Aigues Mortes and the salt marshes

Squeezed in a quick visit to the fortified town of Aigues Mortes on the edge of the Camargue National Park. The town is on the flat and completely hidden by massive ramparts. As you enter the town you wonder if you have stepped back in time or perhaps dropped into a different world.

The Camargue’s vast wetland is an invaluable environment for a wide range of plant and animal life and the production of salt on the marshes at Aigues Mortes provides an additional dimension to the ecosystem.

Salt has been produced at Aigues Mortes since the Roman times. The salt farmers fill enormous ponds with sea water and, with the help of the wind and the sun and some clever drainage, the sea water evaporates to leave water saturated with salt and finally this crystallizes to form a salt cake which can be harvested.

The salt lakes spread out in a beautiful spectrum of pinks. Brine shrimps are one of the few species able to live in this highly concentrated sea water and these tiny pink shrimps, beloved of hungry flamingos, give the pink colour to the flamingos’ feathers.

 Today the operation covers an area similar to the size of Paris (or 13,000 football pitches if you prefer) and the marshes are criss-crossed by over 340km of roads and tracks.

Unfortunately the only way to actually visit this area is by tourist train. We chose the stormiest, windiest day and the latest possible train with the grumpiest driver in the world. Added to that, we sat at the rear of the train with our backs to the direction of travel. The tour lasted an interminable 75 minutes of vertebrae-smashing, knee-knocking, eye-smarting agony.

But the views were stunning (for the first ten minutes).

Walls of Aigues Mortes in the distance

Too cold for a flamingo today!

Millau Viaduct

Visited the magnificent Millau Viaduct which elegantly dominates an entire valley. There is also an excellent visitor centre where you can watch a documentary about the building of the bridge.

Arles

This summer we have lived and breathed Roman life thanks to our two onboard gladiators. Arles, so important to Julius Caesar, just had to be visited. Even better, Arles was hosting a Roman festival. Better yet – Arles was Van Gogh’s old stomping ground. There would be something for all of us to enjoy.

Arles is a fabulous city to explore on foot and the Tourist Office have produced an excellent user-friendly guide (only €1) which introduces you to Roman, Medieval, Renaissance and Van Gogh aspects.

We started with the Van Gogh walk. Van Gogh had arrived in Arles in 1888 and the following 15 months turned out to be his most productive period : over 300 paintings and drawings. Panels representing some of his more famous pieces have been placed at the spot where Van Gogh would have placed his easel.

"Cafe Terrace at night" but visited in the day

After a picnic lunch in the Place de la Republique we visited the Roman theatre (circa 20BC) and sweltered in the heat as we explored it.

Then at 3pm we hot-footed it to Gladiator School where the boys enrolled on an unbelievably gruelling session of combat drill conducted in furiously fast French and Latin. It was exhausting to watch. Dan, inspired by a recently devoured set of 15 books entitled “Roman Mysteries”, got into role very quickly and took his training seriously. Cal caught the bug from Dan. The boys were brilliant. Unaware tourists strolling through the training area did not stand a chance as mini gladiators attacked them with swords and shields.

After Gladiator graduation we visited the Amphitheatre (built circa 80AD) which originally could hold some 20,000 spectators and is still used today as a key venue for bullfighting events. 

Thanks to the Roman festival there was no bull-fighting today. But there was Gladiator combat and it was excellent.

Nipped back down to the Place de la Republique to watch chariots, legionaries, Celtic warriors, Senators, Caesars and Gladiators assemble for a parade through the town. Boy heaven!

This Roman has found the perfect solution for  playing deaf to tourists!

Exhausted, we decided to leave Arles. However, on the return journey we decided to make a detour to visit another Roman marvel : the Pont du Gard. This UNESCO World Heritage site is an exceptionally well-preserved three-tiered Roman aqueduct. It was part of a 50km long canal built around 20BC in order to carry water from Uzes to Nimes. The 275m long bridge towers 50m above the Gard River. We walked across the bridge but the best views were from below, where we paddled in the river and cheered a bride and groom as they posed for their wedding photos.

Super Sete

Big sister Katrina has been to stay for a few days and has enjoyed a whistle stop sun-soaked tour of the local area.

