Cluny

We got friendly with the next door neighbours who knew less English than I knew French. So that in itself was a great win for me and my French language confidence.

We didn't get off to a good start though, as we couldn’t agree to the model of their Ford camper van. He was saying Transit in a very strong French accent and I was saying Tourneo in an equally strong accent, trying to sound French. This was only resolved by looking at the badge at the back, lowering the large hatchback in order to do so. He was right and I was wrong, so I apologised in a nice French way and we grinned.

It’s a very nice camper based on the Transit Custom LWB and we later discovered that it’s their first big trip and they are en route for Greece. They want to be Ancona in two days, in order to catch a ferry to Patras.

I asked what route they were using to cross the Alps. Disappointingly they had no idea, even on the morning of their departure. It wasn’t hard to translate their French into “we just follow Google”. Oh dear. I would want to plan a magnificent trans-Alps day. After all, we ‘travellers’ know that the journey is part of the adventure. 🤣

We went back to Cluny. It was shown to be on the way, when using Google maps and ‘avoiding tolls’. It’s a lovely town and the church was the largest in Christendom until St Peter’s in Rome was built. Much of it was destroyed in the C18th but lots remains. We have walked the streets many times but were happy to do so again.

We intended to swim in the outdoor pool but it was closed. There was a rumour that it was in fact open but no-one went in for 36 hours, until a school party turned up just as we were preparing to leave the site.

This is another municipal site with a long lunch hour. Queues form outside the barrier, waiting for the guardian to re-start at 15:00. Reception closes again at 18:00 and I was sad to see a young couple turn up sometime after that, having walked in carrying big rucksacks.

They sat outside the office but the sign would clearly show ‘closed’. After about an hour I walked over. Surely they could walk in, pitch camp and pay in the morning, I suggested. The place was hardly busy.

The young man looked as though he was straight out of the 1970s with hair and beard to match. His girl kept her head down as I spoke.

“It’s ok. I don’t have confidence” he said. I told him that it would be perfectly ok to do it. “No it’s ok”.

So I asked what they were going to do, eying their heavy load. “I rang my mum and she will come”. I was puzzled, asking where he lives. It was only about 12km away but the plan to walk and camp with his girl has not worked out. I was a bit sad for them but also felt sorry for mum.