Upon arriving at La Rive, a campsite in the South of France; my home for the next two weeks, I couldn't wait to really get started on my summer holiday. My friend Charlie and her parents had adopted the privilege of being my family for the next fourteen days, which would be bursting with the wonders of having summer on a French campsite. The sun, a swimming pool, delicious food, and endless time for relaxing; what more could you ask for?
Whilst we were shown to our pitch, I could hear a bell ringing, the sound resonating around the site. Wondering what it could mean, Charlie and I changed into our bikinis and some shorts, and began to explore. The resort was full of little 'streets' of pitches and mobile homes. Each one was decorated with several hanging baskets of flowers, which were of the brightest colours. The pinks, blues, purples, and yellows seemed to glow in the light of the midday sun, which pleasantly heated my skin as we ventured through the site. I remember thinking ‘Wow, this definitely beats the endless stretch of French countryside we encountered on the way, and most certainly beats the classy overnight stay in the car park of a service station last night’. Unfortunately, the soundtrack of the many humming lorries just outside our caravan had provided a restless night’s sleep for me, and my window view of exhaust pipes and concrete hadn’t exactly been picturesque. Fancy hotels? Nah, not for me thanks.
After a relaxing first day spent by the pool, we had to tackle our first night at La Rive. Although Charlie’s parents would be sleeping in the caravan, we would be sleeping in a small tent just outside. And so we made a start on the evening’s first tent task; putting it up. This proved to be a lot more hassle than it seemed, with Charlie and I grasping corners of the tent like we were about to fold a large sheet, her dad scrambling around trying to make sense of the instructions, and her mum shouting things like “For god’s sake, Tim, this isn’t bloody rocket science!”. It must have looked rather comical to the neighboring families. The tent was soon up and secured, however, and after a night’s sleep I could surprisingly say that it was actually pretty comfortable in there. You know, as comfortable as a blow-up mattress on the ground could be.
And so our holiday began. Warm mornings eating fresh croissants, my favourite breakfast, hot afternoons in the mini water park, and cool evenings playing cards on the grass; we had it all. Speaking of water parks, we discovered the source of the occasional ringing that we could hear from across the campsite. Unfortunately, we discovered it the hard way. We were trying to avoid getting too wet during our first trip into the water park, as we had not yet been in the water, which was rather cold in comparison with the midday heat. However, things did not go according to plan. Looming above the large blue slide, one of four, was a giant bucket, and every so often a bell would begin to chime, warning all those below that the bucket was about to tip water over their heads. Two soaking wet teenagers later, we returned to our towels, laughing hysterically at the look that had been on the other’s face upon realising the bell’s purpose, a few seconds too late.
A particular highlight of mine was the little boy whose pitch was almost opposite ours. He couldn’t have been any older than 5 or 6 and, being French, could not speak a word of English. But this didn’t stop him becoming our favourite holiday friend. Our first encounter with him was on our fifth evening. Charlie and I had stepped out to play a game of badminton in front of our pitch and after a while we noticed that a little boy was watching us out of his caravan window. Upon our spotting him, he ducked down and his face did not reappear that night. However, the next evening when we did the same, he was standing outside his caravan, waiting for us. Not at first realising he was French, we said ‘hello!’, but were answered with a blank stare. He stood silently, observing our badminton game for some time before interacting with us. When Charlie whacked the shuttlecock so hard that it flew past my head, this little boy rushed over to it, picked it up, and handed it to me. I thanked him and smiled, and he promptly skipped back to his watching position. This continued to happen every time one of us dropped the shuttlecock until he was called in for dinner. The next evening when he appeared, he begun performing strange actions, such as stamping his feet or jumping up and down, all while grinning cheekily. We didn’t understand what he was doing, so when he next stamped his feet, I copied him. This made him laugh, and it became a game of ours; we would copy all these little movements he was performing. It was clear we had formed a true friendship when he picked us each one of the bright flowers from the nearby hanging basket. Charlie had a yellow one, and I, a purple, and we displayed them proudly in our hair. Every evening following we met him on the ‘street’ and he would play like this with us until he had to go inside. But after a while, during one day, while Charlie and I were sitting on the grass in our pitch, he ran over to us with his hands behind his back. When he pulled them out we saw he had a small sweet enclosed in each of them, and he gave one to Charlie and one to me before skipping off back to his caravan. We didn’t realise that these were in fact his parting gifts to us, and so the morning after we were quite disheartened to see his pitch empty, his caravan gone. But we savoured the thought of our little friend, who we grew to love in such a short space of time, without speaking a word of conversation to him.
