They exist, the romantic campsites. Where the mountains wink in when the van door is open, the sea roars in the background or the sunrise or, for all I care, sunset provides romantic light.
And then we van-life full romantics arrive. We spontaneously book a ferry for the next morning across to England. We quickly drive to the ferry port to see how far it will be, how the tickets will work out and so on. We have time.
Directly at the ferry port in a total barbed wire environment, illuminated by hundreds of spotlights, we simply stop, close our Felix doors, pull up the curtains (yes, we have to pull up the curtains to darken!) and end our first part of the France trip here (Brittany, we'll come back to see you later, I promise!).
Once again we realise that we have made a good choice with our Felix. At night, we hear nothing of the many lorries with running engines queuing for the night ferries not far from us. The insulation seems to be top-notch. Or our sleep. We can also praise our little house for that.
In the morning we are now simply the first at the ferry (we think) and find our idea of sleeping here just great. Let's go, England, here we come!
Merci for "travelling with us
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