France – My even older Holiday Weblog

Almost ready to move on – Languedoc #7

For the youngsters hereabouts, the challenge seemed to be attempting to kill themselves. The bridge over the river – Devil’s Bridge, was over the years, built at various levels. They would jump from the bridge, into the river, from various heights. Children would use the bridge foundations as a starting point but older kids would jump from the metal stanchions into the river. So far so good, but even older kids (all males btw, late teens, early twenties), would jump from the road bridge into the river. That had to be 60’ at best – they must have been mad. d65206c630bfc7ae72b026b923ef6cd8

Apparently, there ARE 3-4 fatalities every year from just this practice.

Higher up, to the west of where we are, there is a lake, which we also visited on another day. We didn’t stay as we couldn’t find a way to the water. There was a massive car park though, miles from anywhere but no sign of how to get anywhere from it. So, we left and went to the coast again.

This time we went along the strip of coats between Agde and Sete. There was mile after mile of lovely flat golden sand, with parking on the roadside, no more than a few yards from the sea. We thought that this was a marvellous beach. It had ‘proper’ sandcastle-building sand, was a safe depth for quite a way out and its only drawback was its distance from St. Jean de Fos! Oh, and, the traffic. Well, we were ok, as we knew the back roads, so we only had to circumnavigate Agde, and we were away. Others however, queued and queued. It was windy however – I guess that this is an aspect of the South of France. We had brought a good beach umbrella with us from Costco (Leeds) – and it was well worth the car-space. It screws into the sand, which gave it extra leverage – others just upped and blew away. Ours did not.

The day before we left, to move on to Saint Tropez, we visited the Grotte de Clamouse. This was an experience worth having. I’m sure that I would have enjoyed it even more if we hadn’t needed to avoid and step over all of the budding Steven Spielberg’s with their cameras and camcorders AND sheer ignorance of everyone else’s enjoyment of the caves. The sights inside were spectacular and colourful and the organised tour is well designed – but they really should limit the camera opportunities.

Image from https://www.minube.net/place/the-devils-bridge-pont-du-diable–a359681 with thanks.

Le Herault – Languedoc #6

Talking food
One of the nicer things about food in France is that it is so fresh. We had figs straight from the tree that were just delicious; peaches were firm and luscious. You can hear the vegetables in the various markets saying “please buy me – look, I’m gorgeous AND I’ll excite your taste buds”. And that’s what we did, we let the produce seduce us into cooking and preparing our own meals. We didn’t eat out, we just bought the local produce and turned it into something delicious. Even the bread sold in local bakers had an attitude. I’d never seen so many types of bread as I did in St. Jean de Fos. Some of the grizzlier specimens were sold by the kilo (which I’d never seen before and only rarely since): It was as if it was saying “You want some of me? – YOU’LL HAVE TO PAY!” – and when you did it was wonderful, crispy, chewy (teeth were in danger of bending under the impact of such texture), full of flavour and even the shapes had temperament. Needless to say, I haven’t eaten much of the cotton-wooly, namby-pamby pap we have¹ to put up with back home and I have been tempted to start making my own again. However, that takes time and effort, both of which are under pressure at this time.

One morning, early in the week, we spent the time just driving through the hills and mountains of the area – l’Herault. The river gorge that is formed here is very picturesque and had it not been so hot (it was getting warmer every day now and less cloudy) it might have been nice to set off walking in the hills with a picnic.

However, the roads are narrow, twisty and need a lot of care. The villages are pretty, but it’s hard to see where their living comes from. The trees around the area were all pretty much the same, but very few of them olive trees. The farmers in the lowlands are being given grant to replace their old vines with olive groves, something they are doing with the usual French panache. You will see mile after mile of vines, both young and old but here and there are small pockets of land planted with olive trees. Obviously, the grants are sufficient to make it worthwhile pulling up their least productive vines but not enough to alter the landscape too much². Nevertheless, I honestly think that if there was to be a grant for planting porridge trees, French farmers would find a way to claim the grant – but not at the cost of their vines.

