Vines to Pines

I’ve forgotten what a solitary experience solo cycle touring through Europe can be. When you choose to camp wild most of the time and use large anonymous supermarkets to buy food to self-cater, it is not uncommon to pass an entire day, or two or three in fact, and mutter no more than an occasional ‘Bonjour’ or ‘Merci’. Meeting and talking to people in Europe (at least so far in France) requires making some form of effort. In many other parts of the World I’ve spent time cycling (China, India, Pakistan as examples) it is an effort if you want to avoid talking to people – the people will naturally talk to you. Even cyclists, of whom I’ve past many (including those fully-loaded with bags and on tour like myself) cycle by with little more than a cursory greeting. People generally mind their own business. There is the sense that time matters. These things I know won’t be the case when landing on African soil.The advantage of wild camping and self-catering is that in one day I spend a fraction of what it would cost to eat in cafes and restaurants and to sleep in hotels, hostels or campsites.There are however some eating establishments that offer an attractive proposition for someone on a budget - free Internet access. Whilst at one time that terrible big yellow M sign meant the possibility of a clean toilet when travelling abroad, it now, at least in France, signifies free Internet (WIFI). It’s where I wrote my last update from whilst waiting for a ferry to transport me across the Gironde River.I managed to escape just in time to catch the late afternoon crossing from Blaye to Lamarque,and less than thirty minutes later was pedalling through some of France’s most famous wine producing country.It is said that old vines make good wines. I’m without a guidebook for France, but do at least know that the grapes grown around places such as Paulliac and Margaux produce some of the finest and most famous wines of the World. I naturally stopped for a few free tasters, which meant plucking grapes from the vines rather than taking an official tour.Bordeaux lay a short distance ahead, but at 7pm it’s never wise to cycle into big cities for the first time. The traffic was enough to repel me further west, and when the roads eventually quietened again I realised the vines had disappeared. Pine trees now dominated the landscape, and looking again at the map I noticed an unbroken expanse of green, stretching from Bordeaux all the way south to Biarritz.It’s this landscape that I spent the next several days cycling through - navigating my way along a series of cycle paths that seemed to link one campsite and beach with another. I shared the paths with many other cyclists, most of whom had transported their bicycles on the back of their motor homes. These vehicles dominate the roads and campsites in this southwestern corner of France. With such a beautiful coastline it’s easy to see why people come here on holiday.When the pine trees finally stopped, so too did the cycle paths. A busy road led me round a large cement works into the port of Bayonne, before I caught sight of the sea again in Biarritz.I’m familiar with this town, at least by name as I almost came here on holiday following my last year at school. A friend had said it was great for girls and surf. Twelve years later I can say the statement holds true. I paused to watch the surfers and thought how easy it would be to spend a summer out here catching waves, rays and chasing the odd girl. Looking around I wondered if I might be a bit old for such pursuits – I should have come during that summer holiday before starting University.I would have enjoyed the evening sun on Biarritz’s beachfront much more so if it wasn’t for the minor inconvenience of having to find somewhere to spend the night. I pedalled out of town looking for a campsite, having decided it would be good to have a rest day and possibly return to the beach. When I eventually found one I was shocked to discover the price – 18.20 Euros. How can pitching a tent cost this much? The lady at reception didn’t show much sympathy, explaining that it was the same price for one or two people. Ridiculous. Another campsite was recommended, although this was even more expensive at 22 Euros. All I wanted was a 2-metre square pitch of land for the night.I rode on in fading light – a scenario I’ve been in many times before. Those wide-open fields I found in Brittany and Normandy no longer exist down here. In the end I found my patch of flat grass, even if it was behind a small brick building that I discovered the next morning to be a sewage treatment facility. Realising this wasn’t a great location for a rest day I decided it wiser to ride on into Spain the next morning.