the definition of wild camping is where you ignore campsites and find a nice isolated spot and park up for the night. So as we were en route to the border and since Chartres was so difficult to leave, in every sense of the word. It was fairly late when we drew level with Paris, to the south. So we decided to find a nice quite spot and park for the night, Rosita is small, but mighty and we could just pull down the bed and snooze

incidentally for all of you that were unconvinced, she is very comfortable to sleep in and we are sleeping very well.

I had some criteria for my wild camp spots, it needed to be quiet, but not too isolated. Two women alone are a little vulnerable if we are in a completely out of the way spot. So I thought a little village, down a sleepy residential street, arrive after dark and leave early and all will be well...right?

Turns out that Rosita doesnt lend herself to stealth. She has a very noisy engine, noisy doors. The first place we tried, infront of a house that had all the shutters down that I (wrongly) assumed was empty, after two minutes of getting the bed ready the front door shutter rolled up and a little old lady came out, She stood on her doorstep and gave us the evil eye until we shuffled off. The second place was even quieter...until a man came out, stood on the road watching us, until we left. Either we look like knackers or they are very paranoid, but in the end we made up the bed. Ignoring the many times my ass hit the horn, ,OK so the engine isnt silent, so the horn doesnt make much of a difference, right? Bed all ready to jump into we found yet another quiet street, cut the engine, coasted into position and got some sleep. On our way early, we tried to head east.

I say tried, but as it happens Paris is another incredibly magnetic city, despite an attempt at complete avoidance, she lured us in, we got completely stuck driving around and around and around the suberbs of southern Paris, for months and months, as they say all roads lead to Paris (or as Mollie corrected me, to Rome..but in this case Paris is apt)

we finally escaped and drove for hours across the centre of France. It is not as obviously pretty as Normandy, and Brittany, but it was wonderful to be back in a landscape of huge rolling fields of wheat, sunflowers and corn. It was like being back in australia
 


Comments


Comments are closed.