travel – Charlierobinsonbooks

Where It All Began 19

The Finale

We were in our ninth week and getting increasingly frustrated. According to an older guy, who seemed knowledgeable. The three of us Pieter, Otto and myself represented a kind of threat to disicpline. The legion considered us as Anglo-Saxons, aggressive, tight-knit, and capable of causing violence inside the unit. He said they would be running endless checks, and maybe we should keep away from each other. I didn’t think so. There was a lot of aggression in the camp and the three of us made a good team.

But I’d forgotten Corporal Yarring’s warning😂

A few days later Otto got into a fight in the shower with some Belgian guys. We intervened and we did well. “An Anglo-Saxon victory over the Franks,” as Otto put it. The next morning we were enjoying our breakfast when a corporal told us to stay where we were until everyone else had left. I thought at last we were going to be shipped out to basic training. Later we marched to a broom cupboard (literally 😂) It was cramped and there were some other new recruits with us. We waited there for two hours. “We are going to be kicked out!” Pieter said. The atmosphere was pretty gloomy. The new recuits said they had a bad ‘Gestapo’ interview, and were fed up anyway. So what was I doing in here?

Otto confessed he’d stabbed a Turkish bloke in a Berlin street fight, and maybe they had found out. Pieter related a couple of tales from his Rhodesia days, which I’ll never repeat, and if he returned to what was now Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe he’d be killed. He presumed this was the reason he was being kicked out. But I reflected on what the older bloke had told us. If a fight broke out involving Brits/Rhodesians and Germans against another group, the staff wouldn’t care who started it they would see a dangerous, cross-national brawl that threatened camp discipline. I recalled Corporal Yarring’s words!

Eventually we were marched past a hatch in a corridor. A soldier asked our name, showed us the five year contract we’d signed, tore it up, and told us not to come back. Pieter, the new recruits, and I had signed up in Paris so we were taken to the rail station and given a ticket back there. Otto? They just showed him the gate.

We went for our first beer in 10 weeks. Propped at the bar, we had all our gear stashed on the floor by our feet, and stood chatting… where to next, who was going where, suddenly one of the new recruits asked me where my mate was. Pieter’s gear had been at the side of mine and he’d been stood at the side of me. But now? He’d gone, it was as though he’d vanished. We puzzled about how he’d got his gear and walked away without us noticing, looked around the bar, and outside in the station, but he’d gone. Someone joked about The Ghost of Aubagne Station. It was strange, and I often wonder what became of him. I caught the train back to Paris, and from there hitched to Calais, at Dover I hitched back up north and decided to visit my eldest sister on the farm for a while. I had a plan.

Happy Trails, folks x.

Where It All Began 18

Légion Étrangère 3

The train journey to Aubagne was uneventful. There was the usual malarkey, like when someone fell asleep you’d take their socks off, put matches between their toes, and light them, or draw on their faces. We were, after all, going to be the future of a French highly trained, light infantry, and special operations force.😂 We arrived at the compound and entered the gates of the parade ground it was full of chaps shouting, “Any English?” I remembered Corporal Yarring’s advice and kept my head down. We were marched to a changing area, stripped and given new uniforms, spare underwear, boots and a cap. they showed us how fit the cap, and explained it must be removed when inside the building. Boots had to be polished before entering the building and we were to speak only when spoken to.

It became interesting when I met a former Rhodesian Rifleman, Pieter and a German guy, Otto. We became friends, although Otto had a deep hatred of anyone speaking French, and would shout “Agincourt” when he heard them speak. We found this amusing, considering where we were, and the fact that German mercenaries fought for France in 1415.

We had two weeks of menial tasks, tests and training videos. When I saw a video of Legion Combat Engineers in wetsuits, jump from a helicopter, swim to shore and build a makeshift bridge… I was sold!

During the second week I had my interview with what they call “The Gestapo” The Direction de la Sécurité de la Légion Étrangère. It’s a tough interview, he’d ask different questions and keep repeating them to catch you out. I think I faired well as I went from Blue armband (Week 1) to green armband (Week 2) if you got to a Red armband (Week 3) you were pretty much on your way. That’s when the wheels kinda came off. 😂

Seargent Legrain was an unhappy man and gave us a lecture on fighting. He said that engaging in physical violence against other candidates while in the selection camp has a zero-tolerance (there had been a few fights), he would not tolerate national cliques forming and fighting each other. We got our Red armband a week later. Three weeks later we were still there, whereas others had gone on to the basic training camp at Castelnaudary. Pieter and I asked our cheerful Sgt why we were still here. He looked at Pieter and said, “You were in the Rhodesian Riflemen?” and shrugged. “What about me?” I enquired. He stared at me. “You are his friend, n’est pas? You both wait!”

