I am a Eurocamper now: Howlers, Growlers and Beaver Rats
- Hannah
- Jul 30
- 10 min read
It's been seven days since we arrived at destination one, and I think it's fair to say I've settled into this summer holiday life rather nicely. Put it this way, the Chicken Wine I loaded the van up with has now run dry. So much so, I had to stretch to a chicken vino spritz, just to ensure there was enough to go around the three of us. The ludicrously ridiculous natural alarm clock of 5 am has vanished from the brain. And if it's past 1 pm, it is absolutely, most definitely beer o'clock - no further questions asked.
We pitched up at Berny-Rivère at the La Croix du Vieux Pont Camp.
Six nights in and I'd gladly wave the Eurocamper flag. It's official, signed and sealed, I'm a Eurocamper now. With a lodge in prime position on the fishing lake, an outdoor terrace and a shop on site that delivers the goods every morning, you can't ask for anything more. And by goods, I mean the buttery, flaky, melt-in-the-mouth kind. Fancy a Pain au Chocolat? They do giant ones. Craving a little something different? There's a croissant swirled with deep, ruby-red layers of pastry, crisp and ombré, that crackles at the bite and surprises you with a divine fusion of sweet and tart jam. More of a classic soul? They have got one for that.
Try telling me that a morning stroll to the boulangerie, catching a glimpse of the jumping fish and tuning into the sounds of the rippling water, while the rest of the site clings on to a lie-in, is not a spot of the crème de la crème.
It's the perfect complement to your morning coffee.
And now that we've approached the great subject, can we talk about drip coffee machines? I mean in the simplest of terms, revolutionary. Thank you La Croix du Vieux Pont. There is no denying that I live under a rock and have only witnessed this phenomenal machine in action once or twice or in every American rom-com, chick-flick that I indulge in. I underestimated its excellence and I apologise, sincerely. I've indulged in more smooth and strong brewed coffees in the last five days than I have all year at home, and we all know how much I LOVE the coffee. Researching, investigating and purchasing. Preferably one that connects to my alarm, brews the coffee and keeps it hot, hot, hot whilst I drag myself from my slumber.
*One thing that could go a miss, are the twenty five million wasps that invade by the hour.
But anyway, now that I've set the scene with my opening chapter, I'll get to the nitty gritty, finer-tuned details. These being the bullet points that I've drafted in my notebook and highlighted as ESSENTIAL blogging ingredients.
With that...
How did we get to France?
In short, Dubsy.
Ben's trusty VW Transporter, who we plan on spending the remainder of the trip in.
He's had a glow-up and is now sporting his very own UK magnet on his rear end. It's his first trip overseas, and so far he's excelled. Took a little bashing on his exterior from a delightful rock to the windscreen as we touched down on French soil, but a short gasp and 'do we dare look?' later, we confirmed all was tip-top and we moved. He's a tough nut.
Dubsy serves us for both work and pleasure; therefore, a complete van conversion was out of the question for us. Instead, we kitted him out with his own top-quality Ovano system. If you haven't heard of these guys and you're looking for a robust, compact and functional solution to your work by week and adventure by weekend problem, these are the people to call upon. It can endure the abuse of the tools and still be sprinkled with a little Hannah magic to keep my aesthetic vibe going strong.
We snuck in a cheeky upgrade, having decided lastminute.com that our mattress simply would not do. We were, much to my disappointment, putting up with a make-shift memory foam mattress that was split in two, so it would fit in the old Ford Transit. After much persuasion, we made the leap and added the Ovano Forty Winks Mattress straight into the basket. It arrived with three days to spare to departure and what a grand decision it was - practically king size and as comfy as the Emma mattress back in the house. Words I never thought would be spoken or in this case typed. And believe it or not, this isn't an AD, this is just a whole lot of love for a brand that has helped us to bring a dream trip to life without the compromise.
I can confirm I rate it a strong and solid 12/10 after giving it a cheeky trial run on the Eurotunnel out here. A snooze never hurt no one, especially when you get claustrophobic and you’re quite literally inside a van, on a train, in a tunnel, deep down under the depths of the English Channel. Not one to think about really as it warrants a full-blown, sweaty palmed, panic episode. My hero, the forty winks mattress.
