The Great Benicàssim Adventure 2006

Well they said we'd never make it but we did. Okay it wasn't in the VW Campervan, instead a year old VW Golf, but we did get there none the less.

Anyway this is the journal of 4 plucky explorers (Me, Nick, Anna & Kerry) who decided it would be a good idea to drive to the XII Festival Internacional de Benicàssim in Benicàssim, just north of Valencia.
If you wish to skip the journey and go straight to the festival stuff, click here

Day 1 - Saturday 15th July 2006

With the Campervan out of action, we set off in the VW Golf, complete with hired roof box (it was supposed be only a large roofbox but we were upgraded to extra large for free as the had no large left... and boy did we need it) bound for Dover, to catch our ferry across La Manche. Setting off around 11am and arriving by 4pm with only 1 stop isn't bad for 350 miles. Shame our ferry wasn't until 8.30pm. However we still went straight to check in and they allowed us onto the 4.30pm ferry for the small fee of £7.50. The fact that we checked in at 4.20pm didn't phase them and will pulled straight onto the Sea France ferry and we were away.



The crossing itself wasn't too bad but the sea was still a bit choppy. It gave you the feeling of being a bit tipsy without the hangover. However I did nearly injure myself a few times in the Duty-Free shop as I was unsteady on my feet. After the short journey across the Channel, it was down the car hold to make our vehicle legal for the impending journey through the Europe by attaching my GB sticker and headlight reflectors.

Setting of from Calais port on the french side of the road was a bit daunting as the first thing you hit is a roundabout. I'm sure they just put it there to be awkward. Straight to fill up with the lovely cheap petrol on the continent.... except it isn't cheap (well in France anyway). It's about the same price as England.

Anyway, its still early so we set off to try and cover as much ground as possible. After going the wrong way for 15 mins, we turn around and head towards Paris on the A26. The Autoroute's are great apart from the tolls. 130km/h in the dry. It's like speeding but legally (drops to 110km/h in the wet though). Not that the French adhere to the speed limits. They easily were doing 90mph+. Not that we could catch them in a car with 4 people, full boot and roofbox.

After about 90mins on the road we stop at a service station only to bump into a convoy of 3 english cars going to Benicassim. They didn't seem to be taking my as their cars did not have full boots. They told us that their plan was to take turns driving and reach the north coast of Spain without stopping. They claim that there was a campsite with a large pool and waterslide that they were going to stay at until the Benicassim camping opened. Fools.... This was around 1000 miles they were going to do non-stop. After doing around 400 miles already that day I knew they were going to regret it. Plus, there was no need to rush. They could have taken their time and enjoyed a bit of France.

So we left the services and powered along the Autoroute while Anna and Kerry search through some camping books for somewhere to stay. (These books were a godsend. We where going to travel without any sort of guide but were given these at the last minute, and boy did they come in handy. There's no way we would have found any campsites without them). The only one we could see was at least 100km away so we stopped at the next services, grabbed a sandwich (cheese & ham - the only food in existance in mainland Europe), and asked the madamoiselle in the petrol station if there was anywhere to camp nearby. After receiving a "je ne sais pas", we ate our sandwiches quick and headed towards the nearest campsite in our book - a place near Saint-Quentin.

Stick my foot down, as it was getting late, we soon reach our exit junction. We pull off the Autoroute, pay our toll at the booth, and head towards the campsite. After a few wrong turns we head along a windy road into the contryside, through some small villages and past some huge wind turbines. We finally arrive at Camping Caravaning Vivier aux Carpes in Seraucourt-le-Grand, only to find it is shut. I look does look okay from the outside, with the river Somme running beside it. We try to call the number in the camping guide but the number diverts to an answerphone. How dare it be shut at 10.30pm?

It was looking likely that we would be sleeping in the car tonight as we were in the middle of nowhere with no clue where to go to stay for the night. On only hope was a travelodge style hotel we had passed 20mins ago. Balladins Express St-Quentin - Gauchy. (Warning: The official website makes the place look good. Read on for the truth)

With Anna and myself the only ones able to speak any french at all, we go to investigate. Since its nearly 11pm, the reception is shut, and bookings are made through a ATM style machine in the foyer. As we are muddling our was through, the non-english speaking receptionist comes to view what we are doing and stands over us while we book 2 rooms with en-suite showers. As we receive our receipt, he informs us, in french, that the hotel does not operate with key's, instead with codes that are input on a small console by the bedroom door (I know you're think this is a classy place).

