The flight with Royal Dutch Airlines is great. The handsome steward serves a tasteful meal and the sight on the snowy, white mountains is amazing.

The pilot treats us to a perfect landing on the sunbaked Airport of Nice.

Côte d’Azur, here we are!

We grab our luggage from the conveyer belt, and jump on the bus that will bring us to the city of Antibes, where we’ve booked a luxurious Mobil Home on a Campsite.

When we leave the bus, it turns out the Travel Agency gave us directions for car drivers, coming from the nearest Turnpike exit, at the other side of town.

Fortunately, I’ve been a Girl Scout in a former life, and after a long but fertile search we drag ourselves to the entrance of the Campsite.

“Debby Vacances” a rusty signboard says in French. It means “Debby’s Holidays”.

At last!

A young girl escorts us to our Mobil Home. When she opens the door a whirl of sand and dead ants welcome us.

“It doesn’t look very tidy here,” I say reluctantly.

“It’s perfectly clean,” the girl assures us. Waving, she jumps on her bike and scoots away.

We go in, and glance around.

It’s everything but luxurious.

The floor is dirty, and covered with fire ants and crumbs.
The light bulb above the table is broken, the curtains are frayed, and the fridge is rusty. A broken folding laundry rack leans against the grubby wall.

Walking around, we find sand coming from the shower and obvious traces of a previous occupant in the toilet.

Good grief!

After complaining about the mess, I sit down on the twin bed in the poorly furnished bedroom.

Groaning loudly, the bed starts moving and shaking like a rowing boat in a violent autumn storm. Startled, I leap to my feet. Geez, that was a narrow escape.

I rush to a garden chair on the weed covered terrace, but the chair is hard and gives off some sticky green muck.

Exhausted, I make myself comfortable on the concrete flight of steps in front of the not so luxurious Mobil Home and try to relax with a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

The sun shines brightly and little birds sing wonderful songs high up in the exuberantly blooming trees.

That’s to say.... I can hear them from time to time only, because there’s a landing airplane right above my head every three minutes.

“I say,” an English sounding voice exclaims, ”We’ve got new neighbors.”

When I look up, there’s a plump gentleman in an immaculate black suit standing in front of me. He beams at me, and I grant him a tired smile in return.

“Is the broken bed repaired yet?” he asks.

“Is the broken bed repaired yet?” I repeat in a sheepish manner. “What do you mean?”

“Quite simple,” he explains with another charming beam. “My brother broke the bed yesterday, and he and his wife moved to another Mobil Home right away.”

An enormous anger fills my chest.

Perfectly clean, hey? Rotten liars!

I smile at the neighbor, and rolling up my sleeves I march straight to the Campsite’s reception desk.

I’ll teach them!

Greetings from The Netherlands,

    :-) Anita Verkerk.