We didn’t get settled until 2am local time in an ‘aire’ – a service station with a busy parking area just off the A16 – well before Rouen which I knew could be trouble traffic wise. So, alarm set for 6am, we just rejoiced in the running engines of the refrigerated lorries and fell sleep right away. Tired, but oh so happy, because we are on our way. Three hours later I am wide awake and ready to rock and roll but I can’t tell if Lady Kimberley is, when luckily for me, she asks if I am awake. It must have been because I had stopped snoring.
We pack up all of our stuff, and as the sun is just starting to come up, we are off down the road again. It is already warmish, and the window is open as we float our way through northern France. There is traffic, but nothing like as much as England, and it is a pleasure just to put some Green Day on as we approach Rouen at around 7:30am. Green Day at 7:30am – now that’s living! It is already getting busy and my fears about Rouen have materialised. We still have 530 miles to Biarritz, and I thought supper in Biarritz sounded kind of fun, if a little bit flash.
The weather is hot and sunny, the van is travelling sweetly, and I have my mind set on a fantastic French meal in a town that I had visited some years before to watch the rugby. Leicester didn’t win that day, but the following day I was sitting eating lunch when a woman stood up at the table next to me. She was smartly dressed and was clearly upset as she picked up her full glass of water and threw it in the somewhat startled face of the man sitting opposite her. Hard not to fall in love with the French when they behave stereotypically, live in front of you. I laughed out loud when the guy having wiped himself down looked at me smiled and gave one of those shrugs.
The miles slip away and so does Le Mans, where I once took part in a 24 hour go-kart race; Nantes, where I once got in the wrong side of a hire car and wondered where the steering wheel was; and Poitier, which always reminds of the name Sidney. We are heading to Bordeaux, and we are making good time when the traffic decides to take a turn for the worse. No problem, stay calm and carry on.
We roll into Biarritz at 5:30pm and find a parking spot having driven round it for twenty minutes. I am getting hungry, which for those of you who know me, is a dangerous place for me to be. We start walking round looking for somewhere to eat and I am not at my best. My arms hurt from the constant vibration of the steering wheel or is it just being older. My eyes hurt from too long on the road and I AM HUNGRY!!!
At this point Kimberley decides that she is unsure whether the restaurant we are now sat in is where she wants to eat. It is the same one as I sat in when the glass of water was used as a fashion statement. We get up and leave. My temper is on the Phil Cooklin super-short fuse right now, when Kimberley says she’s seen a restaurant mentioned on Google maps that sounds nice and so ‘fancies Tex Mex’. Really?? You wait until I have driven 530 miles, my body aches from being sat down for most of the day, I have just got up from a café that has significant memories for me, and now I am supposed to eat Tex Mex in one of France’s classier cities?
I suck it up and say, ‘No problem’. We find this little place with six tables called Los Tacos Chingones. It was absolutely fabulous. I was wrong on so many levels and Kimberley was right. It was the right place at the right time and set us up for the next day. The original plan was to stay in France overnight, but the place we had planned didn’t feel right, so instead we found ourselves over the border in Spain and in a great spot between San Sebastien and Bilbao. So just Spain tomorrow then. Night night all.
