Carry on le camping

Published on Tuesday 26 February 2008 11:58

IT WAS when the red warning light flashed on the dashboard for the second time that I knew it was going to be an interesting day. Efforts to top up the engine's coolant when the light had first popped on lasted just five miles or so. So now we were parked up in a French town, miles from our base, with three hungry children and two anxious adults.

Now what? Working on the basis that no problem looks so bad after food, we abandoned the car and went in search of something to eat. As we were in La Rochelle, the once-fortified port town on the Bay of Biscay, there was no shortage of choice. A sudden downpour, however, sent hordes of tourists and locals scurrying for shelter in the harbourside restaurants. Like a culinary version of musical chairs, we were turned away from one restaurant, bar or caf after another. Too busy, too late, too much hassle – whatever the reason, the bedraggled family Slater were in serious danger of eating each other when we finally found a table.

The service of our saviour proved to be spectacularly bad, but the large bowls of moules frites, something of a speciality in these parts, filled a hole where only worry had been lurking earlier.

We may have been full, but there was still a car with a hole where there shouldn't be one. It is only when actually faced with a breakdown abroad that you start to wonder whether it was such a good idea to go for bargain internet breakdown cover.

I had left the mobile phone, driving licence and almost everything else one might consider useful back at our campsite, but I did have the recovery number and policy details lurking in my wallet. Not having a mobile was inconvenient, but it inadvertently saved us a fortune as a e10 (6) phonecard gave us more than two hours of international calls.

To cut 20 conversations and several hours of waiting around short, we had to stay in La Rochelle for the night while the car was being fixed. Being a glass- half-full kind of family, we found ourselves in a suite in a lovely hotel, the France Angleterre and Champlain, in the city centre, courtesy of our breakdown insurance company. A converted townhouse with antique furniture, the Best Western hotel was less than ten minutes from the harbour. The duty manager kindly reserved us a table at a friendly pizza joint, handily close to a late-night chemist – ideal for emergency toothbrushes. Soon the nervous energy of the day dissipated as the baskets of garlic bread emptied and stone-baked pizzas and a carafe of red wine disappeared.

With most of the next day to pass before we could pick up the car, we set about exploring the harbour area and the maze of narrow streets off it. Prized souvenirs included a Galileo thermometer, made, it transpired, in Germany, and a battery-operated barking Westie that my six-year-old spent the vast chunk of her holiday money on. So far, so much a standard seaside experience. Except La Rochelle is much more. As a key port and trading centre for centuries, the harbour walls, which you can walk along, add drama to its spectacular setting. It has a long, proud history that takes in the naval Battle of La Rochelle during the Hundred Years War in 1372 to its key strategic role during the Second World War.

A submarine base for occupying German forces – the film Das Boot was set and shot here – it was the last French city to be liberated by Allied forces in May 1945 following a siege from September 1944, when 20,000 German troops were holed up in the city and its two nearby islands, Re and Oleron. The city was spared when the German forces surrendered. Look around the square by the main post office and around the courtyards of the city chambers nearby and you can find discreet plaques to Resistance fighters, sons and daughters of the city including the then mayor, Lonce Vieljeux, who helped the Resistance network before being sent to a concentration camp, where he was executed.

As the day heated up to furnace-like temperatures, we sought shelter for lunch – filled baguettes in the shade of an avenue of trees overlooking the yachts and boats in the harbour. This felt like the France we had driven 800 miles to find. Too soon, it was time to be reunited with our car and our proper home for the holidays. After en- suite bathrooms and giant beds, the caravan at Sol Gogo was looking, well, like a caravan.

The campsite, like many in this area of the Vende, is mostly filled with static caravans from various holiday companies. Ideal for families, it has a pool complex with some great flumes. Best of all, it has direct access to the beach, without having to even cross a road. Plonk yourself near the main conduit for folk arriving and it soon fills up. Move along its vast expanse, though, and it's easier to find a quiet spot.

