went in search of the entrance. The entrance, it transpired, was through the museum which seemed to be charging a whopping €43 each for entrance. You have got to be bloody kidding! We won, for Chrissakes, we should get in free. The mound is another of those things best viewed from a slight distance so we skipped it. I must look the battle up on the Internet.

[We have since discovered that the €43 rate is either for a yearly ticket or a multiple attractions icket. We could have gained entry for €17 each which would have been a whole lot more reasonable. Quite why €43 seemed to be the headline rate remains a mystery.]

‘T was time to make a choice of where to stop for the night. This is where Couvin comes in. A short distance from it is the Brasserie des Fagnes. We are just still inside the Belgian border and, with the Belgians being the world’s finest brewers in this writer’s opinion, this should have something interesting to offer. Best of all, the brasserie has an extensive car park and allows camper vans to stay overnight free. Naturally, they hope you will spend money in their brasserie and grill. Well, why on earth not?

We arrived, parked up and went over the road for an initial sampler. This is a 33cl glass of their Triple at 8% and very toothsome it was, too. I started with their Blonde at 7.5% which wasn’t too shabby either. As we were paying, I booked a table for the evening, just in case. (There’s Andouillete on the menu.)

Having relaxed in Frodo for the late afternoon, we returned to the brasserie for our evening booking. This place is doing something very right ‘cos it was quite busy. Our table was distressing close to the childrens’ play area and we ended up surrounded by families with rugrats. Word to the wise: request a table near the front of the restaurant. I had my andouillette while Francine tucked into a rare entrecote steak. All very good, except for the rugrats.

“Time for bed”, said Zebedee.

I’m quite sure it wasn’t what Mark Knopfler had in mind when he penned his early Dire Straits song but there are so-called Dutch Waterlines and we were heading down to one of ‘em. The Dutch Waterlines are a 200kms long system of forts, dikes, sluices, pumping stations, canals and inundation polders designed to temporarily flood land, effectively cutting Holland [the westernmost province of the Netherlands] off as an island making life difficult for offensive infantry; wading through water should slow them up a tad. This was not anything that we’d ever heard of. (This is a plan of the forts around Utrecht.)

Having been visited in Havelte yesterday by Francine’s former colleague, today we were leaving Havelte and beginning our journey back towards France by heading southwest down to the Waterline at Bunnik. Our journey was just 125kms, less than the length of the defence system. Bunnik was chosen as a suitable meeting point, with something of interest, to meet one of Francine’s photographic buddies. Francine had prebooked us into a campsite just a couple of kilometres away from out meeting point at Fort Vechten [Fort bij Vechten in Dutch], one of the most southern of the forts along the line.

Our journey was blissfully uneventful but, following the normal pattern, a little on the wet side occasionally. We arrived to find ample parking – we managed to find a double length parking space for Frodo – and a little on the wet side briefly became a lot on the wet side. In due course, Francine’s friend showed up and we prepared for our assault on the fort.

As with many such tourist attractions, the fort would be better seen from a distance, preferably from the air. That would require one of those dreadfully irritating drone things, though. NO! We wandered across a bridge spanning the moat where a very dapper man, dressed in a bright pink suit with metal-capped boots in the national Dutch colour of bright orange, was having his light reading taken obviously in preparation for recording. To complete the cool look, even on an overcast day he was also wearing sunglasses/shades/Hollywoods [pick your name of choice].

We wandered around the interior of the fort past what appeared to be a crazy croquet course [I kid you not] in search of a bite of lunch. The only food outlet was inside the museum beyond the entrance fee.

We could see part of the moat surrounding the fort but really only from a distance, save the part spanned by the bridge. The most interesting thing that we could look down on was a sort of diorama cast of concrete showing the system of forts, water courses and sluices. Since we’d had a hefty downpour the model was appropriately largely filled with water.

On our way out we again bumped into Billy the Pink and his adoring support team, complete with umbrella to keep the suit dry when needed. Bye Billy.

We bad farewell to Francine’s buddy and headed for our overnight campsite. The overnight campsite was also largely filled with water, though this was less than appropriate. We managed to find a motor home slot that avoided the need for waders and got Frodo settled. The campsite could best be described as adequate.

One of Francine’s former colleagues is a Dutch guy living in Hilversum. We have visited him and his wife a couple of times at their house. This time, they planned to make the 90-minute trip up to Havelte so we could have lunch together once again.

Enter: the fly in the ointment. All the restaurants in Havelte seem to be closed on Tuesdays (and often Mondays, come to that).

So, our resourceful Dutch friends consulted the good ol’ Internet and found a restaurant that appealed to them in a village called Ruinen, a mere 11kms away. They duly arrived to pick us up and off we gently sped in a hybrid Toyota Rav4 – very roomy, plenty of legroom.

Ruinen’s notable feature seems to be that it still has a grassy village “square”. Most of these have been paved over for parking, we were told.