But, much to mine and now, your surprise, I would 110% do it again and would quite happily become an advocate for the ease and convenience of travelling to Europe via the Eurotunnel. Gone are the days of faffing with luggage. Kiss goodbye to endless queues on foot. Say hello to your home comforts, on wheels, at your disposal.
Plus, if you know a Cal Taylor. He’ll create a custom picnic for your vehicle. It’ll blow any other picnic you’ve had out of the park. It’ll set the exceptional tone for an outstanding trip with your pals. You might also discover a taste sensation in the form of a smothered layer of Philadelphia cheese, slices of ham and cloud like brown buns. If you can think of it or name it, it’ll be in that cool box picnic.
Word of caution though, do not travel with a Samantha Lightwing. She is a hazard to your feet and should come with a yellow warning triangle. Your favoured mules might end up on French soil before you do. Because, yes, she likes to steal shoes when you turn your back. She also likes to sneak in a tunnel crossing before your own, that leaves you questioning whether your new Next mules will ever return. Supposedly, Sam was heavily under the influence of a Rebecca Ollivier.
What’s been on the itinerary?
Day One
12 swift hours of travelling in convey from Newark services. Starbucks espresso was retrieved, picnics were loaded up and fuel was pumped. Eurotunnel crossing was a success and a field day was released on the senses at the French Supermaché. Boys on the BBQ for a first night picky tea.
Day Two
Rain, rain and a bit more rain called for a chilled one on the decking. Bec and Chester, the legends, secured the pastry goods and we all awoke to a flaky spread and a strong coffee. Elite. A scan of the site came to a head when the beach bar was discovered and a pina colada of 90% rum was consumed. A few games of contexto followed and then, naturally, we stumbled upon a dart board and pool table. Also Chef Han and Ben had their turn in the kitchen. We whipped up a take on our lamb kofta special with a hefty bowl of Ben’s Tzatziki.
Day Three
SPF 30 - Aldi’s finest aerosol as to avoid my hands and clothes. Because, I quite simply cannot cope with the overstimulation of anything else. Beers by the lagoon. Baguettes and crisps sand-side, curtesy of Sam. Fanta Limone and a shower, because when you know, you know. A posh frock and a photoshoot later, we were sipping the cheapest bottle of Champagne you ever did find on a restaurant menu, necking bucketloads of garlic with a slimy snail and cheersing to the fact the plan left the group chat.
Now, in comes the howler. Ben has some nerf ball, rocket looking thing, that sounds like a baby wolf when you throw it long distance. It was probably Lightwing that branded it a Howler, because who else would? That aside, it’s been a prize Wilson holiday possession for over ten years. Now, somewhere between me stepping inside the lodge to grab a jumper and hopping my way back out, it was decided that Cal and Ben were going to launch it, like it’s an olympic sport, across the fishing lake.
Practise shots were thrown, a couple of near misses on the old dislocated shoulder front were had and the distance was nailed. Ben took position on the other side of the lake, the run ups were strong and then, the silence fell. Ben’s arm went back, up into the air and…
Precisely 0.3 seconds later, his head was in his hands and he’d fallen to his knees as we all watched the howler plummet to its fate with a nose-dive direct into the middle of the lake. And this is where it would stay, until the beaver rat ripples gave it a helping hand to shore. In his true moment of need and despair, Chester came to restore Ben’s faith with a cheeky little hoppy beer. The rest of us watched on from afar, secretly hoping either one of them would fall into the paws of the beaver rats when a, branch in the water, attempt to recover the howler was made. Side note, Sam did suggest stirring the fishing lake with a spoon would create a strong enough current to guide the howler back to shore in about 0.2 seconds. Fair to say, physics was not mine nor Sam’s strong point in school.
Just to confirm, the Howler olympics long continued into the holiday. Cal became an overnight success, however, the same could not be said for Benj, who at the point of day six looked like he was aiming specifically for the fish.
Day Four
All the magic of Disney. A tootle across to Paris in just over an hour allowed us to get our fix of childhood dreams. I had a very close encounter with a famous mouse and got to act like I was six again. All in all, it was a 20/10 day as Minnie Mouse’s number one fan. The ears were purchased, the parade was watched and the obligatory photo in front of the castle was captured. I can confirm that at 27 the magic only gets more real. Disney deserves a whole write up of its own!
