La Plage

Is there a better way to spend a day of your holiday than at the beach? We don't think so. In fact, we thought it so good we did it twice. Let me explain.

Tuesday always looked like beach day from the fairly accurate weather forecasts, so from when we rose the packing exercise, sandwich-making and gathering began. We strolled off in the warm sun to see what we could sea. Gettit?

Along the line where water greets the land with a wave, we each find the perfect something to spend happy hours doing: 'Stop' draws pictures of the view or hunts for creastures in the pool; 'Staple Gun Girl' trawls the pools for any form of life; 'Guzzler' plays in water, any water she can find, sit in and let her fingers wiggle in the wet sand; 'Candy Girl' shouts and screams with delight at the sight of any creatures; Me? I just drink in the view, the sounds, everything. The beach is a very special place for me.

So there we all were, doing our do. Candy Girl did amazingly well at finding and capturing creatures in her bucket for closer inspection. She caught any number of the tiny, tinniest hermet crabs you could imagine.

I was intruiged on Sunday, during our walk across the small cliffs, by the rocks and potential caves that occupied the far left of the beach before the cliff forms a point and brings the beach to a close. I took off to explore, leaving the others to find, capture and play.

The rocks both on the beach and on the hills were amazing. All colours strewn out across the beach from tiny pebbles to rocks the size of volkswagons. The cliffs, hewn by the water that lapped at my feet, were sharp, rugged and increasignly gold and copper in colour. Breathtaking. As I ventured inwards and upwards, the path before me was covered, litterally carpeted with black grass. Mussells, mussells everywhere. Tens of thousands of them blanketing the route before me. The caves turned out to be nothing more than the work of the sea at a particularly soft spot in the rock, but the explore was more than worth it. Very special. I shall remember it for a long, long time.

The second beah trip later that day was to the front at Val Andre, a wide arc of beach, soft shell-strewn sand, a perfect place to walk in the evening sun.  And walk we did, though shell collection was the main pastime for everyone but me and it wasn't long before bags were full to bursting point. The beach was occupied by many, but far from crowded like an english beach would be on a pleasant sunny summer's evening. The sun streamed down, dazzling off sections of the calm sea like a giant spotlight, the clouds being it's filter. Picturesque, pretty, perfect.

The shower points along the wide promenade provided the next source of entertainment. Guzzler, desperate to wash the sand from her feet and crocs (she does so hate sand in her shoes) decided to press the button for the shower rather than the footwash. She'd done so well keeping dry and warm as well.

As kids scootered off along the prom, we walked lazily, turning to admire the view at every chance.

Dragon Lady and the red shoes

There comes a point in a man's life when, knowing he lives with 4 women, he must accept the fact that it takes several hours to manage to get out of the house and off on any journey. I've yet to come to terms with that. I may one day. But not today.

As we always self-cater (due to 5yo allergies), a big shopping trip is always on the cards for any holiday, and is always an adventure in a different country, exploring their goods, prices, oft madening way the stores are laid out, and having fun. The kids armed with mini-trolleys certainly did. And being our holiday, a few special treats managed to somehow find their way in to the trolley. Nice.

Our trip commenced with the short drive to Erquy which presented us a magnificient view of the land and sea as we cruised along. A beautifully cultured look-out-point gave us the idea place to stop, lose our breath, catch our breath and snap away. The literature I read before said that Erquy had 10 fabulous beaches - I couldn't believe that number, but standing on the point I could see why. The sea had carved out little crescents along the shorline and delievered soft-looking sand to boot. They looked simply amazing.

The drive through the harbour area gave us more views before we settled in what seemed to be the shopping area. I say seemed as there was very little there. All pleasant, charming and very new looking in general, we wandered in a square pattern round the town before returning to the road for more places to view.

Super U arrived soon (no idea what the U is for, super may be), as did tiny trolleys and the fun. For something so dull and mundane, we do have fun in the supermarket.

With the weather set fair, we returned to La Plage where we were to meet the heroine of today's piece.