We stopped at the river beach for the afternoon. This is a very pretty place, formed where the mountain suddenly stops at the edge of the 30-mile plain that runs to the sea. The momentum of the River Herault is suddenly stopped by the lack of gradient and large, very deep pool is formed, underneath what is known locally as Devil’s Bridge. Here, like its namesake in Wales, there are a succession of bridges built (over time) one upon the other, at the gateway to the Herault Gorges. The beach itself is shale and pebbles (uncomfortable) and the water is very cold. Nevertheless, as the week went on it did warm up enough for me to swim. We could I suppose, have carried everything we needed to the river and left the car behind but it was over a mile back to the flat, so we didn’t. We drove the car to the beach and left it to melt in the hot sun.

Coming up – suicidal youngsters and the caves.

1 – And haven’t for a long long time now. https://saturdaywalks.wordpress.com/2012/01/18/chorleywood-bread-sic-process/

2 – Wines from Languedoc were JUST becoming more popular at that time and looking back, it seems to have been an odd suggestion (ripping up vines).

Flat Battery – Languadoc #5

The village of St. Jean de Fos is very old and its occupants are very sociable. People kept stopping to say ‘hello’. For such a small place, the village centre always seemed to be buzzing. I spent the first day here lounging about and getting some rest after our long drive down, but then, on Monday morning I was up early and out for a walk – as I did each morning afterwards.

Our first visit to the (sea) beach took some time to organise as I woke up to a flat battery.

The week before we set off on holiday, I had had a new radio fitted in the car and was told it was connected to the battery but not to the ignition – this would help to remind me to remove the radio each evening and NOT get it stolen¹. Well, the day we arrived, I did forget to remove the radio and although it was ‘off’ it still managed to drain the battery. Luckily, Jim (Lynn’s husband) had a friend in the village with jump-leads. Imagine that, jump-leads in the very south of France. Still, they worked for us and we set off for Agde. It wasn’t the nicest of beaches, but we were glad to get there after almost an hour’s drive. I was longing to take a dip in the Mediterranean, it is always so warm. Not today though, because of the recent bad weather, the sea was still fairly chilly. Still – it wasn’t Scarborough eh?

The drive to and from Cap Agde was stunning. Of the full thirty or so miles there, roughly eighteen of them were down an avenue of Plane Trees which kept the by now very hot, sun off you while driving. And, this was not the main road: That was full of traffic trying to get to Montpellier or Beziers. This was just a local (D) road that went in the right direction. Despite being such a road, we were able to maintain speeds close to the national limit, which in my car at the time, kept fuel consumption to a minimum².

That night, I set the habit for the rest of the week and played boules outside – with the locals. I really enjoyed that, but it was not what Sharon had come to do, so she sat and read. During this first evening, I was intrigued to find that the village clock chimes the hour twice, just before the hour and just after³. It also strikes just once on the half hour. However, at first, I wasn’t aware of this and at 22:30pm when it ‘bonged’ once, I thought it was 01:00am and declined another game (I thought they were just playing late). I went upstairs to the flat, told Sharon what time it was and off we went to bed.

She did tell me later that she knew the correct time, she simply didn’t want to embarrass me.

Coming up – the mountains, the lake and the gorgeous beaches of Sete.

1 – Cars in those days were notorious for having radios stolen. These days, perhaps not as much.

2 – I then wrote a paragraph about the taxation of fuel that we have to bear in the UK – nothing changes eh? At the time, French petrol was up to 14p per litre cheaper than at home.

3 – I’ve been to Languedoc and experienced this many times since, but this was my first experience.

Arrival in St. Jean de Fos – Languedoc #4

As soon as we arrived in Gignac, we went shopping, as once these shops have closed on Saturday, there’s nothing else until Monday morning, when the shops are usually rammed. We bought a pizza to cook in the oven that night. Nice and easy. Except, it turned out that there was no oven! (face palm)

The flat (Gîte) we were staying in was owned by the couple downstairs. They are English and had lived here in the village, for five years. They had been coming to the area for twenty years and have owned the property for eleven years – so they are almost locals. Their house was along a small lane just on the outskirts of St. Jean de Fos. The village itself is just off the main tourist route to Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, and the Grotte de Clamouse. It hosts the Devil’s Bridge river beach, which turned out to be very convenient¹.