Time dragged on and on. One morning on kitchen duty we saw the chef shooting Blackbirds with an air rifle, we presumed they were classed as pests, but we were wrong. That evening we had two little birds each for dinner. Little Tommy said he thought they were probably Quail. Pieter and I let him believe that 😂

Tensions were high as they would be with around five hundred recruits waiting to be processed. There was a shop which opened when a siren went off. The problem was it was only open for a short time. The queue was in colour order. Red armbands at the front, then green and blue at the back. The problem was it stayed open for a very short time. So hardly anyone actually got in😂. It was another tactic to wear you down. Five weeks became seven weeks and the stress was beginning to tell. Otto became more antagonistic and Pieter talked about leaving. I was beginning to think things couldn’t get any worse.

Happy Trails, Folks x.

Where It All Began 17

Légion Étrangère 2 Paris to Marseille

We were back at Fort de Nogent for ten o’clock and met by Corporal Yarring. He showed us inside and took all our belongings. He told us to forget everything we had read about the Foreign Legion, especially in newspapers such as The Sun. They didn’t break limbs and bury people up to their neck in the sand. It was an army and they wanted to get the best from you. Then we were stripped and given some greens to wear (a bit like a uniform, they were ex-US Army) We spent the next few days putting white rocks around various places.

In between time we were transported to various locations for tests, prodded, poked and various samples removed. One day Ken didn’t come back. This happened frequently (not to Ken, but various people) There was a rumour we were eating them, but it was three years before Silence of the Lambs, so I dismissed it. On one trip to yet another medical centre I made an enquiry to our debonair escort Sergeant. “Pardon, où est mon ami Ken ?” He scowled at me and said something in French. Now, this has always been my problem with languages I can quite often string a sentence together, but I have no idea what they are saying back. He recognised my blank expression and spoke again. “Gone! You wish to go with him?” I smiled and told him I was fine. By this time I was beginning to realise that this was quite a serious place. Some of us spent free time in the library reading up on the history of the legion, and it was pretty grim. Their code is to never surrender and the Battle of Camerone in Mexico is where 65 legionnaires fought to the death against 2,000 mexicans.

I decided not to dwell on this, and that night we were going to have our hair cut ready to be shipped to Aubagne in Marseille. On our way to the barber (a room with a lino floor, and a legionnaire with clippers) I was chatting and our jolly sergeant, pulled me to one side by my hair. “No talking! Island boy. Long hair, sitting under palm tree playing with girlfriends eh? Well, no more!” Gave me a slap and pushed me back in line. I wasn’t convinced he liked me. We waited in turn while we all got our head shaved. There was a Greek chap there with a mass of curly black hair. Just as the clippers were about to reach his skull he pulled off a wig, revealing a completely bald head, even the sergeant laughed!

After two weeks our remaining group were summoned to an office where an important looking fella explained what we were getting into, briefly… he didn’t mention the possibility of massacre 😂. Gave us papers to sign and told us it was a five year contract. Afterwards I spoke to Corporal Yarring (he did like me, he was a runner) He said we’d do two years active duty, Djbouti if I was lucky enough to join the 13e Demi-Brigade. Followed by six months posting in Tahiti, two more years in Djbouti and six months back at Aubagne for administrative processing. Then go home or sign up again.

The next day our favourite Corporal gathered us together and informed us we were going by train to Aubange, Selection Camp at Marseille that very night. We were given our civvies and belongings back for the journey. He said under no circumstances get into cliques, keep ourselves to ourselves. There would be five hundred men there, only a few would be selected, it would be for about three weeks, and it was easy to get into trouble. Tensions would be high. The legion looked for aggresion but not at selection!…save it for Castelnaudary, and the sixteen week traing course.

Sometimes people give you sound advice, my advice? Listen to them.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 16

Légion Étrangère

Ken and I disembarked the ferry in St Malo. Using my limited French I managed to get us to the main road leading to Rennes so we could hitch a ride. Eventually we got a lift with a chap, but Rennes was as far as he was going. From there we gave in and caught the SNCF locomotive to Gare Montparnasse. There had been an interesting train crash there in 1895, luckily for us this was 1985, but Ken did remark about the similarities of the year, and so we left fairly briskly.

