France is one of our favourite destinations, and its campsites are among our favourite places to stay when we're there. CONOR POPEand BRIAN O'CONNELL, who both went camping as children, try out two sites, one on the Côte d'Azur, the other at the mouth of the Loire
‘ARE THEY PIT bulls?” is a question that puts the fear of God into me at the best of times. It’s particularly unwelcome when my little girls, aged two and not yet one, are playing in the grass just a few metres from the beasts when it’s asked.
The dogs and their owner, a Frenchman who’s the spit of Tony Soprano, have just moved into the caravan next to ours on a campsite on the Côte d’Azur, and in a heartbeat my sunny mood has blackened.
A (very careful) inspection of the dogs from a (very safe) distance suggests that although they may not be pit bulls they are certainly vicious-looking barrel-chested bull terriers of some kind, and the fact that Tony feels it’s necessary to tether them to his caravan with thick leather straps is anything but reassuring.
I find myself hating camping, and not for the first time: Pope family holidays in the 1970s meant endless rainy days squabbling with elder siblings under orange-and-brown canvas in small Irish towns with unfortunate names like Boyle and Kilmuckridge.
Today the sun is shining and tents are thin on the ground. But it doesn’t matter how good the weather, the accommodation or the site is – and all three are excellent at La Baume campsite, 50km from Nice – camping still means you live cheek by slobbering jowl with people, and dogs, you’d normally cross the street to avoid.
I stomp off to the rep’s office to complain about the dogs. He’s sympathetic but theres nothing he can do. He does, however, have a cricket bat, which I commandeer before stomping back to our mobile home, where I spend the rest of the day glowering at the prowling dogs. The next morning Tony and his dogs miraculously up sticks, and I almost immediately start liking camping again.
Before we arrived, it had been hard to say which way the holiday would go. Our Aer Lingus flight to Nice had left Dublin hellishly early – a 5am check-in? – but I consoled myself with the thought that arriving in southern France before 10am on a Sunday meant the traffic on the stretch of road from the airport to the campsite would be easy for a novice European driver like myself to navigate.
I was very wrong. Within seconds of leaving the car- rental depot, and before I had time to work out how the car worked, I was spat on to a motorway. Impatient French drivers raced up behind me, flashing their lights, blaring their horns and gesticulating wildly as they flew past.
It was only 10km into this hellish journey that I realised I’d mixed up the lanes and had been trundling along in the outside lane at 80km/h, 50km/h below the speed limit. Sheepishly, I moved two lanes to the right, after which the ride became a lot less white-knuckle.
Bougainvilleas were bursting into life when we arrived at the campsite, a spotless, well-maintained place that is an oasis of calm at this time of year, at the start of the season.
Towering palms bathe the five large swimming pools on the complex in just enough shade to allow holidaymakers to take cover during the peak burning hours; sweet-smelling firs shade holidaymakers sitting outside their caravans and dampen sounds from neighbouring pitches.
Although we’re not exactly slumming it in our three- bedroom mobile home with air conditioning, shower and microwave, there is still a back-to- nature feel about the place. A brown squirrel comes down from his treetop home every morning to feast on pieces of fruit carelessly discarded by little hands, and a somewhat less cute ant army masses daily on our borders, ahead of a sustained assault on breadcrumbs scattered about the place.
Children, even very young ones, get to spend the vast majority of their days outside, playing in the pools, on the beaches and around the small area just outside the mobile-home doors. Inevitably, they eat better and sleep better than normal, and so do their parents, which lifts the spirits as much as, if not more than, all the blue skies and sunshine in the world.
La Baume is seven kilometres from beaches and the nearest town, Fréjus; several unhappy campers moan that this makes it too isolated, but the isolation forces self-catering on the most unwilling of souls, which also makes it a cheaper, more relaxed way to holiday – although it is mildly disappointing, if understandable, that barbecues are forbidden because of the extensive canopies of trees.
You could quite handily live out of the on-site supermarchéfor a fortnight, but the giant Carrefour a couple of kilometres away is much cheaper and worth at least one visit, if only to marvel at the scale of the place. Another reason to self-cater is the choice of places to get food on the site: overpriced restaurants and a distinctly ordinary pizzeria-cum-burger-joint.
There are several clubs for over-threes, but activities are not confined to the site; within a few minutes’ drive is a large go-karting track, an enormous fun fair and a huge water park.
The main features of Fréjus’s beach area – known as Fréjus Plage, and separated from the town by two kilometres of busy roads – are a long promenade and a stunning dockside populated by hundreds of huge yachts, some of which are available for hire, at up to €10,000 a week.
It also has some fine restaurants and a Sunday market where you can buy amazing rotisserie chickens, cheeses, dips and breads.
The coast road from Fréjus, which twists and turns along the 30km stretch into St Tropez, offers tantalising glimpses of azure water and rocky coves. Lush vegetation and terracotta- coloured houses built into the hills rise up from the sometimes wild sea, marking the spectacular entrance to one of the glamour spots of the Med.
St Tropez is certainly worth a visit, but perhaps not late on a Saturday morning. Saturday is market day, and there will be no parking anywhere in the town if you time your visit to coincide with it. Unless you enjoy wasting hours of your holiday driving through the narrow streets of unfamiliar towns in unfamiliar cars, rowing with your fellow passengers about the reasons for your late arrival, you might want to plan your visit for another day. Although do make sure to visit, as it is a lovely town, laid back and oozing chic Gallic charm.