The owner Lynn, speaks fairly good French but her husband doesn’t – he simply plays boules very well. I thought boules only involved two balls each but here they use three – perhaps this is petanque? Who knows! They told us that the recent weather had been truly awful, much the same as it had been in England. They took great delight by trying to make me feel guilty that the cloud we had driven under all the way down, was the same cloud we had had back home. As it if was my fault! It did clear up eventually however.

The flat was nice, with a large living/eating/cooking area – with a window to the outside. Very cool and airy. A long, cool corridor then takes you to two large bedrooms and a well-equipped bathroom, with both bath and shower. The owners are converting the back of the house too and will soon be able to offer extended accommodation, or two separate lettings.

The only problem that we had with the set-up was that any outside activities such as barbecuing or simply sitting outside, was shared with the owners AND across the road and down a flight of steps. By the time I had cooked a meal, I couldn’t be bothered to carry everything down two flights of stairs and across the road. Besides, we often had two or three courses which would each have to be fetched when ready. Barbecues are ok, but I’m not one for lighting one just to cook a couple of pieces of meat – I’d rather do that for a larger group.

Next – we venture out.

1 – The sea was about 30 miles away.

Tarn Gorge – Languedoc #3

As we moved off and away from the hotel we had stayed in last night, it was windy and slightly overcast. The road was wet from overnight rain, but the sun did eventually start to break through. We had elected for long trousers and trainers today – it was not hot.

Just around the corner, we found the hotel that the receptionist in St. Flour must have mentioned. The Hotel Garabit is a fairly gothic sort of structure, something you might expect the Count of Monte Cristo to be staying in. It overlooks a vast and truly delightful lake, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since I went to Oz. It reminded me of Berowra Waters, just north of Hornsby (just north of Sydney). The road we were on, which up until now, perhaps five minutes from the hotel, had been pretty mundane, wound its way down to the lakeside and along it for several miles. There were hotels here by the score – something to remember for the future¹.

The road wound through various types of kind-to-the-eye countryside until it reached the motorway again – just a couple of exits from where we had left it last night. We decided that, as our road was empty, and we were getting these visual treats, we would stay on the ‘B’ road (D road in France) for as long as we could. The map we were using suggested that there might be hold-ups on the motorway, close to a couple of towns en-route, so it would be good to miss those.

After meandering for about an hour, Betony became bored and we began to play a game that involved us getting points for things that we saw along the way. We made up the rules as we went along: 1 point for a poppy, 5 points for a sheep (until we realised that we were in sheep country), 2 points for a church, 2 points for a cyclist (but 10 points for a female cyclist – much rarer), 50 points for an elephant, and so on. Much later, we gave this game up, but as we approached St. Tropez the following week, we saw quite a few elephants!

We eventually (fairly soon) rounded bend and there in front of us was the most wonderful sight. We had come out above the Tarn Gorge. None of our maps had suggested that we were this close. Once again, this beautiful area reminded me of my time in Oz, especially, because of our elevated position, the Blue Mountains. The drop down the side of the gorge was quite frightening but when we reached the bottom it was like a fairy grotto for several miles along the riverside. All the villages were geared up for tourists and we found it hard to park. In fact, we decided to have lunch on an outcrop of rock overlooking the gorge from the bottom end. It rained slightly as we sat on our picnic rug, wrapped in waterproof coats.

The route we were now on looked like it might take us to our ultimate destination via the D roads. All we had to do was find the correct turning – with no clues². So, we turn back to the Autoroute and ended up dropping down another yet mountain into Millau³ – where we had missed the first lot of traffic jams.

We made good progress for several miles before becoming becalmed on the motorway, for no apparent reason.

From here onwards, the countryside that the road wound through was truly magnificent. Almost all the way down to Gignac the scenery was terrific and would certainly be a lovely journey at another, quieter time of year.

^{TBC – we arrive}

1 – How I can have written this and not mentioned the Garabit Viaduct, I cannot imagine. Much in this area has changed over the intervening years but not the viaduct. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garabit_viaduct

Garabit

2 – The sign-posting at this point was abysmal and although we could see that we had to pass through ‘Vieux de Montpellier’ we were not prepared to pay. Apparently (although I can find no reference to this form of words today – 2019), this is a national park and if you want to pass though, you are charged per occupant. There was no saying that the road actually went to the town we wanted either.

3 – Millau has changed beyond all recognition in the intervening years. See https://flic.kr/p/frdkzs

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