We knew the Legion headquarters were at Fort de Nogent, we just weren’t sure where that was. People we asked directions from, bowed their heads and scurried away. Eventually one chap took pity on us, told us the correct term was Légion Étrangère, gave us sound directions, and explained that people who sign up for the Legion are generally criminals escaping justice, hence the reluctance to engage with us. He said it was best not to keep asking or we may be reported and arrested. We walked for hours until eventually we saw the gate to Fort de Nogent.

To be honest we weren’t quite sure what to do, so we knocked on the door. A small hatch opened and a rough, scarred face grunted. “Oui?”

What do you say? Apart from. “Hello we want to join the Légion Étrangère.” The hatch slammed shut, and a few moments later the huge door groaned on it’s hinges and we were ushered in. Mr Happy pointed to a bench, growled something in French and marched off. A few minutes later a chap arrived. He introduced himself, with a cockney accent, as Corporal Yarring and took us inside. At this point I was quite excited, as some people had said we would be turned away at the gate.

What I wasn’t prepared for, was what happened next. I expected we would hand over our belongings, be ordered to strip and given some kind of uniform. From thence (i do like that word) marched to a bunk house. We hadn’t researched this adventure but we had seen the movies!

Corporal Yarring sat us down in an office and explained that he was full. My heart sank. We didn’t have the funds to hang around for long, and so my mind was racing with a plan B. Then he smiled and said not to worry (he must have seen my expression) There were a lot of recruits being shipped out that night to Marseille, and could we come back tomorrow?

Really? now I was puzzled 😆I had presumed, once we set foot over the threshold, we wouldn’t see civilisation again for five years. He explained the Paris Boat Show was in full flow this week, hotel rooms were in demand and expensive. Were we ok for money? He didn’t want us sleeping rough and getting arrested. Ken and I looked at each other in amazement, shrugged, and nodded. “Good stuff,” the corporal smiled. “I’ll show you out and we’ll see you tomorrow.” I asked what time and suggested 5am, I knew these boys would be up and at it early doors. “About ten o’clock,” he said. So we left him at the gate and set off in search of a hotel. Wandering the streets of Paris was fun and we found cheap accomodation in an impoverished area (the ladies on the street gave it away😆

We ate and turned in for the night, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring, but we were committed to the unknown.

Happy Trails, Folks x

A Marathon and a Mountain

I was going to make two posts from this but, honestly? A marathon ain’t that interesting, mountains are though 😂 So, Windermere Marathon is undulating, well it would be it’s in the Lake District.

It was fairly uneventful (unlike Boston) Great atmosphere, fabulous weather and some hills. What more could you want? I loved the first 20miles, but the quads on the downhills weren’t very happy for the last 6miles. Probably to be expected with an elevation of roughly 2500ft. It was a little slower than I’d hoped but I did stop at water stations, and even managed 2nd place in my Age Group. Afterwards I was treated to a Thai meal with beer and a couple of glasses of vino.

The next day I had ageed to climb Catbells on Derwent Water. It’s the least I could do as I’d dragged Gillian away for a weekend and she’d supported my run.

Catbells is listed as “Easy” It’s only 8k and about 1500ft high, so I’d go along with that, except the day after a marathon made it a little tougher😂. You catch a launch from Derwent Water to Hawes Landing which takes about ten minutes.

The weather was perfect and after a few kilometres the old legs loosened up. It looked a long way but I think when you’re going upwards it usually does.

When we had nearly reached the summit I was surprised to find we had to scramble up some rocks. I asked Gillian if she was ok with it, but she’d already switched into mountain goat mode, and so I tagged along behind.

There was nothing for miles, except a few people, so we found a quiet spot to eat our sandwiches. If you’ve ever had fish and chips or an ice cream in a seaside town you’ll know that you need to keep an eye out for seagulls. But on top of a mountain?? He/she arrived within a minute of getting the food out 😂

After admiring the views, eventually it was time to head back down, and we were just in time to catch the last boat back. It was certainly worth the climb, and a beautiful part of the country. Oh! and I’ve booked a hotel for next years marathon 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 12

And Where it Nearly Ended

March 1977 and we had been in Mogan, Gran Canaria for four months. The police informed us someone had broken into a car and stolen some German tourist’s luggage. We couldn’t help, we’d not seen or heard anything, and so they left. I was considering a dive, when a white car screeched into the carpark. Two smartly dressed guys got out, walked over, told Peter they were Cuerpo General de Policía (CID) ordered him to sit on a log and I was taken to the drivers door by one, while the other searched the van.

