This is the second year in a row we decided to centre our 'big' holiday around a drive rather than a flight. This time we had three weeks and, although the Vette is well proportioned for luggage for a sports car, it does require a certain amount of thought when packing, especially when the forecasted weather over the length of the journey ranges from thunder storms and torrential rain to blistering sun.
So, having waxed it to within an inch of its life (I was told that would help aerodynamics and save a few mpg), we set off for the Dover to Calais ferry on a grey Sunday morning. An uneventful but easy crossing later we touched down on French soil. Two miles out the heavens opened – my thoughts of not having to clean the car again dashed as the motorway spray enveloped us.
Saumur, in the Loire valley, was our first stop and we were lucky that the rain petered out in time for us to hunt down a decent eaterie. The receptionist suggested a restaurant that I had also found in a guidebook called Auberge; it turned out to be a real gem with a Michelen star that was well deserved. Good local wine and food became a thread throughout this journey.
The next day we travelled through more unwelcomed rain to Chateau de la Fleunie in the Dordogne region.





The building was stunning, sympathetically turned into a hotel with tennis courts, outdoor pools and super grounds. None of which enticed us through the poor weather. We took a bag down to breakfast the next morning so we could purlion enough bread, cheese and fruit to cover our lunch: I thought as we had not used their other facilities it was a fair exchange.
Down past Bordeaux to Barbotan-Les-Thermes. We stopped here last year in a what can only be described as twee-roomed, slightly tired guest house. But, boy, can the UK ex-pat owner & chef cook. Fioe gras done numerous ways with wines picked especially to suit. Two Rennie were needed that night. I also knew he had a pressure washer that I could use to get rid of some of that road grime.



The next morning dawned clear, sunny and hot as we set off for our route across the Pyrenees. What a stunning drive up twisty mountain roads being overtaken by mad French motorcyclists and overtaking motorhomes expertly piloted by Netherlands drivers. Part way up we started seeing manure on the road and then heard the sound of cow-bells. Luckily the bends do not allow great speed because around the next corner we found ourselves looking at the rear end of half a dozen bovine who found the grazing at the side of the road much to their liking. We cruised by slowly – these things were huge and I didn't fancy one getting spooked and bumping into my fibreglass chariot...then another couple of miles up, round another blind bend a group of horses just trotting along all by themselves.



Where they came from or were going we had no idea; mind you they probably knew the route better than us because when we got to the top we found the pass closed and had to backtrack 15 miles, through the manure again and pass the (laughing) cows. The next mountain crossing along was thankfully open and we crossed the border into Spain.



Having filled up with fuel 30 cents cheaper than in France we made our way through the beautiful green northern part of Spain. A super find was coming across an old deserted monastery on a river.



A ripe opportunity for a hotel developer I should think. Our final night on the out trip was in a Parador in Sos del Rey Catolico, a gorgeous small town nestled in some hills.



After a leisurely breakfast the following day we made the 451 mile journey to our stop in between Murcia and Alicante for a two week stay.

Those two weeks went quickly (partly because my parents joined us for a week and needed constant entertaining, my good deed for the year).
Our trip back followed a different route, 330 miles up the east coast of Spain to our first stop at a Parador in Tortosa. As we neared our destination the sat nav indicated 55 km to go and the fuel remaining indicator showed over 125. What I (and the sat nav) hadn't counted on, however, was those last 55kms were to be taken at 15 mph across the equivalent of a boulder strewn cart track with inclines of 1 in 4 and dips that I thought would ground us. So the fuel dropped at an alarming rate as we crawled along a path in the middle of nowhere. The needle was firmly on the stop as the computer indicator went through 'reserve fuel', 'low fuel' and 'you're on fumes now bubba' (bet you didn't know it said that). We held our breath as we crested a hill and saw our converted castle close by. I coasted the last bit and we parked up. A very large sangria was called for. I fully expected I would have to siphon some fuel from one of the other guests but thankfully the receptionist knew of a garage less than a kilometre further on. So you now know in an emergency you can get a couple of miles from what the Vette thinks is an empty tank. I would not recommend it for your nerves though.
Andorra called next – a tiny duty free principality in the foothills of the Pyrenees. We stocked up with alcohol and cigarettes for our friends, amazing what you can squeeze in to a full car when there are bargains to be had.



Then dropping down the mountain sides and onto Figeac, near Cahors. We had only booked a Best Western here but we were delighted to find it was a lovely old inn on the banks of a river with a hidden roof top pool.





Figeac was built around an abbey in the 9th century and has a super walking tour laid out for visitors to explore.

Our last full day saw us travel to Troyes in the Champagne region. Interestingly the town was English for a while; given to Henry V in 1420 but liberated by Joan of Arc and brought back under French rule in 1429.



As we had dinner that evening we were surprised by the number of English speaking OAP's around. All was made clear when we saw the two Clacton-on-sea coaches parked by our hotel. Given the town is reached by just one motorway from Calais it is certainly easy to get to.
And so back home via the ferry to Dover. 3200 miles, £478 in fuel, £120 in tolls, and countless memories. The Vette didn't miss a beat, drunk not a drop of oil and proved the perfect long distance cruiser.

 

Kind of beats my "what did you do on your holidays Steve"

Fantastic. Thanks for the pictures and dialogue.

 

Your trip sounds like it was a great time - someday I'd like to just take off and drive around Europe.

 

Enjoyed the pics

Chuck

 

Great photos and narrative - thanks for letting us live vicariously through you!! I am jealous - what a wonderful vacation .

 

Great story Andrew. Thats on my list of things to do over the next few years.

Don't you think Clacton Sur Mer sounds so much better than Clacton on Sea

 

Like it, that would confuse the old biddies.

 

Great write-up, hope to do a similar trip some day...

 

I enjoyed your pictures!

 

thanks for the great stories and pics - I've toured most of those areas - but to do it in my Vette would be a dream come true!!