After three and a half weeks we say ‘merci, au revoir!’ to France. Despite France being a country that was pretty familiar to both of us before this trip, we’ve both enjoyed new experiences and learnt a lot about life here by travelling through it on our bikes and staying with locals. We’ve found comfort in the predictable traditional french ways, and yet at the same time found them a little tiresome after three weeks.

The final week of our time in France took a turn we hadn’t initially expected. On leaving Valence, we learnt that a month’s worth of rain was due to fall in the Ardeche region within 24 hours, with the same forecast for the following day. Crazy huh!? Our planned route through the Ardeche would have all been off road and we were warned flash flooding and thick sticky mud were likely to be on the cards. This did not sound fun or life affirming! We spent too long being indecisive about what to do – with our alternative being 5 days of flat tarmac. But after an hour of studying maps and weather forecasts, we made the sensible choice to try and avoid the worst of the storm and  reroute. It meant that instead of heading South West to the Ardeche region, we would head South following the Rhone River until we reached the Mediterranean Sea, then head West to re-join our original route in Beziers. We figured the Ardeche will (hopefully!!) still be around so we can visit another time.

The first day on the cycleway alongside the Rhone River was spent rentlessly pedalling against the head wind, running away from the huge black clouds gathering overhead. At 5.30pm we stopped pedalling to chat about where to stay that night given the ominous sky looming over us. We uummed and ahhhed about whether to camp right  where we’d stopped, and a quick Google told us there was very little available accommodation. We decided to push on, to reach the next village. Just as we turned off the cycleway into Vivers the first rain drops hit us – Ted sped off in the direction of the only two-star top quality hotel – me lagging behind. We reached the door of the hotel just as the heavens opened and the torrential rain started.

The hotel was a pretty grand looking converted convent, parts of which still act as a Diocesan House and the lingering smell of TCP suggested it had also been a hospital in the past. But the whole place had a calm quietness about it and it was just what we needed to shelter from the storm. The rain didn’t stop all night and we went to sleep grateful for avoiding the worst of it.

The following morning, the rain abated allowing us the chance to wander through the streets of Vivers, which was an incredible old village. The plaque on the wall outside the hotel said the village had been offering sanctuary (mainly to religious travellers) since the 11th century, so it seemed fitting that we had somehow stumbled upon it.

The next couple of days all seem to merge together in my memory – all very flat, relatively boring cycleway along the Rhone, alongside electricity pylons and into a headwind of varying strengths, with rain followed by sun followed by rain. Ooh then we saw a Beaver, a Kingfisher and a Flamingo all in the same day – that was pretty cool.  Before long we could smell the salty air of the sea and knew the bright glizt and glam of the Med were not too far away.

It was pretty surreal to cycle up to the edge of the Mediterranean Sea and know that we had made it there using only our two wheels, two legs and many many croissants. We stood – for a whole minute – letting that sink in, then Ted pedalled on.

It turns out a lot of the glitz and glam of the Med in off-season, in the tail end of a storm mostly look like Butlins in Skegness, and that lovely salty sea air smell developed into a strong sulphur, burn your throat kind of stench – but it was a nice change to be near the sea at least.

We endured (or should that be enjoyed!?) our longest stint of camping yet, with seven nights wild camping. Despite all the tourist accomodation around us, it had all closed down for the winter season, with us arriving at one closed door or campsite fence after another. It always feels so paradoxical that the tourist towns, which seemingly ought to be familiar with embracing outsiders, are the places we feel the most unwelcome – and we were both born and raised in the most touristy of tourist towns and loved it. Perhaps it is because we are not your typical tourists – expensive luxury, alcohol and a Corby trouser press don’t feature on our list of requirements!

But in all honesty our little tent has started to feel more and more like home, so a week beneath the canvas has its charms. We (well mainly me!) have our little routines – putting the tent up, getting the water boiling, washing, rolling out the sleeping bags, plugging in the Garmin and phone to charge on the battery, eating some food, hanging the sweaty t-shirt to air overnight on the internal washing line (you see, our tent has all the mod cons you’ll ever need!), tea, chocolate, teeth, book/route plan, lights out, sleep (until the rain starts, owl starts hooting, deer start calling – then relent and put the ear plugs in – finally sleep!)

By the time we re-joinined the EU Divide route in Beziers we were grateful for the change in terrain, with the route becoming off road again. The hills of the Pyrenees soon became the backdrop to every view in-land, and we knew that’s where we were excitedly aiming for. After a fantastic WarmShowers stay in the foothills of the Pyrenees, that enabled us (and our clothes) to get a much needed wash, our final day in France was upon us.

We rolled over the border – not even paint on the fence posts or a dry stone wall this time. Instantly there was no mistaking we were in Spain. Dry, loose, rocky trails edged with rosemary and thyme, drinking in the incredible scent of them. Remembering to say ‘hola’ ‘buen dia’, then realising that most people in this region speak Catalan, so the very little Spanish we know will not get us very far here. Noting your heart rate has no need to sky rocket every time a car passes you – the drivers are much more careful here and pass you with some consideration that you’re an actual human being. Immediately we liked Spain, but we will always remember our time in France with great fondness and will take it with us for the rest of our trip.

Oh France, how we will miss:

– The daily croissant

– The boulangerie in every village

– The smell of the warm pine trees

– The easy camping

– The roadside walnuts

– The 1.50 euro coffee (and lotus biscuit) at every village bar/ cafe

– Did I mention the daily croissant

– The beautiful Jura Mountains

– Amazing welcoming, kind and interesting hosts across the whole country

– The beautiful old sleepy villages

– Mainly the daily croissant

But we won’t be sad to say goodbye to:

– Everything being ‘Ferme’

– The impatient drivers (so weird for a nation who otherwise are very patient – especially when waiting in line behind old ladies in shops or post offices who seemingly like to discuss all the village gossip and debate the cost of the cheese, tomato or stamp they are trying to buy)

– The hunters (who seem to hunt anything and everything, appearing silently alongside you on the trails, guns in hand, whilst you jump out of your skin at their sudden appearance.)

– The obsession with putting jambon (ham) in everything – problematic for two vegetarians.

– The price of Peanut butter (the main food source of all long distance cyclists) being 6 euros a jar.

– The fierce mosquitos of the Mediterranean coast.

– The crazy illogical cycle infrastructure – Cycleways that immediately stop at the most dangerous sections like roundabouts, dual carriageways or junctions, fences and two foot high curbs that stop you joining or leaving a cycleway, cycleways taking you the wrong way around a roundabout – I mean really how any of this is considered safer than just being on the road I don’t know, then I remember how the French drive and I get it!

So we now continue on through Spain, following the EU Divide for the next couple of weeks and I’m very pleased to confirm that here, in Catalonia at least, the croissant tradition continues.