He banged my head against the van door and asked, “Why you come Espania making trouble?” Now I hadn’t been an angel but my time in Mogan had been trouble free, so I had no answer.

He marched me to his car, put me in the back seat, told Peter to collect me at 6pm and off we drove. I was only 18, but figured this wasn’t an Island Tour. We stopped beside another camper van and Inspector Clouseau got out. Now this was going to be interesting! A few weeks earlier I had been on a night run and as I passed this particular van the guy ran up to me and asked me where his cushions were? I had no idea what he was talking about. He said his cushions had gone the previous night and he saw me running away! Now Clouseau was chatting to him and he nodded and pointed to me.

We continued our journey until we reached the police station. Once inside my detective friend asked me why I stole the cushions. I explained I ran every night but had no need of cushions, so he hit me. To save you any grimacing 😂 Let’s just say this went on for an hour or so. It was broken up by his amigo putting his arm around me and explaining that if I told them where the cushions were he could stop his friend beating me. I’d seen Kojak so I knew good cop, bad cop routine. I’d boxed at school and been in a few street fights so I knew how to take a punch, but not quite so many over a prolonged period, when I finally hit the floor he brought in a German Shepherd (the dog, not a sheep farmer) which barked and snarled at me. Sadly for my detective friends it must have taken pity and started licking my face 😂

There was outrage, some expletives shouted and Rin Tin Tin was removed. I was left to sit in a chair for a few hours with a towel, to wipe the blood off my face and stop the nose bleed, I guess. (I couldn’t see a shower)

Eventually I was helped into reception and given a seat. Clouseau smiled and presented me with some papers. “Sign these and you may go.” At that point Peter arrived spotted me, and shouted sign nothing! He was still shouting it as they ushered him outside and locked the door.

A debate followed that went roughly like this:

“Sign the papers.”

“No.”

This chat went back and forth for about 15 mins. Eventually Clouseau sighed stood up and walked me to the door. He looked at Peter and told him we must leave the island within a week. Told me I was free to go and held out his hand to shake 😂 (It didn’t happen!)

Peter didn’t speak. We drove until we reached the sea. He leaned into the back of the van, grabbed a towel and told me to go soak, the sea water would be good for my mashed face and sore ribs etc. He said we were due to leave at the end of March anyway so no harm done.

So that was it, our tour complete and time to head back to Jersey. Peter must have remembered my statement back in Spain when Mudguts and I had become feral. As I climbed out of the van he said. “ What did the British Consul say, by the way?” 😂😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Bempton Cliffs

A visit to Bempton Cliffs nature reserve

We don’t go out on Bank Holidays. There was a particularly nasty experience some 20 years ago which involved a five hour traffic jam and a few harsh words from both sides of the vehicle. This recent Bank Holiday was different though. A. We no longer live near Stonehenge and B. We are older, more tolerant. Plus the weather forecast clearly stated it was going to be overcast and chilly. Not ideal for lounging in the garden. As I am member of the RSPB we thought it would be good to go to Bempton Cliffs reserve. It’s free if you’re a member and as a Yorkshireman I like, free.

I’m not what you could call a twitcher, unless someone is being uncouth, which tends to affect the left eye. And, someone did mention over the breakfast table that they didn’t need to drive 26 miles to see a Gannet. 😂 The place is full of Gannets and Guillemots, but we all want to see a Puffin, don’t we? Sadly they were nesting which means they were tucked away. Although a nice young RSPB lady had a telescope pointing at one, who was bobbing around on the sea. You’re not going to get any birdy pics I’m afraid. The iPhone isn’t really any good on zoom as you can see below. But it was a lovely walk and the weather forecast was completely wrong.

Now here’s my favourite bit. Afterwards we decided to go on to Bridlington, and you know what that means? Yup, Fish and Chips with curry sauce (they couldn’t fit the mushy peas on 😂) I have to say, I do love a seaside town and if the English temperature rose by 4 degrees and the sun shone from June to September I’d stay at home for holidays.

