The one star breakfast wasn’t so bad.
Back on the road again. The landscape has flattened out now to constant minor inclines. Much harder work than they sound. There is no respite and no payoff, only a rollercoaster of emotion. The ups bring despair, the downs: elation. Sounds a bit dramatic but that’s the way it feels when it continues for hours. Tiny slopes, unperceivable to the motorist, become sources of hope and doom to the knackered cyclist.
Today we saw our first sunflowers. Fields and fields of them replacing the corn which had dominated up til now. What is it about sunflowers? Find me a person who is not warmed by the sight of a vast expanse of waving heads facing into the sun (mind your eyes, little flowers) and I’ll find you someone who needs to get out more. Or something.
Camping tonight in Lucon (missing a circumflex) at a proper holiday village, Domains de Guifettes. It has chalets, mobile homes, a bar and a lake. Woo hoo! We’re on holiday! But before we can hurl ourselves into the hedonistic world of the French holiday village, we have domestics to do. Clothes to wash and bikes to maintain. Just what you fancy after cycling 50 miles.
Sat by the lake on the fake beach in the evening. The lake is unswimmable, probably due to being an almost fluorescent shade of green and somewhat gloopy with algae, but it looks nice. The landscape now is flat as a pancake and that fills us with a little joy for when we next hit the road.
Had pizza in the beach and learned something new: it is possible to fuck up pizza. Who knew? I love French pizza. The base is super thin and they quite like chucking crème fraiche on them, which is fine by me. Sadly, these pizzas has a bizarre range of toppings,most of which were not on the ones we ordered and several of which were missing from the ones we ordered. Tuna, potato and bacon pizza, anyone?
The bar was basically a gay disco pumping out techo Cher at 8pm whilst people are ordering ice cream for their kids, staffed by a large man with a lot of chest, chain-smoking and talking constantly on his mobile. He reached another pinnacle of achievement: it is possible to fuck up ice cream too. Bubble gum flavour ice cream on a waffle. My fault, my French wasn’t good enough to know exactly what delight from the menu I had ordered, but I wrongly assumed that all ice cream is good, whatever the concoction. Well, you know what they say in crap training courses about assuming (ass-u-me), turns out its true.