From the Mountains to the Med

10/10/2013

Ok tonight I am not sure where we are; we travelled up the mountains north of Carcassone in the “Montagne Noir” or black mountains. Our sat-nav ladies quarrelled over the route and we got really lost. I should say we have a Garmin with European maps and the lady is English and we tease her over her French pronunciation. She pronounces Toulouse “towel louse”. Perhaps she got tired of our teasing because she sent us into a mountainous village up hairpin bends and with terrifying drops. At one point over a bridge that could only take 3.5T (our van weighs 3.94 T as we weighed it on ile d’Oleron where we stumbled across an agricultural weighbridge), and then we had to do a 7 point turn and go all the way down again. So we have another satnav, Chinese, with an American woman who sounds like she may be related to Stephen Hawking. She can take GPS directions which can be handy for finding sites, but she also tends to use dirt tracks to get there. Today she seemed to ignore the plunging gorges between roads on either side. She says “Turn sharp right”, and both of us reply “There is no way I am going down there!” Anyway with both of them on, competing for our attention, they do start contradicting each other. One says, turn right, the other says straight on. It is like driving with two argumentative women in the car, neither of whom really knows where they are going.

Fortunately we found another woman, (French as it turns out), in a small village who said correctly; “Vous etre perdu?” – “Oui” - we were definitely lost, so we followed her to the mountain lake site we were after. It is quite spectacular, and we are the only people here, with our van facing the lake. 

We walked around the lake, about 45 minutes, at dusk, seeing ducks and a heron, and I am sure we heard a stag bellowing in the woods. Or was that just me bellowing – Yes we got here!

We bundled up in our winter coats for the walk, and we put up the cab window quilts to insulate the van. It is about 12’ up here. Then we found that the lock to our gas bottles had broken in a shut position, so we could not turn on the gas! Oh no. 

Fortunately we have a spare gas stove in the garage, so we had a hot drink and a hot meal. No hot shower tonight, or in the morning, but we have nice down duvets.

Carol says I must tell you how beautiful the drive was. She is not amused at the arguing satnav ladies. We drove through lovely undulating farmlands growing millet, and sunflowers, and some vegetable fields too. The countryside is just lovely. Then when we went up into the mountains, and when Carol wasn’t saying “too close to the edge”, or “watch those car mirrors” – (in the village on a narrow street), she was saying “Wow, look at that view!”

Of course, I was looking at the road, and missed all the lovely views, especially in the mountains where there were waterfalls, tiny bridges, sheer drops. I just noticed that the lovely Fiat diesel just pulled us up with ease, and somehow we turned around and did impossible hill starts! It was an adventure just getting here.

Tomorrow we must decide between Narbonne and north to Montpellier, or south to Perpignan and then Collioure, a favourite haunt of artists like Picasso and Matisse. What a decision we face!

11/10/2013 Cap D'Agde

What a difference a day makes. You know the saying “one should not shop on an empty stomach” – the result is far too much instant food. Well I think one should also not shop after a cold night with no gas heating. We went to Le Clerk this morning after a frosty night in the mountains and bought winter pyjamas, long sleeved vests, a hot water bottle, nd plenty of food. And whisky. There is no way one can stand cold without whisky.

The gas compartment lock got stuck and would not open, and we slept under duvets and blankets after a short basin wash. Fortunately I have a spare one-ring gas burner in the “garage”. So we had a hot supper and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Then in the morning I managed to get the lock barrel out and open the lock with the end of a screwdriver, so we had central heating on at about 8am. There was frost on the ground and on the roofs of nearby houses, and we were at about 800m up in the mountains, a very beautiful spot.

Coming down off the mountain the road to Carcasonne was blocked off so we decided to go towards Bezier, further north along the coast instead. Ignoring the sat nav lady every time I saw the sign ahead “route barré”, and “deviation”, I plotted my own route, and we find ourselves in Cap d’Agde, which is a charming place. Sandy beaches and a protected harbour with fancy yachts. 2 beers cost nearly €7 at the harbour café, minor extortion. Still if you show your coin, you must be having a good time!

When I buy the yacht, I will need Justin out here to teach me to sail of course. OK maybe I’m not getting one, but you can still dream.

Carol says the best part of the day was the trip down from the mountains, a lovely scenic route. I did not know there were mountains inland from this part of the coast, and all the southern part of the French Med is new to us.