We get our bags from the car and head to our rooms looking forward to a relaxing night before we hit the roads again. We type in the code for our first room, open the door, and find that there are someone's bags left on the bed. We go to the second room and more luggage. What would have happened if someone was in these rooms? Somehow, I am voted to go and try to resolve this. I head downstairs to the reception area and try to explain to the recption guy that the rooms are occupied. After a few minutes of failure with my rubbish french, he recognises that there is "bagages dans les chambres". He open's his office and starts to sort out new rooms for us. At this point 2 frenchmen, wearing nothing but tight skimpy underpants, come bounding into reception from outside. They head straight to the dining are shouting that they want champagne. The (also creepy) reception guy tells them to wait their turn while he sorts out my problem. So its 11.30pm and I'm standing in a queue in a remote french hotel with 2 men in just tight pants. Slightly surreal. I finally get sorted and head up to see the other 3 and tell them that we are sorted for new rooms. As I am explaining what had happened, the nearly naked men appear along the corridor , clutching a bottle of Champagne, and knock on a bedroom door. They are joined, from the room, by another tight panted man. At this point we make a beeline for our first room. We are relieved to find it does not contain any luggage or naked french men.

As you can see from the picture above, the room contains many amenities, including a state-of-the-art clothes hanging facility. Me and Nick decide to leave the girls to settle in while we check out our room on the ground floor (le rez-de-chaussée ... my french is getting better). We open our room to find it consists of a double bed, a TV and a toilet. However the toilet is separated from the room by a shower curtain (see picture below)

The girls soon join us and we decide to pool all of our change to get as much beer out of the vending machine as possible to numb the thought of the gay brothel we appeared to be staying in. We all sat down with our cold beers, turned on the TV only to find that was on was either french chatshows or badly dubbed (from english to french) hardcore porn. So the TV was turned off, we quickly finished our beers and attempted to get some sleep.

Day 2 - Sunday 16th July 2006

After getting up early-ish, we leave the wonderful Balladin's hotel (now forever known as Bang-it-in's), and head out to continue our journey to Benicassim. Heading through the French countryside towards Paris we are on continual watch for somewhere to grab a spot of breakfast. This is harder than you think as France appears to shut down on a Sunday. Keeping of the Autoroute we wind through small villages until we reach the cathedral town of Laon. Driving in the town centre we are on the hunt for a food place that is actually open. We pass plenty of closed hairdressers (how many does a small town need?). We finally stumble upon a small row of shops with a pâtisserie/boulangerie that is actually open. Hence we go in and buy the only two items of food that we can remember the french for - croissant and pan au chocolat. As delicious as they were, I could see our breakfasts becoming boring quickly. Not to worry, back on the road towards Paris.

From Laon we head on the N2 to Paris via Soissons. The road is great for a minor road. 2 lanes travelling at 110km/h. Hardly any traffic on the roads. We were making great progress. This came to an abrupt halt when the wonderful dual carriageway ends without warning. It turns out that the road isn't built yet. We are forced onto the old N2 which winds through the hills, fields and villages towards the french capital. It's not long before the road widens again and we are passing Charles de Gaulle Airport, the traffic is increasing, the area is becoming more built up and we can see the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

The easy driving in France was about to end as the car pulled onto the Peripherique. This was a tad scary. Driving on the wrong side of the road with a car that's not designed for it. Thousands of cars packed bumper to bumper, doing speeds of 90km/h plus. There are many exits all seeming to be signposted with the same place names. Cars pulling in and out of the lanes, on and off the slip roads. It was all becoming a bit much considering we weren't quite sure exactly which way to go. We just knew we had to head clockwise, looking for the A10 and signposts for Orleans. After switching lanes more times that I care to think about, we somehow see a sign for our turn off and take it. This is some sort of miracle as Nick's somewhat dodgy map reading skills were put to the test.

South of Paris, the road is straight and simple. Onto the Toll and stick your foot down. We stop off for some food at a service station (ham and cheese baguette - what a surprise), and I finally give in and let Nick drive the next stint despite every bone in my body telling me I shouldn't. My fears were found to be mostly unjustified as he drives the 300+km to our campsite for the night (I did keep having to remind him that his foot wasn't made of lead and could be taken off the accelerator) The journey is quite a pleasant one, passing many orchards, vineyards and huge fields of sunflowers.

