Leaving Germany felt like a breakup but it was either that or buy enough winter gear to have us looking like walking marshmallows. It was ironic then that we drove to France because despite the warmer weather, our overall experience was distinctly more chilly, bordering on frosty.
It would be unfair to say that we didn’t like France… But there were many things in France that compared unfavourably with Germany. As a country, it was distinctly shabby. The houses in the villages looked like they’d been in a long-term relationship with neglect: peeling paint, sagging fences, and window boxes with exhausted plants that seemed to be auditioning for a sad gardening show. Graffiti was more common than croissants and the signs announcing the town names had been turned upside down in a passive protest against the policies of central government.
After the neat, picturesque villages in Germany, France seemed tired, jaded and like it had given up. We couldn’t shake the feeling that the country as a collective was just having a really bad day. I mean, the drivers? Let’s just say that “aggressive” doesn’t quite capture the essence of dodging cars like they were in a high-stakes game of Mario Kart. When we asked for help, it felt like we were intruding on a closely guarded secret. And let’s not even talk about the language barrier. My GCSE French (circa 1996 – C grade) didn’t exactly earn me any gold stars.
“Je voudrais une pitch pour mon… um… motorhome… pour deux nuits avec deux … errr… people… et un chien, s’il vous plaît?”
You’d think I was reciting Macbeth’s monologue about not killing King Duncan! Instead of a friendly nod, I was met with a look that could freeze a baguette.
Then there were the dogs—everywhere! It seemed like every French person owned a dog that had one setting: loud and wild. This was fine in theory, but with a nervous dog like Tess, it felt like we were walking through a canine version of “Lord of the Flies.” Dogs barking all day and night turned our stays into an impromptu concert, and let’s just say the encore was very “ruff”.
Of course, we found out the hard way that dogs are banned from most beaches in France. This meant that every beach was packed with French dog owners ignoring those signs like they were merely suggestions. Picture it: while I was playing by the rules (it’s the teacher in me) and keeping Tess away, the locals were happily letting their dogs frolic in the waves. I imagine this rule is a necessity as so many people in France don’t pick up after their dogs. The beaches must be littered with these little canine grenades, all rolled in sand and ready for a passing flip flop to find. Better that than a bare foot…
Finally, after two days spent on the coast in a place that I may as well call Touristville (complete with crowded beaches, sardine tin campsites and overpriced beer), we left France behind us and crossed the Pyrenees into Spain.
Ah Spain! I had no idea how mountainous and stunning it would be! I have no recollection of studying Geography at school, which means the world to me is often a delightful surprise! I was once given a Year 9 Geography class to teach a lesson a week to and they struggled to get their work done as I kep interrupting them with marvellous new things I had learnt in the Atlas. I must have missed the chapter on Spain though as it exceeded my expectations of a dusty, deserty country.
We stopped for two nights in a Spanish Aire in a town in northern Spain called Irurtzun. There is not much in the town but the surrounding landscape was beautiful.
In one direction, rolling green mountains rose to meet a blue sky, closely covered in pines, reminding me of the Black Forest. Then shockingly sudden, the green gives way to a sheer wall of white rock, impossibly steep as if a giant has taken a hammer and chisel and attempted some amateur carving into the mountain. In places, the landscape looks like teeth: vast white molars rising out of the earth ready to bite the sky. In other places, the mountains look like they have been bitten with vast chunks gouged out by the jaws of an immense monster.
This other-worldly landscape is home to an impressive array of wildlife. Cantabrian brown bears, Iberian wolves, wild boar, lynx and wildcats. In lovely ignorance of all the wildlife that could eat me, I took a hike up to a plateau where you could watch the vultures circling overhead. The path was very steep but lined with wild blueberries that grew on stout, prickly little bushes like nature’s candy.
Aside from lazily circling vultures, you can apparently spot Golden Eagles. We weren’t lucky enough to see an eagle but I was awoken at 4am by two Tawny Owls right outside giving it back and forth as if they were ‘talking smack’ about each other’s feathers. I am sure that their conversation veered onto my irrational behaviour as I dashed about in pyjamas and Tom’s oversized Crocs, shining a flashlight into the trees trying to catch a glimpse of them. At one point, they taunted me with the sound of flapping wings but despite my efforts, they remained as elusive as a well-behaved French dog, and I finally went back to bed, leaving them hooting up a storm behind my back.
The following day, we headed to the monastery of Santa Maria de Irache. This was originally built in the 8th century by Benedictine monks and soon became a spiritual pit stop for pilgrims walking the Camino de Santiago – a long distance walking trail that culminates at Santiago de Compostela in North West Spain. Pilgrims have been walking this route since the 9th century seeking purpose, spiritual renewal and adventure.
By the time these pilgrims reach the monastery of Santa Maria de Irache, they will have more than 480 miles left to go, however, it’s a well anticipated stop due to the fountain on site where you can refill your flask… with wine.
We stopped to visit the monastery and the fountain and to walk a little bit of the Camino de Santiago into the nearest town to pick up a fresh baguette for lunch.
One of my favourite things about Europe is that fresh bread is everywhere – it’s easier to get on a campsite than electric hook-up. There are even baguette vending machines where you put in a Euro and take out a fresh baguette. And it’s announced like it’s visiting Royalty. In one campsite in Germany, there was a baguette town-crier who rang a bell and yelled a time-old cry to bring the towns people flocking to his bread cart like children swarming to the music of an ice-cream van.
Having refreshed ourselves with wine, we made our own pilgrimage to the local bakery only to find on our return, a bread van racing up the hill with baguettes like it was delivering the holy grail.
The monastery itself was quiet although there was a large group of tourists paying their respects to the toilets. Both vast and beautiful, it is one of those places that leaves you in awe of the skills of the masons in the past who were able to carve stone in such elaborate detail by hand. We sat for a while whilst Tessie napped off her walk in the motorhome, just feeling the silence and stillness and peace of the place.
As we reluctantly made our way back to the motorhome, there was a pull to stay longer, to explore more of the Camino. But as always, the road was calling and the Camino was an adventure for another time. Our journey in Spain and Portugal was only just beginning, and I felt a renewed sense of excitement, a spark emerging from the ashes of our journey through France.
As we packed up, I couldn’t help but think about the journey ahead. The warmth of Spain had welcomed us and I was eager to see what the next days would bring. For the first time in a while, it felt like we were truly embracing the adventure again. The mountains had refreshed our spirits, the wine had softened our edges, and as we pulled away from the ancient monastery, I felt like we’d found the rhythm we’d been missing.
And although France was behind us, in our time there, we had found something valuable: a reminder that every journey has its ups and downs. What matters most is that, even in the challenging moments, the adventure continues.