Whilst we were shown to our pitch, I could hear a bell ringing, the sound resonating around the site. Wondering what it could mean, Charlie and I changed into our bikinis and some shorts, and began to explore. The resort was full of little 'streets' of pitches and mobile homes. Each one was decorated with several hanging baskets of flowers, which were of the brightest colours. The pinks, blues, purples, and yellows seemed to glow in the light of the midday sun, which pleasantly heated my skin as we ventured through the site. I remember thinking ‘Wow, this definitely beats the endless stretch of French countryside we encountered on the way, and most certainly beats the classy overnight stay in the car park of a service station last night’. Unfortunately, the soundtrack of the many humming lorries just outside our caravan had provided a restless night’s sleep for me, and my window view of exhaust pipes and concrete hadn’t exactly been picturesque. Fancy hotels? Nah, not for me thanks.
After a relaxing first day spent by the pool, we had to tackle our first night at La Rive. Although Charlie’s parents would be sleeping in the caravan, we would be sleeping in a small tent just outside. And so we made a start on the evening’s first tent task; putting it up. This proved to be a lot more hassle than it seemed, with Charlie and I grasping corners of the tent like we were about to fold a large sheet, her dad scrambling around trying to make sense of the instructions, and her mum shouting things like “For god’s sake, Tim, this isn’t bloody rocket science!”. It must have looked rather comical to the neighboring families. The tent was soon up and secured, however, and after a night’s sleep I could surprisingly say that it was actually pretty comfortable in there. You know, as comfortable as a blow-up mattress on the ground could be.
And so our holiday began. Warm mornings eating fresh croissants, my favourite breakfast, hot afternoons in the mini water park, and cool evenings playing cards on the grass; we had it all. Speaking of water parks, we discovered the source of the occasional ringing that we could hear from across the campsite. Unfortunately, we discovered it the hard way. We were trying to avoid getting too wet during our first trip into the water park, as we had not yet been in the water, which was rather cold in comparison with the midday heat. However, things did not go according to plan. Looming above the large blue slide, one of four, was a giant bucket, and every so often a bell would begin to chime, warning all those below that the bucket was about to tip water over their heads. Two soaking wet teenagers later, we returned to our towels, laughing hysterically at the look that had been on the other’s face upon realising the bell’s purpose, a few seconds too late.
A particular highlight of mine was the little boy whose pitch was almost opposite ours. He couldn’t have been any older than 5 or 6 and, being French, could not speak a word of English. But this didn’t stop him becoming our favourite holiday friend. Our first encounter with him was on our fifth evening. Charlie and I had stepped out to play a game of badminton in front of our pitch and after a while we noticed that a little boy was watching us out of his caravan window. Upon our spotting him, he ducked down and his face did not reappear that night. However, the next evening when we did the same, he was standing outside his caravan, waiting for us. Not at first realising he was French, we said ‘hello!’, but were answered with a blank stare. He stood silently, observing our badminton game for some time before interacting with us. When Charlie whacked the shuttlecock so hard that it flew past my head, this little boy rushed over to it, picked it up, and handed it to me. I thanked him and smiled, and he promptly skipped back to his watching position. This continued to happen every time one of us dropped the shuttlecock until he was called in for dinner. The next evening when he appeared, he begun performing strange actions, such as stamping his feet or jumping up and down, all while grinning cheekily. We didn’t understand what he was doing, so when he next stamped his feet, I copied him. This made him laugh, and it became a game of ours; we would copy all these little movements he was performing. It was clear we had formed a true friendship when he picked us each one of the bright flowers from the nearby hanging basket. Charlie had a yellow one, and I, a purple, and we displayed them proudly in our hair. Every evening following we met him on the ‘street’ and he would play like this with us until he had to go inside. But after a while, during one day, while Charlie and I were sitting on the grass in our pitch, he ran over to us with his hands behind his back. When he pulled them out we saw he had a small sweet enclosed in each of them, and he gave one to Charlie and one to me before skipping off back to his caravan. We didn’t realise that these were in fact his parting gifts to us, and so the morning after we were quite disheartened to see his pitch empty, his caravan gone. But we savoured the thought of our little friend, who we grew to love in such a short space of time, without speaking a word of conversation to him.
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