It passes without incident and we are soon approaching our exit junction (NB: The toll road ended north of Clermont Ferrand... came to a whopping €38. That will teach us to travel all that way on the Autoroute). For tonight's stopover we had chosen the village of Murol.

Murol is a small village (around 700 people live there) in the heart of le Parc des Volcans (Park of the Volcanoes) overlooking lake Chambon. It's main business appeared to be tourism. To be precise, camping.... french camping. We were the only English probably within a 50 mile radius. After pulling off the Autoroute, we made our way along a windy stretch of road into the Parc des Volcans, through many small villages and towns to get Murol. This was the next village along from the very touristy looking Saint Nectaire. After arriving in Murol we pull up at a campsite, inspect the rates, decide it's good enough. Camping L'€urope is a 4 star campsite popular with families. It has a pool with a slide and a bar area.

So we (Me & Anna) sort out a pitch for the night and we set about getting the tent set up. As the tent nears completion, the heavens open and the rain pours down. We hurry to finish the tent despite a french woman beckoning us into her chalet for shelter. Its only a few minutes before we have a perfectly erected tent. We maybe a ted wet, but this doesn't matter due to the temperatures of the day. Since our bed for the night is set up, we head of for some supplies to the local Spar. Once again, shopping in france show's that it is not cheaper on the continent. All we buy are some extra tent pegs, some crisps and some booze (Heinekin stubbies for me, boxes of wine for everyone else). From the Spar, we head across the carpark to a local bar. Once again, no-one can speak english, so a few choice french words and some pointing later, 3 of us are enjoying a large glass of lager while Nick has a whisky. While we drink, we are entertained by watching a game of boule played by some other patrons.

From the bar we jump into the car and head to the nearby town of Saint Nectaire. This is much more touristy, if not a bit tacky. We park up and head into what appears to be the only restaurant in town. It seemed to be an italian style restaurant (well the menu had pizza and pasta on it). Sat down, we order some beer and rose wine, 3 of us order steak while Kerry has a veggie option. Nick, opting for his steak well done is in for a fright when it arrives. The waiter, who spoke some english, totally misunderstood and Nick's steak is served virtually still mooing at him on the plate, blood squirting out with every slice with his knife. Anyway, my steak was nice and tender (had it medium).



After our meal, it was back to the campsite for a few drinks, french Monster Munch crisps(Pommeheads), banter and then bed. Onto the South of France tomorrow.




Day 3 - Monday 17th July 2006

After a reasonable nights sleep at Camping L'€urope, our first campsite of the trip, we have a cup of coffee made on the camping stove, a shower and start to pack up.

Feeling peckish we head up to the bar area in a hunt for food. Unfortunately, the only food we can see on the menu is either pizza or hamburgers. After a failed attempt of asking for breakfast(in french), we all have a glass of orange juice and sit watching the other campers in and around the pool. When I say watching, this involved the Anna and Kerry pointing out and commenting on/complaining about all of the men around the pool in tight swimming trunks. This doesn't last long (neither did our drinks). We head back to the car, finish packing up, and head on our way. We still have a lot of travelling to do.

We pull out the village but after only a few miles we stop and allow Kerry and Anna to visit La Ferme Saint-Nectaire. This is a farm/breeding centre for kangaroos, llamas and other furry rat type creatures. For 40 minutes they looked around the farm while Nick read his Dave Courtney book and I paced back and forth a lot, and went for a 3 minute run (not sure why... just felt a bit energetic).


We left the farm in the hunt for some food as we were still hungry. First we stop at a supermarket. This contains only some ignorant french people who will not give way to us in the ailse and allow us past. After 5 minutes getting lost, we finally find the exit and get on our way again. The next stop is a bit more successful. We pull over a the village of Champeix, where I do some of my worst parking ever and take up two parking bays and half of the pavement. However when I say successful, I mean for the second day running we get croissants and pan au chocolat from the local pâtisserie/boulangerie. We were starting to get the feeling that this may be our diet for the rest of the time we were going to spend in France.

