Tag: Bailey Caravan Touring Full Time

Dogs in Barolo Wine Museum & A Template for a Long Lost Tattoo

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Castello Falletti, Barolo

“How does Mark decide on designs for his tattoos?” Another question that we’re often asked.

All of his tattoos have significance, but as with, “How do you decide where to go on your travels?” – it is a question with an equally convoluted answer. Continue reading “Dogs in Barolo Wine Museum & A Template for a Long Lost Tattoo”

Wine & Wonder on a Wet Thursday – Noyers-sur-Serein, Bourgogne, France

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What to do on a wet Thursday in a caravan? Cuddle a puppy – or better still, cuddle TWO puppies!

Torrential rain thundered on the roof of the caravan and we were surrounded by wet laundry. It was supposed to be sunny! Nevertheless, our view across the rolling hills of Bourgogne was shrouded with mist and we felt surprisingly relaxed; comfy, cosy and snuggled up with a coffee and four warm, sleepy puppies.

The internet was dead. On the road, we tether our laptops to our mobiles to go online. The signal had been poor yesterday, but the rain ensured that both phones had zero service and the campsite’s free WiFi was completely dead. The tragedy of being cut off like this on a rainy Thursday was that I was unable to find a launderette to address our  mountain of steaming laundry. Continue reading “Wine & Wonder on a Wet Thursday – Noyers-sur-Serein, Bourgogne, France”

A Postcard from Quiberon – Part 1

Can I Look At Your Fuse Box?

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It would be hard not to fall in love with Quiberon.

Blighted by Breakages, Technology & French Fusion Cuisine; a Trip To The Vet; THE Most Expensive Fish in the World and – A Road Trip to Nowhere!

It would be hard not to fall in love with Quiberon – shady, pine-scented woods; lanes fragranced with honeysuckle; chocolate–box villages of stone cottages, fringed with hydrangeas and hollyhocks and a Neolithic stone monument at every turn.

And what about our first view of Quiberon bay? Two steps from our caravan were mirror-flat waters, like a jewel-blue infinity pool, fringed by a dramatic, sweeping arc of white sand. Carnac to the left and Quiberon, at the far end of the peninsula, were like mystical, golden cities, picked out by the evening sunshine. But all this tranquil nature belied a technological trauma in the caravan. Continue reading “A Postcard from Quiberon – Part 1”