Compared with Mediterranean resorts, where the sea is largely benign, the Atlantic coast is renowned for its spectacular waves. Breakers start far out, swelling and setting themselves to rush towards the beach, white foam curling and building before crashing over the sand and any unsuspecting bathers. It necessitated full supervision mode for the children when they were anywhere near the water, but our older two were able to try body boarding. The long, shallow incline of the beach meant you didn't have to be in deep water to successfully catch a wave. In fact, it tended to be diminishing returns as it was harder to pick waves that were going to turn into good ones when further out.

Many days passed happily juggling the pleasures of the pool and the beach, with our base and food, often something scorched on the gas barbecue provided, just five minutes from each. This was ideal for us, particularly with a three-year-old in our party. As countless other families had similar ideas, there was no shortage of children for our lot to become friendly with. Soon best friends for ever, or at least the next two weeks, were calling. Add in the excellent Eurocamp children's club, which our older two went to a couple of times, and you have an agreeably busy but relaxing time.

On the downside, the site can look a bit like a car park with all the vehicles lining the roads, and the beachside location means the plots are dusty and sandy, though this is offset for those caravans with decking. We seemed to get the short straw, with our rather scruffy caravan perhaps near the end of its commercial life.

Niggles included the immersion heater frequently packing up, most often halfway through a shower, and a smoke alarm that kept going off, even when nothing was being cooked, including once at 6am. Add the small wasps' nest in the shower light fitting, which was removed by the onsite couriers, and a child's England football shirt and pair of pants belonging to previous occupants discovered in one of the bedrooms, and it made the accommodation side of our holiday a little underwhelming.

The charms of the surrounding area were largely well hidden too, as it seemed to be filled with similar beach resorts, though the nearby town of St-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie is worth a visit. A little further afield, this time to the north, however, is a treasure that shouldn't be missed. Like Skye, though with rather better weather, le de Noirmoutier is reached from the mainland by a bridge. Its only town, Noirmoutier-en-l'le, bustles with activity and sports a 12th-century castle, while beyond, pretty hamlets ring the nine-mile island, stitched together with patchwork fields and flanked by gorgeous beaches.

There is something of a timewarp about the place – perhaps it is the many cyclists (people are encouraged to leave their cars parked), or the undeveloped villages, where white-painted cottages probably look the same as they have for generations. We tootled and paddled and ate agreeably before stopping off at a farm shop to buy some local produce, salt. At just a euro per kilo for salt marsh rocksalt, we bought enough to season our food for years to come.

As pottery is something of a speciality of the region, we also picked up some very nice salt pots on our travels, which made great gifts come Christmas. Other goodies included some very dry and drinkable Muscadet from a roadside Vente Direct – sourced from a vineyard in Svre et Maine, near Nantes, while the obligatory supermarket run yielded everything from mustard to tins of confit de canard.

There's no way round it, driving from Scotland to this part of France is a long haul. We did 2,000 miles in two weeks and though we drove through the night, built in visits to family in England and took a night ferry, it was still a long way.

But was it worth it? Yes. We have been revisiting our holidays for months through the culinary treats and wine that you can only cart back with a car, while the body board also came home, where it is kept in a cupboard waiting for fairer weather. And the battery-operated Westie? That too is still barking. Perhaps we will fly this year, after all.

Factfile

Package

n Will Slater travelled with Eurocamp to the Sol Gogo parc at St Hilaire-de-Riez in the Vende. A 12-night stay from 1 July in a two-bedroom Comfort mobile home with decked terrace, including an overnight crossing with Brittany Ferries from Portsmouth-Caen with four-berth cabin, is 1,584. Alternative ferry routes, flights and car hire are available at a supplement from Eurocamp. Tel: [phone] or visit www.eurocamp.co.uk

and there's more

For information about the Vende visit www.vendee-tourism.co.uk

Scotsman Reader Holidays offer alternative French destinations, tel: [phone] or visit www.holidays.scotsman.com