With weather like this, who needs a touring holiday.
Our sites are well and truly turned northwards. It’s 22.55. We are pitched up on the edge of a small wood. A few miles south west of Saumur. It is absolutely hammering down. We feel good to have made the right choice. Hightailing it for home. Better to be motoring than sitting, static and stuck inside. Aiming to bring our tunnel crossing forward by a couple of days. We’ll see. Mary-Ann is planning our great escape. Two more nights should do it.
All things considered today was a “plain” day. We simply ploughed on across country. Watching the landscapes change. They do that a lot over here. The rain washing away one picture, the sun revealing another. Moving from one department to another. Then into the next region.
A small piece of gravel to the side of the road presents us with enough room to pull Beastie in and stretch our legs. A random stop. We’re in no man’s land. Nothing for miles. Yet someone has been here many time before. A discreet shrine to Mary. Created and secluded within the trees and bushes. Directing travellers. It’s her job.
We’re within the Anjou department. However, not many vineyards planted on our route. Mainly rolls of damp hay. Mary-Ann is keen to capture a full field of open sunflowers. They scatter the hedged-in fields like confetti. Caught napping, she misses opportunities as they either wizz by, or are not in bloom. Two miles from our destination she is rewarded. Almost.
