Sassedijk, Strijensas.

Yesterday we rocked up to what I'm considering is the Dutch version of North East of Norwich: flat, watery, remote. Getting here was a trek involving studious avoidance of low bridges and lots of stopping on single track roads to let others pass. Mostly cyclists. Its so flat you don't even need a handbrake (fear not, I use mine).

Strinjensas, the town, has a marina and plenty of walks. ... Ok ....I exaggerate, its actually more of a great marina (where we're staying, €7 a night, showers €1 of heated bliss) with a collection of houses attached. I found one shop:

Yes, the sailmakerij.

In this area you can see all the sights: 

Field of Cabbages. 

(Giving an indication why Van Gogh naffed off to France to paint fields of sunflowers..)

And seriously flat roads..flanked by fields of cabbages. 

We walked in one of the nature reserves here, B sat and posed as requested. 

There is actually an island, Tiengenmien (sp?) which they have turned into a nature reserve fairly recently. This was after having turfed the 8 farming families who lived there off and relocating them- though everyone seems to think it was a good idea. 

The paths were helpfully labelled:

'Boot path'. Hilarious. Good advice, but it was dry when we got there so no laarzen required.

And later, on the sign front, I spotted this graphic gem.

The literal translation of which reads: 'Dogs from late plates', seeking meaning in a teacher-type way I noted the arrow and read it to mean 'Dogs shit there.' 

I'm really enjoying the signs. So, off to collect my fresh brood and croissants from the marina (no local bakery) and I might even splash out and have another shower...

Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis.

I was thinking of how to do the blog this year. After all, last year was a continental meander so I thought this year should be a bit different. Maybe I should include something of Brexit or how to travel on a rubbish exchange rate. This year (different to last) I lack the Lady Rebecca, her campervan wisdom and conversation. In exchange, I have a book (www.vicarious-shop.com), a pop up washing-up bowl (thanks Emma) and a range of soft lighting options.

Day 1: Wed 27th July, I crossed. After a few lovely days in Broadstairs with the Rampalls. I'd planned to head for a windmilled parking option on the French/Belgium border called Hondschoote but I was tired after a 3am arrival so I travelled less and stopped in Bergues - avoiding Calais like the plague.

I went for a wander round town in the morning and had a brilliant surprise. The town is the setting of a French film which came out about eight years ago which I love, being a sad muppet I even have the dvd with me. Hoorah and Huzzar.

The film is a comedy about a French postman who lies about being disabled because his nagging, depressive wife wants him to get a job in Nice. He gets caught out and (as a punishment) gets sent to work in the far north of France, where the food is fried, the accent is very strong (think deepest Glasweigian) and his family are far away.

Its just a great film and I was really excited to see the sights/ sites. I must have recalled the name of the town at the back of my mind but didnt realise I had arrived. In line with the film, the people of the town are indeed very friendly, as were the cows (Flamande cow, an ancient race).

A large, stuffed dummy.

Not sure what he signifies, but I am about as tall as his umberella. 

The bell tower.  

There are about 20+ small bells in the tower which make a very pretty sound when rung together. In the film one of the characters is a campanologist and in real life the bells seem to sound at lunchtime.  

I never thought I'd be espousing campanology. Camper vans, yes, but not campanology. 

Daily tally:

Money spent today: €1

People who asked about Brexit: 2

OAPs I conversed with: 3

Broadstairs' beach huttery.

Today was sunny...                                    

Found some narrow steps in Broadstairs..

And a cornucopia of beach huts. 

   whose individuality caught my eye..

Some nationalistic..

Or with a twist

Some original..                             

With signage..

Picture postcard style..

Dreaming of the Carribean..?

It's a MOD world..

Some pack a punch..

My very favourite...



And finally, a getting philosopical.

'You are not a drop in the ocean, you are the entire ocean in one drop'.

I was waxing lyrical about them to a dog walking man on the beach who was keen to tell me, 'You should go to Margate, they're much better.'
Maybe next time.

Poilhes and homeward bound.

Last year I never quite finished the holiday blog. Fun and alcohol consumption ran away with us and, as we raced (slowly) towards the finish line (perhaps limping) we photographed but never posted. So here it is..the last ten days or so...

Posing in Poilhes.  

Mr Horse's Ideal Palace. 

Doesn't have quite the same ring to it as the French version. This place, in Hautrives, was built (stone by stone) by a postman who collected them on his rounds. Totally created from pictures he found in travel magazines and from his imagination Le Palais ideal de Facteur Cheval is a real work of art. 

Getting classy with posh wine consumption near Macon.

With my French family in French France.

The Lady R is provided with everything she could possibly require...

 Although some of it proves to be a little much..

And we saw some goats.