Days 3, 4, 5 - Rouen to Everaux

The next day, wednesday, we finally made it out of Rouen (not before bothering the tourist information office again, and finding a cybercafe) and decided upon the beautiful and tourist-y route through the industrial heartland of the Rouen region. The road was incredibly bumpy, and I fear I have done some lasting damage to the frame. We thought we got lost, but finally Danny found our turning and we continued on. Finally we did lose our way, but after some quick map-checking and a bit of luck found this beautiful pass over the hills, perfect for cycling. Other cyclists had the same idea, and there were many groups of cyclists all practicing their racing. We, with our heavy bags, raced past them on the hill down at speeds that I dare not even contemplate (also my little cycling computer was playing up so there was no way to tell, certainly 30mph would not be an overestimate). Danny got some good pictures of us cycling that bit, but I was enjoying myself too much to care!

I had given my map-reading responsibilities over to Danny for the while as he had just brought a new handlebar bag (though he insists on calling it a front pannier, which is most confusing). I was trying not to interfere, but I think I was being a bit of a backseat map-reader (which would make more sense on a tandem). We arrived in Louvier, where our next campsite was to be found, a little bit the worse for wear, but I soon became quite dismayed by the huge bloody hill between us and the campsite. Damn you, geography. However, the campsite, Bel Air, was very nice, and allowed me to instate myself as Prince.

It is my opinion now, that a quick check of the shower-block in a campsite can tell you much about it. The Gov Campsite in Rouen, was simple yet effective. The one in Bel Air, was kinda wierd. The French have an odd take on urinals for a start, the epitome of which (I hope) was achieved in the campsite called Monaco Parc, where the urinals were opposite, with no barrier, the unisex basins. In the Bel Air shower block, the urinals were through a little set of western salon doors, while opposite it was what can only be described as a toilet/bidai, because I don't think campsites offer torture devices as standard. The final oddity was that the washing machines and tumble-dryers were located in the womens shower rooms, as opposed to the mens shower rooms, which were appliance free.

Leaving Bel Air the next day (late as usual) we cycled over desolate hill-top after desolate hill-top, which was all very dull. Finally we got to a place called Bonnieville, where our next campsite was to be found. Before we went we popped into the local boulangerie and boucherie to get supplies (a lovely chicken bolognese with wine for dinner), and I found the best brownies on God's green, if rather wet, earth. The campsite, however was a big disappointment, although to be far it is only the start of the season. It was very cheap though, and the owners were nice. I'm starting to think, however, that the French see tents as an afterthought when it comes to camping. Again the Monaco Parc place was literally a mobile town of mobile homes, whereas we found our tents pitched on what can only be described as a swamp (thankyou rain!).

Anyway, we were going to sleep - and I say sleep only because a stream of awakened consciousness intermittently, but unconsciously broken by small sleeps, such that it feels like you've been awake all night - in this cheap but nasty campsite on thursday night. The next day was were all the trouble began - and monaco parc!