Oh well, the summer season is here, and it’s time to earn some pennies…off I go to the office…

Next, we head up to Les Aiguilles de Bavella, around 1600 metres high. Our poor ol’ van doesn’t know what to make of it, huffing and puffing up to the Col, but stunning is not the word for the scenery…

The rock formations, as we approach, are breath-taking in more senses than one. These needles are famous for their ever-changing colours…they alter from grey to bluish-pink to an eery green before our eyes, and the forms of the rocks are beautiful…

Once up to the Col (1206 metres) we strike out on foot – our objective is to reach the apparently popular Le Trou de la Bombe… there it is, tiny little hole in the volcanic rock in the distance…

Nothing like a nice gentle walk for releasing the sciatic nerve which is giving me a bit of gyp today…

We go up…and up…

…and up…

We meet a French couple who have spent an hour looking for the trou. The secret is to follow the red arrow…

…until you find it…

The rocks and views here are out of this world – a truly magical place…

…but all good things come to an end and we make the descent back to the car park via an old chapel, then on down towards Porto-Vecchio, stopping en route at the most extraordinarily peaceful lake…

…not forgetting the excellent cup of coffee in a lovely little village by the name of Zonza. Sciatic pain? What sciatic pain?

All this talk of mountains, and it’s time to put the walking boots on again…

Only trouble is, Terry-two-kilometres-Silcock has informed me that the walk he has planned is very short – i.e. four kilometres there and back. The only thing he has omitted to mention is the verticality of the first two kilometres. However, no pain, no gain, as they say, and these Corsican hills are impressive…

There’s not much at our destination village – Serra di Fium’orbu – except  a few houses, an old ruined tower, a church…

…and the most extraordinary peace – hardly a sound!

Oh, and some cork drying on a wall in readiness for the next vintage, I wonder?

Time to climb back into that van and see what’s what in the south of the island. Towns-wise, the major places are Porto-Vecchio…

 and Bonifacio…

Bonifacio’s old town lies behind the fortress walls: lots of narrow streets, wonky buildings and tourist tat. An interesting place to visit, but it’s those hills I’m looking at…

OK, we’ve been here two days and we’ve already cycled miles, been to three different beach locations…

 explored the local Roman road and the nearest town ; time to get the walking boots out and walk up towards those mountains!

It’s a long distance path (Mare Mare, which we think means Coast to Coast) and our first route is blocked by a river and a broken bridge. However, we get round that one by a half-hour detour and go as far as a local well, Acqua Acuosa. Beautiful, like walking through the Garden of Eden with so many wild flowers, cyclamen, Aloe Vera, daisies, hawthorn, and lots I don’t know the names of!

We say good morning to several cows, sheep, lizards and extraordinarily large wood lice, also some lovely variegated thistles…

 and a rather dangerous looking bunch of – not grapes – but some sort of ivy berry.

This is where Eve and I part company – I ain’t even going near ‘em!

April 4^th and we’ve come full circle – back to Col de Brouis after visiting our friend Neil again. The weather is beginning to smile upon us and we head on to Sospel in brilliant sunshine, find a great campsite  parmi toutes les belles fleurs du printemps…

…though the mountains don’t let us forget that there’s still a smidgen of winter around…

Sospel’s a great town: not too busy but with just enough life to make it interesting, and set in a beautiful valley…

Next stop, pretty little campsite les Blimousins, near Callas, with a super-friendly campsite owner. We say we’ll stay one night and end up staying three, mostly due to fabulous walking and a very good locally produced walk booklet. Not sure my calf muscles would agree though – the walk up a mountain track to the Table d’Orientation  at the Col du Bel Homme is a height difference of 424 metres, which when you’re not used to it….

After that, it’s on towards Toulon. Even out of season this area is horribly busy, though, taking man out of the equation, the landscape is beautiful. We enjoy something of the Toulon buzz…

but we can’t wait to get on the ferry to Corsica…

…a steady overnight rumble reminiscent of a snoring husband and we wake up in view of the Corsican mountains, blue and misty in the dawn light.

By the time we disembark, Bastia’s morning rush hour is in full swing, which means a slow start to the journey south. Not to worry, we’ve got all day, and “by”, as they say in Yorkshire, what a beautiful island this is.

“It’s very green,” Terry says.

Oops, we should have smelled a rat; apparently they’ve had a month solid of rain here. Still, the sun’s shining now and just look at them thar hills…

We’re nearly to the end of March and it’s time to hitch up our trousers, dip our toes in the water again and cross the Channel…a spell of wonderful Spring weather helps us on our way…

…and driving down through France is like driving through a bouquet with all the spring flowers blooming….

By the time we arrive in Troyes, there are violets, cowslips and wood anemones by the basketful (‘cept of course, we wouldn’t dream of picking them!). Try Géraudot in the Parc Naturel de Forêt d’Orient – huge lake, pretty beach and plenty of space for water sports, plus lovely and peaceful this time of the year. Fab overnight stop – could have stayed longer, especially as the weather is really warm. What’s this? Terry and I taking our jumpers off? Unheard of!

From Troyes we drive along quiet roads down through beautiful rolling country with villages of large Gothic houses, watching the Seine become narrower and narrower until we pass close to its source just north of St Seine l’Abbaye.

After, we join the motorway and battle down the Rhone Valley through the traffic and pollution, veering off to the northern Ardèche. We pass orchards of cherry trees like rows of maidens with arms upheld proffering bouquets of pink blossom…

…go through la Volte to a passable campsite at St Laurent du Pape. Very beautiful. We can’t find a restaurant so we stock up from a local boucherie cum delicatessen and tuck into that with a bottle of St Chinian, which does us fine!

From there, on through Nougat country the next day (Montelimar), Aix-en-Provence and back up to Beau Recueil in the mountains…

We head down to Cornwall for a spell – and yes, we fall under it (the spell, I mean). Cornwall is delicious – the air, the weather, the fields of blooming daffodils, early blossoms – gorse, pussy willow, primroses, the smell of the sea, the cry of seagulls… We march along the coastal path…

…probably make a mistake going to St Ives – disappointed with the Tate this time, though we have loved it before, and I’m afraid this place really is rip-off Britain; it costs a fortune to park (there’s a local campaign to abolish car park charges), a fortune to get into the Tate…  altogether, a corroded place…

However, our campsite is of the good ol’ fashioned variety – Bluehills, near the old tin mine of the same name, and St Agnes is sweet and friendly, although we were at risk of being gobbled up by a shark…

Sadly, we have to return to prepare for our summer on the continent! Just a quick look at Tintagel en route…

…and then it’s time to pester family again for a few days….

 We burrow into the very heart of middle England and are pleasantly surprised by its charm – Braunston is a lovely village. It has everything that an English village should have: canals…

…boats…

 footpaths, towpaths, pretty cottages, a few nice pubs, a decent corner shop, a butcher’s, a fish ‘n chip shop, an arthouse film club and….guess what, its own ancient mediaeval village just a pleasant walk away…

What more could a gal want?

It’s so lovely to see family and old friends. It’s as if we haven’t been away, everything is so familiar, both in Lincoln and in Yorkshire, as if somehow we’ve been inside some kind of a time warp. The van spends some time in vehicle hospital and comes out again cheerful and ready to travel, so we treat it to a visit to Rudland Rigg…

…where the grouse are gurgling same as ever, and to a music session in the pub at Lastingham where a bass guitar and amp are wheeled out specially for an impromtu reminder of the finer things in life!

The weather’s turning colder though, so time to head back south…