We finch our pastries and get back onto the road, stopping at a local garage to fill up, and then onto the A75 towards the south coast of France. The scenery on the A75 is beautiful. The road travels through le Parc National des Cévennes, up and down the hills and mountains. At one pont the road is over 1170m above see level. The views across the valleys are spectacular. As the road climb and descend steeply I break Nick's coasting record by doing 4 miles in neutral at speeds of 70mph. I could have gone further but my nerves got the better of me and decided it was better if I had full control of the car. We also see our first rain of the day. High in the mountains the car and road gets drenched. This does not deter the french drivers though. They happily power on at 80+mph (sorry 130+kmph, I forgot France is metric). In the distance we see some impressive forked lightning and wonder if this was going to be set in for the day. However we are proven wrong as the sun comes out and the temperatures start to rise swiftly and we enjoy the eerie sight of the water evaporating from the trees in the valleys to produce rising clouds of steam.

As we travel further the south, the bridges start to become longer and more impressive until we reach the big one... Millau. For a mere €6.80 you can drive across the newly constructed Viaduc de Millau(View the real-time webcam of the bridge here). Before crossing we stopped in the service area. The service area, still under construction, consisted of a stopping point to get a view of the bridge and of the town of Millau, a tourist information office, and couple of blocks of toilets. These toilets were unlike the toilets of good old GB. There were some sort of mutant toilet that appear to involve squatting. We were luck that the disabled toilets had the type of bowl we were used to.



While Nick and Anna have a rest, me and Kerry feel energetic and we climb to the top of a huge steep hill to the view point. The path up to the view point isn't finished and gravel on a hill isn't a good idea. More than once we nearly fell flat of our backs. The steps they have built out of railway sleepers are very steep with no hand rails. Very dangerous. We make it to the top, take a couple of pictures, see an eagle (or what looks like an eagle) and head back down to ground level, and set off across the bridge towards the southern coast.

Heading down through the mountains, we play a game of "Holding Your Breath While Travelling Through A Tunnel", which is immense fun unless you're driving and going dizzy through lack of oxygen. We leave the M75 near Montpellier and park up on a retail park outside of a DIY store in order to consult the camping books for a place to stay the night. As we sit, we get a few funny looks from people who we assume are wondering why a car fully of englishmen (and englishwomen) are sitting in a DIY store carpark in southern France. Just as one of comments that there are probably no other British people anywhere near this place, a car with the GB stick pulls past in the carpark and gives us a wave. We decide that tonight we will stay in the seaside resort of Valras-Plage and head off in that direction.

The map informs us that to get to Valras Plage we should head towards the town of Béziers and then head south to the coast. We get back onto the A75 and subsequently onto the N9, which takes along side hundreds of vinyards and through some small quaint villages. Once again, things do not run smoothly and before long we find ourselfs lost in the town centre of Béziers. As we entre the town centre we notice a sign pointing out tha Béziers is twinned with Stockport in England. For some reason we find this fact very funny. After 15 or so minutes of going round in circles we backtrack and head toward the A9 Autoroute. This causes a problem as we get stuck in rushhour traffic. As we crawl our way through the melee of cars, we notice a sign for Valras-Plage and head straight for it. This is a relief for Anna, who had been sitting cross legged in the back of the car for the best part of 30 mins. Once onto the Valras-Plage road the traffic eases and we pull into a McDonalds so that Anna can use the faclities. After much debate, we decide not to follow her inside the restaurant for something to eat, instead we choose to plough on to our destination.

The camping guide book we have suggests we go to the Camping Club Lou Village(check out the Aquatic Park section of the site... the animations are scary). The book's direction informed us to head into the town centre and follow signs for the Casino. Once again we get lost and end up on the beach front, surrounded by thousands of cars parked almost completely on the pavement. Heading along the sea front, we finally see a sign for the Casino and head in it's direction. After another 5 mins heading through local housing estates we finally stumble across it. It is situated in an area which contains nothing but campsites. We head to the entrance of Lou Village and check out the tarrif. This place appears around twices the price we paid last night, so we try a different place, Campling le Mediterranee. The prices are reasonable so we agree to stay here. To stay on the campsite we all were fitted with a festival style wristband and the car had a ugly sticker slapped onto the windscreen. We pitched our tent and headed off to explore and have something to eat.


We head down to the sea front and walk along the beach. Everyone except me takes their shoes of and walk in the water, while I keep mine on and have fun dodging the waves. As we walk along Nick decides to count the number of women with no bikini tops on. This keeps him amused all along the beach.


