Striptease in the Laundromat

Despite the bruises, the little camper van continues rolling and conquers all gravel tracks, rocky paths, and speed bumps of any height in the now ubiquitous 30 zones with flying colors.

Although with forced ventilation, due to the missing rear window, which pleasantly cools my always too hot feet at night, which sometimes struggle to defog on the rear heater.

Now thunderstorms are forecast for the next few days, but we now have two tarps on board and hope for weather forecasting mistakes. Of course, that's not the case.

In the Barronies, thick dark clouds gather in the early evening, and the first showers promise a lot of moisture.

We have found a spot for the night, three French van-lifers join us.

The thunder rumbling gets louder, the lightning brighter, the storm approaches at a rapid pace. The first heavy drops fall, but we are sitting dry under our two tarps. Unfortunately, the long-standing camping tarp from the previous trips now has a few leaks, which causes the inside to become very damp over time.

The storm rumbles, but to our surprise and relief, it only rains moderately, we are probably between fronts. In the mountains around us, thunder rumbles incessantly, amplified and multiplied by the echoes of the rock walls. Non-stop, wild lightning flashes through the otherwise impenetrable darkness. We watch this spectacle from the dry bed in the Twingo, glad that the primeval force has been unleashed elsewhere, and soon fall into a deep sleep.

The next morning, the sun is not shining very brightly from the cloudy sky, and the Eygues flows past us, well filled and dirty gray.

The roads are muddy from red and yellow mudslides, mounds of slop that were pushed from the track by the farmer around the corner in the early dawn, and masses of rubble. Large stones block the road, and even the smaller ones in abundance do not make the drive any easier. Streams and rivers have taken on a rapid flow speed, overflow their banks, and carry a lot of earth downhill. Only now do we realize how lucky we were last night, as did the three French people with us, that the Eygues has a very wide bed at our campsite, giving the water a lot of space between the shores...

Today, there is still no weather improvement in sight, but we continue meandering from one small village to the next. Huge black thunderclouds keep brewing.

Thunder, lightning, and heavy raindrops sometimes spoil the carefree tourist life here and there.

That means finding a place for the coming night where slippery mud layers will not make our feet muddy due to the weather's caprices or where a little brook might turn into a raging river.

We find a nice spot with gravel on the ground and stay there. Soon, the next storm gathers above us.

We have already set everything up for the rain - or so we thought.

Unfortunately, the tarp from Brico is not completely covering the Twingo, so water drips at the leaky spots on the solar cell ratchet straps.

Uh, well, dripping is not quite correct.

It's raining cats and dogs, as the cow that pees, right into our bed. Zappa retrieves bowls, dishes, and the pot from the cooking box and catches the liquid. Every few minutes, the vessels are full to the brim and need to be emptied. This time, the storm is right above us and pouring down equally.

It pours buckets, the water pelts us from black clouds, the sky is falling on our heads.

No, it's not an exaggeration, the mattress and the bedding are soaking wet.

We must prepare for a wet and wild night.

After rain often comes sunshine, and in the morning, we are greeted by warm rays. The Twingo is quickly emptied, and all our small and big things dry in the bright light. However, packing the car is not so quick. The belongings and new acquisitions have to find their places in the small car, arranged like a game of Tetris, fitted and stowed away.

In the afternoon, we discover a small laundromat in Buis-les-Baronnies. Oh, how joyful we are!

The rigorous reduction of our travel wardrobe means that most clothes have taken a bit of a beating after three weeks of travel and, to be precise, smell.

So we take the stuff out of the car, pay 4€ for 7kg of laundry, stroll through the village, and even throw the dryer on.

In the PMU bar next door, we treat ourselves to a cafe au lait, while the locals have already moved on to beer.

When we empty the dryer, we have to realize that it didn't do its job.

Yes, our laundry is hot as a kettle of pasta, but not dry at all. No, the clothes are soaking wet again!

Oh no, this morning the dear sun, which is now slowly saying goodbye to the day, had just helped us to dry stuff! And now this!?

We already have a beautiful spot for the night not far away at a weather station with a fence. It now serves as a clothesline. When hanging up, however, one must be careful because if the panties, favorite shirt, or only long pants end up on the other side of the 'line', these beautiful things are lost forever. Because there is no way to get there unless the weather watcher stops by next week.

The sun is setting in fiery red colors, and the clothes are soaking wet again the next morning, due to the dew. But this view was worth the effort.

And who actually comes up with the idea of doing laundry on vacation? And who says that you can't smell a little on an adventure trip?