After our rock climbing expedition and shift to a more open part of the beach were complete, the kids happily played in the water while I wrote messages in the sand. Then re-wrote them as the tide didn't like my spelling and promtply washed them away. Being called in to battle the sea, I kicked off my red beach shoes and headed in.

It. Was. Cold. I was amazed that 5yo lasted as long as she had, and 8yo was still game. We bounced the waves, jumped them, got slapped in the back of the heasd by them, before a shivering 8yo and me strolled back to the top of the beach to towels and warmth.

Just before I was about to do my annual 'dig a hole on the beach' Mrs d4t enquired as to the whereabout of my shoes. Turns out it was a classic case of 'I thought you were looking after them'. Given the spot of sand I'd left them was about 3 foot under, I doubted I'd ever see them again. In steps angry French lady.

I'd spotted her earlier, medium length wiry brown hair, longish olive-coloured top, hurling what sounded like abuse at someone I couldn't see. Standing at water's edge trying to spot my floating shoes, I turned to see them collected together with other items at her feet. I galloped over to collect them, and as I picked them up she turned and asked if they were mine. Her mood softened, she smiled and said something else I didn't understand. I thanked her and walked away, thinking of her spotting them and moving them up the beach with all her own stuff. How very nice of her. By the time I got back to our spot her anger had returned and she was carting stuff up the beach and hurling harsh words. She was hot though. Hot when she was angry. Recently a friend described someone as being hot when they were really mad. I had no idea what that meant, having never seen it. But I kind of know what they meant now, so I'll be cheeky and borrow their term for her, Dragon Lady.

Thank you, Dragon Lady, for saving my shoes.

Our after-dinner stroll/scooter was as pleasant as ever and Mrs d4t even managed to trick the kids she'd got stuck in a springy ride at the small playground on our route to the beach. She wasn't stuck. Honest.

The Incredibles

Having slept close to water, travelled under water, slept near water again, I was disappointed that it took until day 5 of the holiday to do one of my very favourite things; stand on the beach. I love to just stand there, listen to the sound of the crashing waves, smell the salty air, drink in all the atmosphere. I was not to be disappointed today.

Despite the preference of the lady that showed us round our accommodation, we went for the closer and more rugged Plage Des Vallees. It is just our kind of beach.

Pink sandstone boulders flank the walk down to the sand, with cliffs rising away on either side giving a dramatic view we were later to discover. Rocks to climb and pools to explore lie to the left, and the narrowish strip of sand slides gently down to the welcoming sea. Just perfect. Just one thing was wrong; failure to comply,

I'd given the short ones three lines before leaving the house to ensure all would be well on our short walk to the beach and round to the small town of Val Andre. 1. We will not have any spare clothes. 2. We will not have any towels. 3. This is a shopping trip, if you get wet you go shopping wet.  Want to hazard a guess at how long it took 5yo to be soaked?  Roughly about 20 seconds from first entering the water. Oh well. Glad my words are heeded.

Once fresh clothing had been retreived, we set off up the hillside towards the town. We followed a thin, rough track for a good 30 minutes which led to to our picturesque destination. Adults sauntering along the front taking in the views, kids racing along on their scooters, all was well. It certainly was a pleasant way to explore and spend a morning.

Sitting down for lunch together (a rare treat in our family) the conversation drifted as it always does to various amusing incidents either Mrs Drop4three or myself have been part of, and one in particular which led to us adopting superhero names, as per the family in The Incredibles. Gran was "Stop" (with pointed finger), "Guzzler" was not me thank you, but the 5yo. "Candy Girl" was awarded to 8yo and "Beer Boy" was mine. But the best was saved till last as Mrs d4t collected "Staple Gun Girl" (relating to an amusing garment ripping episode).

We journeyed back to the beach later that afternoon for a more thorough investigation of it's talents. On the way back we met the English couple that "live" here for 6 months of the year in the sole yellow house on this complex. Lucky them.

The longest day

As you can tell from the title, I wasn't expecting Saturday to be easy. The usual early breakfast and trip round the park was added to by packing up and a 5 hour drive to our seaside destination.