We head up to the prominade in search of restaurants and notice a car rammed with inflatable creatures(see below).

After stopping to look, we continue our hike to the town centre. We arrive and are spoilled for choice as there are hundreds of restaurants, but they all seem to have the same things to offer, and no vegitarian option. We finally choose a restaurant overlooking the sea, even if it has a rather racist and stereotypical statue of a black boy. I order a steak, Nick has turkey, Kerry has something veggie (can't remeber what) and Anna opts for a bucket of mussels. Of course, this is all washed down with some rosé wine.



After a delicious meal we go for a wander around the busy streets and along the sea front. Kerry buys some postcard in a shop (but never sends them home), and Nick is tempted by a large steel Jack Daniels sign. It's then on to the fun-fair where the is a car covered in fridge magnets, some dodgy looking rides, some arcade machines (including a punch bag game flanked by some muscley looking guys just dying to be challenged by someone, just to show how strong they were) and some grabber machines. We have a couple of goes on the grabbers and we head off looking for somewhere to get drunk.

Do the French not drink? We wander for ages in persuit of a bar without luck. We eventually find one opposite the Casino and another fun-fair. It is run by a man who, once again, cannot speak english. We manage to order some large beers and some rosé for Anna and settle in for night of drinking. Anna asks where the toilet is and leaves to use the facilities. On her return, the guy ushers her behind the bar to use the sink to wash her hands. She informs us that the toilet looks like a walk in freezer complete with bizzar fride style handles on the door.

Anna and Kerry decide they're a bit board, so cross the road and try their luck at the grabber machines again. This timethey are successful (because they cheated and nudged the machine), and win a cuddly toy of Spongebob Squarepants. They are a bit overwelmed by the round of applause they recieve from a group of french people standing at the machine beside them.

As we continue drinking and put the world to rights about who would be the members of our ultimate British band, we are soon shocked to find that the guy that running the bar's 8 or 9 year old daughter is helping out in the bar, pouring and serving alcoholic drinks. Around 2am she begins to pack up all of the chairs and tables from the outside seating area. Feeling sorry for her, Anna and Kerry set about helping her pack up, which receives looks of disgust from the other people in the bar. When it comes to leaving, we request our bill and receive a discount for Kerry and Anna's efforts. We pay, leaving a tip for the girl, and make our way on our marathon journey back to the campsite. On our journey home, Nick keeps us entertained with his impersonations of the Kings of Leon, which were amusing, if not rubbish. We arrive back at the tent around 3.30am, have a couple of drinks and then head to bed, as tomorrow is the final push to Benicassim.

Day 4 - Tuesday 18th July 2006

We wake up on day 4, get washed and pack up our stuff. Nick offers to drive as I'm feeling rough (nothing to do with the drink consumed last night - I blame lack of a propper night's sleep) and we head into the centre of town to grab some breakfast. We all opt for omlettes, either plain, cheese, ham or cheese and ham (cheese and ham... haven't had that before this holiday). The food's not bad, we finish up and hit the road. Next stop, Spain.

We head along the coast on the A9, down through Perpignan, up through the hills and mountains towards the border. As with our passage into France, we are once again shocked to be waved through without being asked to produce our passports. If anyone from the Daily Mail is reading this, you may have been right all along (we actually you haven't but you'll have to wait until you read day 14 to find that out).

Driving in Spain is a lot like driving in France except the speed limits are lower and the petrol costs less. It's also a bit surreal on occasion when you suddenly realise that you are driving your car that a week ago was trundling around the centre of Sunderland is now driving in the Costa Brava and will be passing Salou later today.


The drive is pretty uneventful until we reach the outskirts of Barcelona. I've never been to Barcelona, but I have heard it's quite a picturesque city, but from the road, it appears to be an industrial dump with its skyline dominated my large ugly production/refining plants with large poluting chimneys. But many cities have industrial zones on their outskirts, so I cannot judge it on that merrit alone. I can however judge the roads that pass by the Catalan city. They are just crazy. Large lorrys travel at 70mph and switch from one lane to the next like it's going out of fashion. Their stability at those speeds was made worse with strong cross winds to dangerous levels. It got to the point where Nick had my blessing to put his big heavy lead foot onto the accerator and not stop until we were out of the mayhem. Even the 90+mph speeds that we were doing did not phase me as we hurtled past the wobbly wagons. After around 15 mins the traffic subsided and it was back to normal cruising speed toward Benicassim.