It wouldn’t be a camping holiday without at least some lashing rain, and when it comes it brings ferocious thunder and lightning. The campers’ collective response is reassuringly familiar. The caravans almost immediately take on a claustrophobic Craggy Island holiday feel, as miserable- looking people pull back their net curtains to peer into the clouds in search of a break that might herald a return to sunnier times. Unlike on camping holidays in Courtown, or other rainswept spots on this island, the blue skies and glorious sunshine actually return, which is what I might well do, too – as long as the dogs keep their distance.
Go There: Aer Lingus (aerlingus.com) flies to Nice from Dublin and Cork. Ryanair (ryanair.com) flies from Dublin.
CP
- Conor Pope was a guest of Canvas Holidays (01-2421901, canvasholidays.ie), which offers a weekatCampinglaBaume (labaume-lapalmeraie.com) for a family of four in a three-bed mobile home in mid May for €433, excluding flights and transfers. A week in mid July costs €1,640.50
IT’S A STRANGE moment, having been on French campsite holidays as an adolescent, to return with your own child. There’s an attempt, through your child’s experiences, to reclaim part of your own youth, to be reminded of what that experience was like and how far from it you have travelled in the meantime.
In my case it had been 18 years since I was in Brittany on a campsite holiday with my family, feeling awkward and gangly and not having enough money to buy the Levi’s 501 T-shirt I wanted at the local market. Now I was back with my own son in tow – he was nearly 10 – having to fork out for countless Oranginas at the bar and be the one to say, “Easy on the frites there, François.”
In reality, a camping holiday to France often begins on the ferry. We travelled from Cork to Roscoff aboard Brittany Ferries' Pont-Aven, which is akin to a floating three-star hotel, complete with pool, games rooms and cinemas. You can also rent DVDs. (Given the environment, we settled on Pirates of the Caribbean.)
The crossing took almost 13 hours, and once we landed we had by our estimation a four-hour drive to travel halfway down the coast of Brittany to Les Pierres Couchées, a campsite just across the Loire, near the city of Nantes. Having decided not to buy a satnav for the trip, and rely instead on questionable map-reading skills, we landed at the campsite six and a half hours and several wrong turns later.
When we got to Les Pierres Couchées, which belongs to the Siblu chain, our mobile home was large enough for four adults and several children, and was clean and comfortable, with a good-size deck outside.
The nearest beach was a five-minute walk away, although the more populated beaches are not necessarily the best. During the day the kids were kept entertained by children’s camps that ran six days a week, from 10am to noon and again from 4pm to 6pm.
You could spot the participants marching through the campsite, wearing matching T-shirts and chanting camp slogans, or taking part in organised games in the pool.
Two nights in and Junior was taking part in a talent show, belting out The Lion Sleeps Tonightover a backing track. I'm not just saying this because he's mine, but he rocked.
At night the staff doubled as entertainers. Alleric, for example, was our tennis coach in the afternoon and a singer and dancer as night fell. Others could be spotted making flags or other artworks in the morning and singing karaoke late at night in the bar. Their stamina and all-round enthusiasm were hugely impressive.
Less impressive was the food. We had lunch in the site’s restaurant several times, choosing from mussels and frites, burgers and frites, pizza and frites or a variety of pastas. The prices were reasonable – €14 for lunch for an adult and child – yet the food was predictable. Notwithstanding the restaurant’s convenience, it was better to try elsewhere.
Thankfully, nearby villages and towns had plenty to offer. Pornic is a picturesque harbour town with some decent shopping and great restaurants. The villages of St-Brevin-les- Pins and St-Michael-Chef-Chef both also had some great
places to eat, somewhat off the beaten track. Each spot had its charms, including seaside carousels, Sunday fetes and good shopping centres. It was in St-Michael-Chef-Chef, too, that the nearest supermarket was located, a much better option than the campsite shop, which was quite expensive and not very well stocked.
Our days then took on an easy regularity, with some quality time by the pool in the mornings and tennis or ping-pong in the afternoons. At night not a whole lot happened around the complex, and the atmosphere was muted, with the occasional disco or tribute show, such as High School Musicalor an Abba tribute in the outdoor arena.
One night a magic show took place, but suffice to say David Copperfield’s gig was safe enough for another while.
We met lots of other holidaymakers, though, which is what makes the campsite experience different from other holidays. The family sitting beside you in the pool might end up at the next table during karaoke later, or competing against you in the family table quiz. By the end of the first week we got to know families from Wales, France and the Netherlands, and were never stuck for company. It helped offset any feelings of cabin fever.
A room of arcade games sucked up any spare change, and Junior made friends and generally hung out at the site’s playground. Most of kids had brought bicycles with them, and the site was small enough to allow them to play on their own without concern. So it’s a good idea to throw a scooter or bike in the boot if you’re travelling by car.
Overall, the kids had a ball and the adults had time out. As this area is only a four-hour drive from Roscoff, it should appeal to many, while there are enough towns and beaches nearby to ensure the holiday has the right mix of on- and off-site activities. There’s a sense, too, that this location is developing, so more facilities and activities may appear in the years ahead.
If a quieter, more relaxed campsite is your preference, then Les Pierres Couchées could appeal.
Go there:Brittany Ferries (brittany ferries.ie) sails to Roscoff from Cork. Irish Ferries (irish ferries.ie) sails to Roscoff and Cherbourg from Rosslare. Celtic Link (celticlinkferries. com) sails to Cherbourg from Rosslare. Ryanair (ryanair.com) flies to Nantes from Dublin and Shannon.
BO’C
- Brian O'Connell was a guest of Siblu (0818-274097, siblu.ie). Twelve nights at Les Pierres Couchées in an Esprit+ holiday home, arriving on Saturday, June 19th, costs from €668