Were we late? Did we overbuy and fill all that lovely space I mentioned before? Did I have to rush? Yes. Yes thrice. Boy was it thrice.

But I think it is vital here to mention the most important thing: I won the Buzz Lightyear competition. Ha. Losers.

Moving on, we rode the rides as planned, shopped as we hadn't, and dashed across northern France like there was no tomorrow. Pleneuf Val Andre eventually arrived and we unloaded a full car, tired bodies and enquiring minds. But those minds, including mine, would have to wait till morning. Dinner needing cooking, beds needed making, and i needed my first beer of the holiday. Cheers.

Fail to plan, plan to fai.........

Well we didn't, and we didn't. Either of them. Or all three of them if you wish. In a recognised, celebrated, day of amazement, Fabulous Friday went exactly as planned. I'm still so shocked I'm speechless. Good job I can type.

Early breakfast planned: made. Trip to the park before all the normal punters can get it: made. Ride the rides: made. Stunning. Even the tiredness of 5yo or aches from the 8yo (from falling out of bed in the night) could deter.

The icing? Well with the Fantasy Parade kicking off late and the fireworks bringing it all to a close around 11pm, the short ones needed a nap to ensure they lasted. Back in the hotel, dressed for bed, they only went and fell fast asleep before the 20 minute deadline was up and the drive to the supermarket threatened.

I'm not gonna say a word about kicking butt on the Buzz Lightyear ride, the swimming races or even the weird carrot, potato and pea 'meal' that was my dinner. Fail to plan? Never. Plans to fail? Not today boy.

Hotel to bed

I'd decided on the title for this piece by the time we'd arrived at Disney, unloaded the car and headed off in to the park. It wasn't until right at the very end of the day this was amended to what you see now. I'll come to why later, right now I'd like to jump to earlier.

Lanes dominated the day: lanes to queue for the train through the channel tunnel; lanes on the autoroute from Calais some 200 miles to near Val D'Europe to where Disneyland resides; lanes to queue for the rides once there. The train and Disney queues were fairly orderly but what really stood out for me was how disciplined the drivers on the French motorways were.

At home, regardless of how much or little traffic there is, trucks will mostly be pinned to the inside lane with virtually every other vehicle nose to tail in the outside lane. The French, so it seemed, keep a right rein on their outside lane manoeuvres, only drifting out there to overtake before slipping back to the middle almost immediately. I named them 'lane disciples' as is my way of nick-naming most things.

If you've ever seen 'Dunston Checks In' and expect a hotel in the big apple to look like that, you won't be disappointed by the New York Hotel at Disney. Dead ringer, and the kids loved it. What more can I say?

The park itself was crowded though. Having accustomed ourselves over the summer to the relative quiet of Alton Towers and Thorpe Park, Disney was a bit of a shock. We battled on but the lack of sleep and soaring heat sent me back to our room with the little one as she needed sleep. It was not to be.

Once it was evident the sandman would not be visiting, the kids and me headed off for a swim, which was as fun as we could have wanted. Refreshed, we set off out to to the park.

With nine o'clock calling, we decided to call it a day, as our tired legs would carry us little further, and little one was growing increasingly heavy on my shoulders. As we walked through the arcade I said we should go home for bed. "No dad," she says. "Hotel for bed."

Lesson 1: get to Folkestone; is compete

Ah, the summer holiday. Seaside, sand, candy-floss, and total bedlam getting packed and loaded. I love summer holidays.

I had the strangest moment prior to leaving the house, after hours of chaos, packing, double-checking, cursing and more. I locked the roof box and simply walked away. Yes, I didn't have to ram the lid down, force the key, re-open the lid and shuffle the shoe-horned-in contents, re-commence closing procedure till it relented and locked. I just closed it, turned the key fully and walked off.

Seems this time we're travelling light on our trip over the water to France (well, under it actually). May be my four female travelling companions have designs on returning with armfuls of treasure from Disneyland and Pleneuf Val Andre. I wonder.