We make good time and its not long before we pass the turnings for Salou and the Port Advenure theme park, and decide to stop at the services for a fill-up... water for us, petrol for the car. On leaving the service station shop, me and Nick are approached by two young females who asked if we speak english. By their accents they sound like they are from Eastern Europe. They ask if we have room in our car to give them a lift to Alicante as their car has broken down. We can see a car a few rows away with the bonnet up and some largish men looking at the engine. We politely say we haven't as they start to get worried as the notice Kerry and Anna appear behind us and we hop into our car and head to the garage for petrol (NB: A good 35 cents cheaper than France). If they were worried about approaching us when they saw the girls, how whould their large "friends" have reacted if we had said "hop in baby"?

Back on the road we finally reach our turn off. We exit via the toll booths and turn onto the local roads. Suddenly all signs for Benicassim are gone. We have no idea where to head so we start to drive arround a sea-side resort that we think could be Benicassim. Its seems very nice (and posh... there were 5 star hotels) but not like it would host a festival. It turns out that we have been driving around Oropesa del Mar for the last 45 minutes. So we leave the town and spot a signpost for Benicassim. We follow the road and turn off at the next junction. This takes us down a steep winding road towards the sea. After what seems like an eternity, we finally round a corner and see Benicassim in all it's glory in front of us.

Our jubilation, however, was short lived. Where on earth was the campsite? Once again the lack of signposts began to frustrate us. For the next 3 HOURS we drive around the whole of Benicassim, search in vain for the elusive Bonet campsite. It all starts to get a bit much, so we decide that calling at the supermarket for our supplies would be the best option. Once in there we spot some festival types and ask them if they knew where Bonet was. Result! It turns out to be just along the road. We hurridly gather up our shopping, pile it on top of the girls in the back of the car and set off to find it.

Pulling up to the entrance of the campsite in the car we think our jouney is finally at an end - WRONG! The very rude security guard can only grunt the words "No coche" before moving a iron railing in the way to stop us from entering the campsite. This forces us to rejoin a major road and we have to travel another 5 miles back to Benicassim's main street. As we pull up on the main street, I jump out of the car and ask a policeman where to park. He's not very helpful but I say thank you anyway and go to rejoin the others. By this time Nick had pulled into the town centre car park which was blocked off by bollards, hence my asking the policemen where abouts to park. We decide to cut our losses and park here. We load ourselves up with tents and head off to the campsite.

At the campsite we get our wristband from the main desk and start to look for somewhere to pitch up. This becomes a prolem as there is nowhere to pitch a tent. We start to parade up and down the walkways, but there is simply no room. We ask a security guard if he knows if there is any room to which he replies that there is none. Then when asked if the other campsites (Camp Fib and Mercat) were open, he tells us that they wouldn't be open until later in the week.

This is a disater. We have travelled 1500 miles and we have nowhere to camp. Fortuately, by luck, we stumble across a small space next to the shower block. It's not big enough for the large tent but if we position correctly we can fit the two small tents. Within minutes our tents are erected. Not that we can relax just yet. We still have the mountains of stuff back at the car to bring to the campsite.

Sometime later we can finally relax. We break open the beer and apple schnapps and have a good old drink. After a beverage or two, Nick finds that he has ran out of cigarettes. This calls for a wander into town. En route we pass three naked english guys walking back to Bonet campsite. Very surreal at 3 in the morning. They did get a compliment from Nick. When I say compliment, I mean he said "nice length" as we passed by. We reach the main street but everywhere is closed (well it was 3 in the morning after all). We bump into some spanish girls as I get directions, in spanish, to a back street bar where we can buy the cigarettes from a vending machine to quench Nick's nicotine craving.

Loaded with cancer-sticks we head back to the campsite for more drink. Unfortuately my memory of what happened next is hazy as the strains of the day and the alcohol take hold. I fall asleep while drinking in my chair. Nick assures me I was trying to stay awake and proving it by still drinking with my eye shut, but as I say, it's all a bit of a blur.



Day 5 - Wednesday 19th July 2006

Wednesday starts with a unwelcome awakening. The sun had hit the side of the tent turning it into a sauna