The sculpture is by Emma Stothard, The Bridlington Lobster. Apparently Bridlington is the shellfish capital of Europe and lands more shellfish than any other port on the continent. Who would have known?

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 9

Gran Canaria, Mogan

If you remember, this all started because I asked Gillian if I should get therapy? Her answer was an emphatic, “NO! It would be too traumatic for them!” So I wondered why.

I read recently that Gran Canaria in 1976 was equivalent to a third world country. I remember the day we arrived in Mogan, and to be honest there wasn’t much there. We pulled up by the beach, Pink Floyd’s Wish You Here blared out from John and Mudgut’s van as we unloaded the inflatable and began to put our wetsuits on. A crowd gathered until the local police chief pushed his way through and they began to disperse. It turned out we needed a license to spearfish, which we should have purchased on the mainland! Then came the “but.”😂 If we sold our fish to only one restaurant, he would allow us to continue. A little baffled, but with a sigh of relief, we agreed, and with a slap on our backs he left.

The fishing was good that day, and after a rest we ate some Cambells Meatballs and potatoes, we couldn’t afford to eat the fish, that had to be hawked around restaurants, or in our case sold to just one. We arrived there early evening, and as always went to the rear door. Usually the chef came out, he weighed the fish, we agreed a price, and shook hands. Not this time! The owner appeared, told us what he would pay, and explained it was non-negotiable. We took his money reluctantly, and were about to leave when Peter noticed a kitchen hand smoking a cigarette. He went to have a word and came back frowning. “It’s his brother,” he said. “The owner is the police chief’s brother.”

We needed a new plan, but for now we’d agreed to meet John and Mudguts in one of the few bars, as I remember there were only two. We chose the fisherman’s bar which was more of a shack. Aussie John was standing at the bar with his hands outspread. “El biggo, el bottlo, el wino” he kept repeating to a bemused, rotund barman. Mudguts seemed impressed and commented how his brother’s Spanish was becoming better by the day. I heard Peter sigh. “Dear Lord,” he pulled John away from the bar and explained that A. He wasn’t speaking Spanish and B. The bar only sold beer in small bottles from a chest fridge. We settled down with some beers, and half an hour later the lights went out. The barman explained that the generator on top of the hill supplied power to the village. It was an old generator! “It is ok, Miguel will fix it,” he told us. Sure enough within an hour the lights came back on, everyone cheered, the barman reached for a beer, downed it in one, and there was another cheer.

After the third beer Peter informed me it was time for a run. “Say what?!” Apparently I wasn’t spending enough time underwater and we would soon be diving to 75ft. So, I needed a bigger lung capacity, and to achieve this, I needed to run. I explained we were parked at the bottom of a mountain, which seemed to have no affect. Apparently running two miles up a mountain and then two miles back down again, was good for you, and it was too hot during the day. I should be grateful, I still remember that evening, and I was totally unaware that I would still be hitting the trails fifty years later.

When I returned to the van there was a towel, soap, and note on the tailgate. “Get a wash in the sea, and don’t wake me.” It was December and we weren’t leaving until March. I was an eighteen year-old male, did I need to wash? Apprently I did. It was one of many lessons I was going to learn over the next four months.

Happy Trails, folks. x

Where It All Began 8

Almeria

Almeria was basic in 1976, and life was very different for an eighteen year-old in the 70s. I’d been working for three years, and had five jobs which didn’t work out for various reasons. Apprentice Engineer, mechanic, and electrician. I also worked at Morrisons Supermarket and finally at Sherbourne Pouffes in production line upholstery. Now here I was travelling around Spain, home was a camper van and work was spearfishing. Mudguts and I had been told by our two older companions, mentors if you like, to behave. “The Guardia Civil will not mess about, and you could both end up in big trouble!” I pointed out that if trouble came our way? I would simply ask to see the British Consulate. To be honest we were our own worst enemies with a love of local girls, wine, brandy, and mischief. Factor in the landscape and the invasion of Hollywood, years before who made Westerns, such as The Good, Bad, and Ugly only fuelled our rebellious attitude.

