Apart from a couple of nuts falling off the tree onto the roof it was a silent night, but like many French villages, Arette turns off the church bells at night and come 07:30 the tower chimes out forty-three o'clock to catch up.

It's bright and sunny as we set off, immediately climbing out of the town and passing pasture land leading away to the mountains. We stop in Issor, a little village with the church square looking over the valley. The elegant, blue-shuttered Marie is decorated with flowers, and swallows and butterflies swoop and flit around the gardens.

A wrong turn on the junction for the N134 takes us south to Escot. As wrong turns go, it's a beauty, as we run beside the river at the bottom of a bare faced gorge. Just beyond the large, arched viaduct d'Escot we make a U-turn back north. All the time the high peaks are becoming more prominent, the gentler midi-pyrenees now well behind us. At Asasp-Arros the D918 takes us through the thick woods of the Bois du Bager, on a sinuous, snaking road that would class as two-lanes were it two Renault-4's passing each other, but for a motorhome and a tractor hauling logs it's a slow squeeze past one another - sort of 'I won't touch yours if you don't touch mine' kind of manoeuvre. Cambered bends and sticking out telegraph poles make for slow and careful progress, but it's beautiful in the dappled light, among the trees and ferns which are just getting their autumn jackets ready.

From Arudy the D934 is a wide, relatively flat road along the valley towards Laruns. Just before the town we stop in a supermarket for a few things and have lunch in the car park. Laruns' main claim to fame is that its chateau is where the fictional musketeer, Aramis, was to die. The centre of town is a tall marble fountain topped with a bicycle and bearing banners for the Lourdes-Laruns stage of TdF.

Leaving Laruns the D934 starts its climb up the Vallee d'Ossau, narrowing from the wide, fast road north of town, to an only-just-two-lane strip of tarmac with more hairpins than Toni&Guy. Jagged rock faces tower up on one side and a small stone wall lurks menacingly, like an iceberg, on the other, threatening to punish any error of navigation. At every opportunity we wave following cars through and often get a toot or flash of thanks. Groups of motorbikes are also let past, going one by one, each waving the next through until a wave, cheer or toot from the last one. They can race on for their fun while we go prudently enjoying the scenery.

Halfway to our destination is the little thermal springs town of les-Eaux-Chaudes, a one street affair with a MoHo service point that would be hard to use without blocking the road. Apart from the one town, only a few hydroelectric power houses and the road surface indicate human presence here.

We continue up the valley twirling the wheel from lock to lock, marvelling at the enormous scenery and watching the altitude rise on the satnav until we pass 4200ft.

Almost at journey's end we pass the concrete dam that has created Lac de Fabreges and drive along the lakeside, from where we can see a row of motorhomes on the far side. A few minutes later we find our spot among them, looking over the emerald green water to the pine forests, mountains and ski slopes. Ali, who dreamed of coming here since seeing the picture in the Camperstop book, bursts into tears of joy, then phones Nick and Grete to share her excitement.

In the evening cloud descends like smoke over the mountain tops and hangs in the trees, and there are a few heavy showers.

Dinner is baked hake fillet with potatoes and ratatouille, plus a bottle of bubbly to celebrate making Ali's dreams come true.