Why did the 20 ft tall chicken cross the road? Answer: Because who’s going to stop it?
That was in Bresse - the 20ft chicken. Bresse is proud of its chickens, apparently, and this monster stood alongside the road with a definite intention-to-cross poise. European food producers love to advertise their local specialities with huge metal structures road-side or hill top. The chicken I cooked last night in the thermal cooker must have come from the same metal stock - it was solidly built and far from melt-in-the-mouth!
A long drive down through the Rhône valley and then on Monday we arrived, like river silt (I could do with a good shower), in the Camargue. It is Europe’s largest river delta where the Rhône meets the Med. The rain is still with us, though we have finally met some sunshine and warmth. The Camargue, on the west side of the French Riviera, is the land of white horses, flamingoes, birds of all kinds, bull breeding and bull running, pink salt lakes, wineries and......mosquitoes. Some of them have dined out on us.
We parked up in a 13 Euro per night beach front aire just outside Saintes Maries de la Mer. In May a huge and colourful gypsy festival takes place in this town as the gypsy saint, Black Sara, is honoured. It’s not far from Nimes and Arles where Roman amphitheaters and other ancient remains are a tourist draw. A nearby fortress town, Aigues Mortes, also attracts tourists for the views it provides of the pink salt lakes from its ramparts. A medieval fort, it died as it became more and more cut off from access to the sea by build up of river silt. Apparently at some point in the C14th it was resurrected as a prison, then became a town in the C19th and now a tourist attraction.
Tuesday
After a bit of a muck out while the morning was warm and sunny (and the mozzies weren’t too much in evidence) we headed off again across the Camargue towards Aigues Mortes. Google info tells me that the name means “dead waters” but Google translates it as “dead highs”, so there you go. In my imagination we were going to visit a ghostly relic of the past, sinking slowly into the brackish waters of the salty delta. In fact it is a bustling town, well set up for commerce and tourism. The walls around the ‘old town’ are in excellent nick, and the ramparts provide for a circular elevated walk around it (for 8 Euros, but no dogs allowed). To satisfy my magpie eye we sauntered through the cobbled streets, taking in the smells intended to entice tourists into the bars, restaurants and souvenir shops. The one that succeeded in drawing me in was a condiments shop - a wonderland of all things for the culinary art of adding flavour. A couple of expensive salt-related items and a bag of red Camargue rice and I came out 17 Euros lighter and minus the tapenade Gareth thought I’d gone in for.
Wednesday
In spite of the aire we were in being town-centre and right at the gateway to Aigues Morte (20 Euro per night inc services; no leccy) we’d had a peaceful night. Continuing our route south we headed towards Montpelier across the scenic, salty lagoons in bright sunshine, had an argument with Ms Sat Nav when she lost the plot (probably something to do with a new road she didn’t recognise) and eventually found ourselves out in hill country, circumventing the busy sprawling towns of Montpelier and Narbonne. Hymer is grumbling again. It rather looks as though the wheel-bearing fix we had done before we came away hasn’t been done properly. Great! Gareth’s evenings are now being spent trawling the Net for suitable repair services.
Anyway, our night stop in Peyriac de Mer (an aire at the local recreation ground) provided the first real treat of this trip. Old salt lagoons that are now conservation areas have boardwalks and paths for keen walkers and leisurely strollers. It’s possible to swim, too, the salt (twice as salty as the Med) providing buoyancy. The lagoons are quite shallow, the largest being 4m at its deepest. The dogs bounded about, scaring the ducks and paddling before we found ourselves in the little town. We suspect that most of the homes there are holiday pads and some are very well appointed with things like electric gates. The little bar drew us in for some chat (very incompetent French on my part), a couple of local beers for Gareth and a very nice glass of white for me while the dogs charmed the local soaks. They were clearly interested in our dogs’ hunting pedigree (we’ll have to keep a close eye on our Bess and Pwdin!)
We board-walked back to the van across moonlit waters, the yellow lights of the little town mirrored quay-side. French wine does wonders for the joie-de-vivre but I wonder how many mohomers succeed in staggering back to their rigs without getting wet.
Thursday
After a lazy start, we decided not to move on today. The weather is quite cold and grey but we fancied a real leg stretch and this locality, Peyriac de Mer, south of Narbonne, is really interesting to walk around (check it out on Google maps - it’s fascinating). A cold stiff breeze kept the mozzies from biting, we all had a good workout and overview of this place, ate pizza at the little cafe in town and then snuggled up in a nice toastie warm van. Tomorrow we try to hunt down a repair shop for Hymer.
Aigues Mortes
Where’s Moggy?
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