Day five
Recuperating and recovering from excessive intake of magic fairy dust. Turns out Minnie Mouse’s sprinkling of magic should come with a warning - effects can only be felt for up to 24 hours. Whereby, you will then receive sore feet, potential headache and need to reduce your step count by 100%. Therefore, the only reasonable solution appeared to be cracking open yet another fine bottle of the chicken vino. And good job, because we unsealed some secure files to a cold killer case and commenced investigation into a murder mystery as the rain poured. Our performance put together a case that can only ascertain we are not detectives and are certainly not about to be employed by the Met police anytime soon. Any chance we had of pointing the finger was scrapped when we discovered members of the Berny Criminal Investigation Department were withholding intel - cough Cal cough Chester. Don’t ever ask them to find a goose or get themselves to a book signing event. Equally, don’t ever expect anything from me as a detective, I switched off within 60 minutes.
Case closed and spirits lifted at the very smell of Enchiladas. The Olliviers turn to take to the kitchen and anyone would think they were born on Mexican soil. Chilli powder? They got it. Peppers? They chop them at the blink of an eye. Enchilada folding? Effortless. They make it look like they’re wrapping the perfect box at Christmas.
Day Six
The Patty and Chips Grand Finale. Pulls on a few heartstrings does that one. It came round as quick as Ben’s Howler belly flopped the surface of the fishing lake. An early alarm to seize the day and pack in a couple of tootle trips. A trip to the forest to soak up the history of the Armistice Museum and a pizza date in Compiègne, calls for my idea of a very nice day out. Spoken like a true Gary Barlow fan - I suggest you search Gary Barlow nice day out if you haven’t already.
In a toss up between a visit to a chateau or take out the pedalo on the fishing lake, the pedalo won, naturally. We’re a bunch of big kids. The Olliviers opted for a green dragon of the sea, or in this case, murky lake. The Tay-Wings selected to drop a little bit of sunshine in the lake, in the form of a bright yellow seahorse. The Kee-Sons selected the pinkest, pink of the pink flamingo, obviously. What else would Hannah pick? And naturally, the Wilson had no say. What you would have thought would be a light bit of peddling turned out to be what I can only imagine the shaking strain of leg day feels like. More specifically, the burning feeling when you’ve upped the kg and gone ambitious on the reps. This quickly concluded with some swift beers, a pina colada and a couple of ice-cream cones.
Being on holiday with the Taylor-Lightwings meant only the finest hospitality and exceptional tasting food. I mean, they brought a paella dish and paella cooking station - say no more. They are the elite of the cuisine. Chef’s kiss for the Paella of all Paellas. The Taylor recipe was and will remain phenomenal.
As all good holidays should end, this one called closing time with a bottle of red, a hot tub and a music quiz that journeyed through the decades.
Same time, same place next year Patty and Chips?
Get yourself a ‘Growler’ it will solve all problems and eradicate that unnecessary awkwardness on any friend’s tour. If you were in any doubt, the term growler was obviously coined as a cheeky little spin on ‘the kitty’. At this point, it feels like Chester paid for the full holiday and at the convenience of a single tap. Throwing the spends together into one pot was quite revolutionary.
When you find a group of legends this special, keep them close. When they suggest a plan, push it out of the group chat and live it up large. People like these are far and few between and hard to come by. Oh what a week and how it’s going down in the memory books as a Patty and Chips spectacular. Who knew a week with these five could solve all of your problems and sprinkle a bucketload of the happy feels?
I think I only nearly weed myself 8 times whilst laughing, overindulged in the harmonising of Sam and Bec to primary school bangers, learnt that a relationship can be solidified with Chester when you repeat the word beer, discovered that Cal is the king of picnics and well ‘poor Ben’.
Thank you Patty and Chips.
Dubsy is headed for Annecy and Beaufort. Another two nights remain in France for me and Benj. A scheduled walking mission is on the cards and a trip to Chamonix. Good luck to B without his newly acquired support network. It’s just me and you against the world now Benj!