I found Le Clerk to be refreshingly full of everything you could ever need; beside groceries they have lovely fresh fruit and veg, fishmonger, butcher, baker, and cake maker. Then there is the clothing section, the bicycle section, the household appliance section, paint and hardware, household soft furnishings. You almost need a map to get round. We try and buy our diesel from supermarkets, off the autoroutes, where the price is about 10c more expensive per litre. A supermarket fill up saves us about €5 every time.

After we got to the sea, we took our bicycles down to explore. We managed OK until the beers on the harbour front. After that Carol fell off going down a wheelchair ramp in a small shopping centre, and I nearly fell over dismounting. The new French saddles are fab, and Le Clerk had a pair of fingerless cycling gloves with extra padding on the palms and thumb, which Carol says helped her hand strain as she leans forward on her handlebars. What we really need for this part of France is a small dog with elaborate styling, and fancy high heels to walk alongside. (The heels are for Madame, not the dog.)

12/10/2013

We explored the local town St Pierre sur Mer, which has a long sandy beach with a promenade and the usual run of shops and restaurants and cafés opposite. Then I went to consult someone at the garage with my problem; I am running out of gas, and have only two British type bottles and the connecting tubes for these. I need to buy a French bottle of propane and tubes to connect. Will I also need a gas regulator to fit? It takes a little time and a mixture of bad French and bad English to come to a decision. I will have little joy with butane since it freezes in winter and is unsuitable for camping cars, and the two have different regulator pressures. It would be best to see what pressure my regulator is set to, and then buy what I need.

Back at the van I see that my regulator is set to 3 millibar, and I could run a French bottle of propane on this if I can just get tubing, some jubilee clips and a T-piece. Another trip to a large supermarket or hardware store might be helpful, perhaps on Monday.

Sunday 13/10/2013

We sleep in late and have to go into town after breakfast to find a public toilet. We have decided to keep our toilet cassette use for number ones only, since this is easier and painless to empty and rinse. This way we also get to rate local towns and villages by the quality of the public WC.

St Pierre sur Mer has stainless steel bogs. This is in my opinion, worse than ceramic bogs without seats, but Carol disagrees. Anyway, they are invariably next to the local tourist office, and here this TO is a good looking place. Being Sunday it is closed, but they have a video screen which is touch sensitive, and so we find out that today and for the next few days we expect fine weather and day time temperatures of 22-25’ C, which is great.

There is a Sunday market in full swing in the carpark by the sea. We have a leisurely coffee, and then make an even more leisurely circuit around the market. We sample some saucisson, and buy a dozen slices to eat as we walk round. I am tempted to buy a cheap day date display clock, since it has an LCD display that also gives the temperature. Our van came with a thermometer, which reads from -20 to + 30, and the difference between 15’ and 25’ is so small. It seems always to read 20’. In fact on the coldest day up in the mountains 2 days ago, it read about 15’, and it does indeed read about 25’ today. However I am only sure of that since I saw the display in the tourist office. Anyway, I let the urge to buy some useless tat pass, and we walk on. We do buy a Sunday roast – at €10 a rotisserie cooked chicken and some oil cooked new potatoes is impossible to resist.

We go home to have a hot roast dinner with a beer shandy. After lunch we walk to the beach, and it is warm enough to sunbathe and read. We see a few other people swimming, so we venture in. The water is cold, perhaps about 15’, but you get used to it, after all it is never warmer swimming in Cornwall in the height of summer. The Med has such a long pleasant season; perhaps one could swim in the sea from April to October.

There was a Sunday junior tennis club playing on the courts less than 50 metres away all morning, and afterwards, some adults played on till the early afternoon. I thought about going to ask if I might join in, but decided I was not much in the mood for tennis.  Or perhaps my French is just too rusty for the demands of socialising.

Today has felt like a fabulous day at the Med; sleep in, leisurely breakfast and then a wander round the local market to buy a roast chicken for lunch and dinner, and some fresh bread. A swim in the sea, then walkback from the beach, feed the sparrows with stale bread, watch a little tennis. Read a novel, enjoy the calm and quiet environment. Carol sits darning some holes in my old wool jumpers with matching wool, ready to provide a winter choice.

One of my absent-minded moments today was to leave the keys to my motorcycle in the bike, and complete the casual picture with two helmets hanging on either handgrip. An invitation to take the bike away would not be resisted in Britain. Here in the south of France, on a busy market day, nobody has bothered.

We looked in the estate agents and could afford a small village house or even a small villa near the beach here. We might take a look at some before moving on towards Spain.