Saturday, 11 August
I left the petite Ferme in the Centre region for the Pays de la Loire to the west. Its big city is Nantes, and it extends to the coast, where the Loire spills into the Atlantic Ocean. My campground is in a little town called Les Rosiers sur Loire—Rosebushes-on-the-Loire, and it rates three flowers as a ville fleuri de France.
There are indeed plenty of rose bushes, in gardens and along public routes, but the town itself seems a little depressed. There’s something about its architecture that can’t make up its mind on heritage and preservation matters. But in the surrounding countryside the farmhouses are flower-bedecked and cheerful.
The suburbanesque campground Val-de-Loire, accessed by a key, is organized in a maze of tall green hedges separating tent and camper sites, and I got a spacious spot in a far corner, with three nice shade trees (although I haven’t seen the sun in days). Again I’m surrounded by Dutch people—these are younger, with fewer children—and a couple of young guys on the other side of the hedge sound Portuguese, between the farts and the laughter. They’re noisy, but it’s good-natured noise.
Yesterday morning, before I got packed to leave, I was coming back from a walk with Beau when he spotted a big hare and took off after it, wrenching the handle of the retractable leash right out of my hand. He flashed across the field with the red handle bouncing behind him. I got the car and drove up and down the road looking for him, but there was no sign. I notified Camp Reception, and called Andrew, in case anyone called our number engraved on a medal on his collar. He also has a micro-chip, so he would be found somehow—I just didn’t know how long it would take, and I had to be out of my caravan by afternoon to make way for the next people.
I stood drinking my coffee and looking out over the sunflower field in the direction he and the hare were headed when I last saw him. Then I thought I heard him. Beau is normally silent, but when he barks it’s more like a york. I put down my coffee, stepped over the wire fence and started down the outside rows of sunflowers, calling his name. No answer. I quit calling, and then I heard “York! York!” , then silence while he presumably waited for me. How was I going to find him in a sea of sunflowers? How far in would I have to go, and how would I find my way out?
I waited until he yorked again and moved toward the sound. Looking over the tops of the sunflowers, I could see a kind of gap several yards in. I whacked my way through the rows and bent down to see what was making that gap. Sure enough there was Beau, his long leash wrapped several times around five fat stems. He was tied fast to the flowers. He just looked at me over his long nose as if to say “What took you so long?”
After that, I just wanted to get our stuff together and get on the road.
Later that afternoon, about half an hour from my destination, something behind me started making a chaotic racket. I pulled over and got out to find the Kangoo's muffler hanging down to the ground. A passing trucker had noticed it and pulled over too. He put on heavy gloves and got down and pulled it all the way off, tossed it aside, and told me where to find a garage.
I roared into a town called Samur and at the first rond point I looked over and saw a Midas sign. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even know Midas was in France!
A big jolly grease-stained guy ordered the piece on the phone, telling his contact it was for an ‘Anglaise’ .
“Américaine” I corrected him.
“Ah, pardon”, he said with a big grin and a thumbs-up.
“Right”, I said. We weren't the ones who killed Joan of Arc.


After a whole day of nasty surprises and the anxiety they create, there was only one thing that would make me feel better---something that’s been denied me by circumstances for what seems like a long time. Did I dare? The tent was up, sleeping bags and mattresses installed, Beau conked out for the night. I was free to do what I wanted, and there was no one to tell me 'no'. I took a chance, finding my way to a place I knew would have what I wanted, hoping it wasn’t too late. I was in luck—and with a simple twist of the cap the comforting liquid splashed forth, drowning my worries and lulling me into a state of bliss.
Is there anything better after a hard day than a hot shower?