The weather was kind and it was pleasant enough to sit at a table outside. The fare at the restaurant was largely based on flatbreads with various toppings. Nothing exceptional, perhaps, though Francine was very pleased with her salmon version. The beer was good, though, and I wasn’t driving.

We made a small diversion into Havelte itself on the way back to Jelly’s Hoeve, to stop at the coffee shop in town. This was yet another establishment whose card reader didn’t accept our prepaid cash card so I resorted to the real thing.

Back came Antonio at 10:00 to collect me to go in search of the last of the five European White-faced Darters. I get a bit disoriented about the direction we are driving in from Jelly’s Hoeve but, after half an hour or so, we dove off the road and parked beside a track entering a forest.

After a short walk we came across a woodland pool complete with the obligatory cotton grass. It was not long before Antonio was spotting our target, the Small Whiteface/White-faced darter (Leucorrhinis dubia) flitting about, although initially they did not seem particularly keen on having their photographs taken. Some did begin settling but on the path and I do so dislike ground shots. Still, if that’s what they do, at least it’s realistic behaviour.

While we were waiting for better posed opportunities with the males, clever old Antonio spotted a female beautifully posed on some vegetation back from the path. Then a male or two started posing much more favourably on leaves, which look so much nicer. The set; excellent!

During an overcast interlude when darter activity closed down, I did find a small collection of Small Red Damselflies (Ceriagrion tenellum) lurking about in some tall grass stems. Since I don’t get these on my home turf they are always interesting to see and a quite delightful little damselfly, though they can be tricky to photograph given that they tend to keep low in the habitat.

Antonio had another duty in the afternoon so the morning was it but he had met his target, showing me all five Whiteface species in three days.

Thank you and bravo!

In the afternoon I was keen to investigate a flush that Francine had found in the middle of Havelte. She reported seeing “a Bluetail” there but had had no camera. Flushes are classic Scarce Blue-tailed Damselfly/Small Bluetail (Ischnura pumilio) territory and I was just a little curious. We hopped on our fietsen and went and found it.

There are actually three small pools along the southern edge of a triangle of grass. I saw nothing but a Broad-bodied Chaser on pools one and two but eventually, I did see what was obviously a Blue-tailed Damselfly settle on a blade of grass on the opposite side of pool three. I focused on it and sure enough we had ourselves a Scarce Blue-tailed Damselfly (ischnura pumilio). Watching a while, I counted getting on for half a dozen. There was actually a “regular” Blue-tailed Damselfly (Ischnura elegans) which would have been a bit depressing had I seen that first.

I’ve seen Scarce Blue-tailed Damselflies in the UK only twice before so this was something of a thrill, sad puppy that I am.

As I mentioned previously, the Netherlands is home to all five species of White-faced Darters that occur in Europe. My first target of the Irish Damselfly (Coenagrion lunulatum) having been met, Antonio had set himself another goal: show me all five Whiteface species.

So, I’m sure that the Small Faces went on tour but this looked like turning into the Whitefaces tour, hence my title.

Before arriving here, I’d seen three of the species before. Just one occurs in the UK and I’d seen two more in France, though I could do with improved pictures of both those. On Friday with Antonio I’d seen my fourth so I really had just one outstanding … plus the improved pictures of two if I could get them. Given Antonio’s knowledge and spotting skills, I was quietly confident, assuming the weather would play fair. Antonio turned up at 10:00 to collect me and off we set.

We ended up at a water body which was a rather odd mix of recreational water, with a sandy beach area at one end, and a much quieter area with emergent vegetation and woodland at the other end. Being a pleasant Sunday, the beachy area was being used by a family or two. We made our way to the wildlife end.

It wasn’t long before Antonio was spotting my outstanding Whiteface species, the Dark Whiteface/Eastern White-faced Darter (Leucorrhinia albifrons). Now, IMHO, it’s the turn of the scientific name to be a bit silly – albifrons = white frons but all the Whiteface have a white frons, that’s the entire point. Picky as that may be, I was delighted to have it. These characters have the most delightful light flashes of wing veining outboard of their pterostigmas; they really are charming.

I had but one photograph in my collection of the Yellow-spotted Whiteface/Large White-faced Darter (Leucorrhinia pectoralis), snagged at the well known Pinail Trail in central France. This was one the two I was keen to improve upon. Happily, at the same location, several were flitting around and occasionally settling. They were slightly less than cooperative when it came to showing their white face, but I grabbed what I could.

We visited a second location but that proved less than scintillating, then we moved on to the Weerribben reserve, which I had visited with Antonio two years ago. Here was his last target, the Lilypad Whiteface/Dainty White-faced Darter (Leucorrhinia caudalis). This, I had seen at La Brenne in France several years ago but the subjects were a little distant and I was keen to improve on the images. Weerribben and Antonio produced and here is an attempt. They are wonderfully twitchy little critters and, as the name implies, love perching on lily pads.

Antonio had given me four of the five Whitefaces in a couple of days. Tomorrow, weather permitting, he would try to complete the European set with the one species that we get in the UK.