Everything was going well, Almeria was Peter’s favourite Spanish town and the fishing was okay. Although we’d had our money taken from us and been put on a meagre allowance, Mudguts and I devised many ways to entertain ourselves. We did moderate our adventures to some degree. But you know what they say? Nothing lasts forever😂

One day, due to a huge sea swell, there was going to be no fishing. Mudguts and I were sent food shopping and given the necessary funds. Here lieth the problem, we had to pass a bar which we had frequented on several occasions. The bar was full of local fishermen, now where was the harm with one beer on a hot day? In those days a game called Spoof was very popular, we were extremely good at it, and had played the fishermen a few times. For us it was a drinking game, the last man standing bought a round of drinks, and we saw a chance of free alchohol. As I say we were good at it. Late morning turned into late afternoon and we remembered the shopping. We said goodbye to our amigos and “kinda walked” from the bar😂.

We should have gone shopping and returned to the vans. Except we had an idea, I have no recollection of where it came from, but we decided it would be good fun to stop the traffic. I lay down on one side of the road and Mudguts on the other. (Go figure!) and pretended to be asleep. There followed a few minutes of car horns, a lot of shouting, and I guess swearing before we suddenly pretended to wake up and walk away, straight into a couple of Guardia Civil officers. They held us by the arms and chatted to some locals who pointed in the direction of where the vans were parked.

Fifteen minutes later, Mudguts and I were held before our older companions, detained, disheveled, and disgraced. Luckily the police said, if we left town by sunset there would be no further action. I allowed myself a grin as I remembered the Spaghetti Westerns which had been filmed here.

I don’t have much recollection of the rest of the day. I do know Peter and Mudgut’s brother John were not impressed by our escapade and it was decided that we would now head for Cadiz. We were, at last, going to Gran Canaria for the rest of the winter. John and Muduts decided to join us, so we headed for the ferry. I wondered what adventures awaited us in Mogan, Gran Canaria?

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 6

What To Do When There’s No Fish?

We were having a great time in Portbou, but we were spending money with no income. Too early for the fishing season, we needed a plan. As luck would have it our new friends, Jamie and Josephine were heading for Perpignan to apply for work on Le Vendange (grape picking season).

This sounded like a good idea. Three days later Peter, myself, two Aussies, three Welshmen, Jamie and Josephine found ourselves at the counter of a French Employment Office. The girl behind the desk had work in a village called La Tour, for eleven people. Quandary! There were only nine of us. Remember?… Mudguts and I were only eighteen, so we had already spotted the two attractive girls in the corner. Two hours later all eleven of us were seated around an old oak table in an equally old farm kitchen chatting to to the vineyard owner. Well, Josephine was chatting, we were nodding. The farmer must have been impressed, as he took us to a house in the village, told us we could stay there during our employment, and produced a wicker clad bottle, a demijohn, it must have held 5 gallons. He said when we had finished it we could bring it to the farmhouse and he’d fill it. I was happy already!

He did a lot of back slapping, used the word “Bon” a lot and appeared very, very happy. It was sometime later that Josephine discovered from his wife that he had a bad back and took pain killers. The Dr had instructed him not to drink alcohol. His wife said, with a shrug and a wink, he was French and a vineyard owner. Mudguts, who was quite an expert on narcotics (one reason he left Australia) said it was equivalent to taking ‘speed.‘ Three days later we were woken at 5am, taken on a tractor to a field, and instructed how to pick grapes. Interestingly we were joined by a band of gypsies, and told they were fast. Ah, competition time.😊

A porter working during the grapepicking season, France 1976

I’m not sure how I survived the next twenty days. We worked from 6am until 1pm and then 3pm until 6pm. This was the heatwave of 1976 and it was hot! But, we successfully picked more grapes than our Romany friends, and secured extra work for the Mayor of the village.

The nights were riotous, and we rarely hit the sack before midnight, often later. I recall a night when one of the Welsh chaps crashed early, a little worse for wear, and we manged to manoeuvre his bed down two flights of stairs and into the street. 😂 The following morning, as we gazed from the window, it was amusing to see the villagers starting their day. They sauntered by a bed in the street, with a snoring youth snuggled down, whilst chuntering to themselves. But all good things come to an end. In total we completed a 20 day stint at 10 francs per day, so with our purses refilled, we bid a fond farewell to our employer, and most of our friends.

Jamie and Josephine headed for God knows where, the Welshmen set off for Germany, while Peter, myself, two Aussies and the girls we found in Perpignan decided on Javea. Hopefully the fish had arrived.

Happy Trails, Folks x