We decided to show her the fishing port of Sete which is known as the Venice of Languedoc. It is an unusual town, which thanks to its geographical position, has many faces…

At the heart of Sete are the 17^th century canals alive with fishing boats and tour boats of all sizes and punctuated with road and rail bridges which lift at certain times of the day and allow the waterways’ pulse to beat strong and true as trains stop and cars queue and the town itself is rendered semi-conscious. Salt and fish and hot engine smells fill the air. And then the bridges drop down again and the enfuriating noise of mopeds rips through the senses once more. But the canals are the lifeblood and link the Mediterranean with the Rhone to Sete canal, the Canal de Midi and the enormous inland lagoon of oyster beds – the Etang de Thau.

Sete is a celebration of water and Katrina was lucky enough to see the town in full fete. Quays which are normally traffic blighted had been cleared and cafes had spilled tables and chairs onto the road and piled them high with mouth-watering displays of seafood. Chilled out tourists could wander at will and enjoy the walls of sound provided by bugle bands, oompah bands, strolling jazz, pumping accordions and banks of black speakers which lured the world and his wife to master new dance moves to thumping club music. 

And somehow above all this noise you could hear laughter and splashing. The “Cadre Royal” (part of the canal) had been turned into an arena for the Saint Louis festival and 10,000 spectators were expected to crowd into it to watch the biggest water jousting tournament of the year. But you don’t have to sit in the stands to watch it. You can hurl your inflatable dinghy or lilo or armchair or crocodile into the water and escape the sweltering heat by wallowing in the water for the event. We opted for the shade in the stands and watched as defiant jousters, dressed in white from head to toe, paraded into town with lances and shields held high. Two boats, each powered by ten oarsmen, charge at one another and, as they touch, the oars fold in so that the knights hovering high above on platforms can go to battle. The crowds scream with delight as a man in white plummets slow motioned into the water and one can only hope that he takes a spectator on an inflatable with him. It is fun to watch - but an hour in this heat is all you need.

Steep slopes with clusters of cypresses spiking the sky, rise up from the centre of town to a different Sete. We took Katrina up to the top of Mount St Clair to enjoy the panorama and we gazed out to sea, looked down on the red-tiled roofs and veins of waterway and turned to watch the sails of boats skirting along the edge of the oyster beds in the turquoise lagoon. These oyster beds fan out across the water like dinner tables for giants.

http://www.ot-sete.fr/videos_sete_video_joutes-rubrique-1229-FR-TOURISME_SETE.html

(sorry - having problems embedding a proper link, but this site has several clips showing the area)

Then to the south-west of Sete is a long spit of land which separates the lagoon from the sea. A road and the railway run along the middle and divide beach from vineyard. 

We drove down to the beach and enjoyed a refreshing swim in water with a wonderfully welcoming 24 degrees temperature. As the sun grew old so Sete settled into a shimmer of sparkles wrapped in velvet blue.

RIP Potty

RIP Potty…(age 6 and a hal-fish)

Farewell friendly fat well-travelled slightly sea-sick golden fish. A new star in the sky.

We do like to be beside the seaside...

Lobelia is busy being the “joli bateau” in Frontignan whilst we are gadding about on bikes or on trains and buses and exploring the local area.

It is party time here in the Herault region of Languedoc. Every sunny day is an excuse for the locals to party, drink wine, eat great food or let off fireworks. The great thing is that we get invited to join in too.

We have spent our time on fabulous beaches, taken boat trips, explored the twisting alleyways of old towns and visited markets with mouth-watering varieties of food. Fresh roasted chickens and giant pans of paella peppered with the juiciest and plumpest of prawns welcome us into the market place. Lured by these delicious smells and the vibrant displays of fresh fruit and veg, including the sweetest of grapes and fresh figs, we finally leave the market weighed down with a lunch for kings. The boys have discovered a penchant for calamari (squid) and now crave it.

On the beaches the food party continues and we have seen several giant pans of food being prepared for the night time community parties. Though not sure that the cigarette ash helps the flavouring!

Jousting is a popular pastime in the area. However, this is jousting with a difference. It involves a salsa band who can play at least two songs, a troupe of guys dressed in white, two strange boats with ladders attached to their sterns and some giant tooth picks and wooden shields. The photos speak for themselves : sunshine, a cool beer and ear defenders are a necessity for the audience.

Curse of 3

Left the bright lights and big noise of Palavas Les Flots and continued down the Rhone a Sete canal towards Sete itself.

Palava les Flots at night : just like Blackpool!

Reached a fork in the canal and had to make a decision : straight on to Frontignan and the slow route to Sete or turn off down the commercial channel and head out to sea and the coastal route into Sete.

