Chauvigny

The old mill at the campsite in Saint-Savin

It was time to setup camp. Heading out of Antigny, it was a short trip to Saint-savin itself, the main road taking me into the square in-front of the abbey; fortunately the tourist office was just a few steps away and I picked up a map of the town and directions to the campsite. Before heading out, I crossed the new bridge into St. Germain to see what was there hoping to return crossing the old bridge into the old town but the road over the bridge was one-way.

Mill wheel and sluice of the mill

The campsite is on the site of an old water-mill, it is not clear what was milled but by the look of the series of wheels this may have been a mechanical power source feeding some industrial process like making paper perhaps. The bottom floor of the mill is a gite while the first floor is a common room for the campers. Later on while munching tea the TV was tuned in to the German-Sweden match in the World Cup.

Chauvigny built upon a rock

This was after I had pitched tent and went for a run to fetch some grub; I headed over to Chauvigny about 20k to the west across an exceptionally flat landscape of cereal and grass fields. Chauvigny had been built upon a rock with narrow streets winding up and down through a maze of medieval houses and shops. It had been remodelled for tourists though and despite its neatness and obvious historical value seemed oddly inauthentic. Perhaps it was the excessive use of maroon paint on everything made it seem homogenized. Still it was pretty.

A popular caravan style - these are new!

In the morning an enormous camper-home - the size of a tour bus - rumbled its way out of the site closely followed by a VW Polo or a similar car with a rigid tow bar folded up on its bonnet evidently towed behind the huge camper. This must have been a nightmare to drive round some of the tiny "main" roads around here. It was then I noticed a cluster of tiny, retro caravans buzzing about getting ready to depart. Small and low with a pop-up roof, these reminded me of early caravans in the fifties but these ones were brand, spanking new filled with wrinklies remembering their youth no doubt.

My youth had been spent under canvas, so nothing much has changed then.