The freedom of free camping...

There is a definite art to finding the perfect place for overnight repose, safe from uninvited visitors and unwanted interruptions. Our free camping so far has been in a ferry port carpark (convenient with good facilities, but hardly picturesque); a closed campsite (kind of cheating, but a useful spot); at an aire de loisir by a fishing lake, where motorhomes were forbidden to park overnight (luckily Sheena isn't obviously a camping car and anyway, no one came to check); and at an aire de loisir by the Canal du Midi, along with a group of other transient motorhomes.

In France, free camping is not generally encouraged because the country is so richly endowed with official sites, most towns, even those of modest size, boasting at least one municipal campsite. These are great for being able to use proper loos and showers plus the availability of water and electricity hook-ups, their general level of security and the flatness of the plots.

But, as we have found, many do not open until mid-April at the earliest. Also, you generally have to check into the campsites by 1800 or 1900 at the latest, which can inconveniently cut short sightseeing or stints of driving.

But free camping does have its drawbacks. You could indiscriminantly park up and kip like a long-distance lorrydriver, but that kind of utilitarian, service-station camping doesn't quite cut it somehow for a honeymoon or holiday. So we have found ourselves driving numerous kilometres seeking out a more agreeable spot, looking for lacs and aires de loisirs on the Michelin road atlas that might offer the right surroundings. Thus the amount we save in campsite fees is at least partly offset by the extra diesel expended en route.

Some motorhome afficionados clearly know of good free camping park-ups because you see clusters of them choosing the wagon-train approach to road-trip stop-offs and grouping together for safety in numbers. Going off-piste has its advantages if you hit on a gorgeous secluded oasis, but they are not the easiest to find. Eventually exhaustion will lead you to lower your priorities an settle for roadside avec les autres winnebagos, as it did on our way back from Carcassonne. It's the worst night's sleep I've had in Sheena, partly because I didn't feel secure in the aire we'd chosen and partly because of an uncomfortable recurrence of the IBS with which I am frequently plagued. However, I reckon we'll get better at this free camping business as we accumulate more experience. As for the IBS, I'll just make sure I cut down on cheese with my evening meals.

Carcassonne

An old fortress town, built up by Romans, Saracens, Cathars and French Royalty over the years, it used to guard the border between France and Aragon/Spain, until the Spanish ceded Perpignan to France and Carcassonne's importance waned. It fell into disuse and ruin, the stones being plundered to build the (rather beautiful) newer town across the river Aude, which runs beneath the citadel. Then Viollet-le-Duc, the great restorer of French monuments rescued it in the mid 18th Century, rebuilding the Castle and walled city into the tourist haven it is today:



















Great views and spectacular buildings, so we can forgive the crap, overpriced hot chocolate and tacky tourist memorabilia on sale.

Oh to be in Audeland, now that spring is here...

Neither of us has been in France during April before, and the landscape is thus a surprise to us, and a very pleasant one at that. Whereas in summer or autumn, when we are both used to visiting, we would expect to see fields of flourishing vines laid out in stringent rows, we find gnarled, bare stumps strapped to their wires, starting to wear the merest of green garlands as the first buds open.

In the past we've been greeted with golds, browns and dusky greens as sun burned fields give way to parched forests; instead the lush greens of young wheat fields are broken by the bright yellow of rape and the nut-brown of ploughed soil, freshly drenched by spring downpours. The French don't go in for fences, so while in England our roadside views are impeded by high stone walls or hedges, here the long, straight avenues allow us vistas of many kilometres across fields and orchards, often catching sight of beautiful buildings as we drive, sometimes covered with frothy mauve wisteria or surrounded by sprinklings of needle pines.

On the drive south to Carcassonne on the river Aude we had an added pleasure; the snowy ridges of the Pyrenees rising up like a glowing white wall in the distance. It's so easy to imagine how, to superstitious folk in times past, they must have seemed like the edge of the world.

In the hills, where sightlines are more restricted, the winding roads take us through woods that are just at their turning point, with acer, alder and poplar racing ahead, sprouting pale green and yellow leaves, while oak, ash and birch lag behind, still brown and winter-spindly.

It really is a wonderful time to visit and while the occasional downpour or drizzle make it nice to have an interesting city to visit, or a warm fire to sit by, generally the spring sunshine and emerging plantlife make the journey just as exciting and fulfilling as the arrival.