After two days watching our aire slowly submerge under a purple sky filled with endless rain, we drove south for half an hour to Leucate. We visited this area several times last year. There’s a well-equipped aire close to the beach, a few decent wild camping spots and, highest on Cynthia’s list of priorities, a decent laverie, a launderette, open daily until 10pm.
Cynthia wasn’t quite so keen on whipping out her dirty smalls when she noticed the laverie’s only other customer. A middle-aged homeless man, stinking of whiskey and urine, slouched at a table normally reserved for folding clean clothes. As laying out our freshly laundered bedding would mean moving his grimy radio, plastic pack of rolling tobacco and two full whiskey bottles, we decided not to bother.
We gave Mr Homeless a bag of fruit and then left him to his drinking as soon as the laverie’s industrial dryer finished spinning our clothes. He drank half a bottle of whiskey while our clothes washed and dried, so I didn’t expect his bag of organic fruit to get much attention.
Two miles away from the village centre, we turned off the main road onto a rutted stone track. After ten minutes testing the Hymer’s suspension, we reached our stop for the night. The wind howls over the lagoon here. This stretch of water is popular with windsurfers. There aren’t any on the water at the moment. The setting sun over a mess of broken clouds is an amazing sight to enjoy before we retire for the night. With a bit of luck, we’ll spend tomorrow basking in the sun in our new camp chairs. Not bad for the end of January, eh?