The wind and waves were not appealing, despite the somewhat protected coastal route. And we still were unsure about where we would actually be able to moor. So we opted for the quiet resort of Frontignan and found a convenient, free mooring in town. Frontignan is considered to be the home of the Muscat vine and conveniently within 40 paces of our mooring is a cellar which offers free tastings and wine for sale “en vrac” (in bulk).

*Please note : the return trip to the barge is 83 and a half paces.

The quay is popular with locals out for a stroll and Lobelia soon drew a crowd.

All was well.

Until the curse of three hit.

1.     Andy noticed a small leak in the pipes connecting our fresh water tanks which hold about 6 tons of precious drinking water. Tightening the joint had made matters worse. Finding appropriate UK fittings in our box of spares was proving tricky. Buying new ones in France impossible. Then another leak – just out of arm’s reach from the first one.  Bring in team plumber Shiv. The now steady dripping of water required the biggest saucepans. Isolating the leak sites from the 6 tons of water also proved to be a headache. Andy locked off the first 3 tons but there was no way he could do the same with the rest. It all reverted to thumbs, fingers and palms of hands. In the heat of the day with synchronised giggles, violent spurts of water, a few curses and some deft handiwork we managed to replace the faulty pipework.

But it crossed our minds that if that had failed then we would still be down in the bilges with our hands holding back the flood. I wonder how long it would have taken the boys to miss us?

2.     The wind had become a stiff offshore breeze and the already low canal levels suffered as a result. The level in the canal dropped a foot or more. Our comfy canal mooring was no more. Lobelia was now sitting at a jaunty angle thanks to the silted up edge of the canal and water was running off the draining board in a whole new exciting way.

We spoke to the Capitainerie and they assured us that there were no tides to worry about. But Lobelia’s list did not lessen. A makeshift pendulum in the galley marked her change in degrees. The locals who had originally come to admire Lobelia now came to stare and point.

We got used to walking around the boat at a crazy angle and had faith that the problem would sort itself out once the “moon was right and the tide was right” (thank you Shaldon Players).

It took a couple of days and eventually Lobelia sat pretty once more – but just a little bit further from the quay this time.

We celebrated by bedecking the mast with flags and bunting. The locals returned to point, nod and smile again. We raised a glass of local warming Muscat wine.

Lobelia flies the Devon flag

3.     Cycled to the beach, burdened with rucksacks of towels and toys and treats and set up camp. Dan and Cal raced into the sea and within 30 seconds were screaming in agony. Cal seemed to recover but poor Dan did not. Large doses of Paracetamol did not alleviate the pain in his foot and we could not see anything there. A trip to the first aid post on the beach was needed. Dan was treated quickly and efficiently with a hot salty foot bath. Apparently he had stood on the barb of a sea creature and the hot water would help to remove it. Twenty minutes later and he was much better.

Whilst this was happening Andy and Cal went off to retrieve our bikes and belongings from the beach about a kilometre away. Cal nobly agreed to ride Dan’s new bike back along the road to the first aid post. It was only once he started riding it on the road that he turned to Andy and said, “Daddy, you know that I cannot reach the floor… well, I cannot reach the brakes either!” Andy made a quick call to Shiv and together they made a synchronised emergency braking system with braced legs and outstretched arms on a zebra crossing in the town! No need for any more first aid.

We returned to the boat.

The curse of three was over.

Five go to the seaside

The Canal du Rhone a Sete is an unusual waterway. Following medieval channels it snakes across flat marshland, vast salt lakes called Etangs and the Camargue National Park and is just a short distance from the Mediterranean Sea. Several rivers cross the canal and smaller boats can turn off onto these rivers and head for the sea.

Sometimes the canal is straight and clear of obstacles. But, near the river junctions small boats crowd around ramshackle jetties which cling to the fisherman houses. Lobelia is an inquisitive girl and seems drawn to these little boats in an alarming way. Andy stays as cool as a cucumber and makes sure that she behaves. But he still has to face the daunting task of squeezing past the returning commercial vessels, now laden and just as menacing.

Wildlife abounds and we were graced with sightings of the infamous Camargue bulls, wild white horses ridden by cheeky egrets and graceful yet noisy flamingos. Camargue cowboys on horseback rounded up bulls to the delight of passing tourists. Fishing nets, mussel and oyster beds abound.

Moored eventually on a quiet stretch near the coastal resort of Palava Les Flots.

After 213km on the Saone, 279km of the Rhone and a further 70km of smaller waterways we were officially at the seaside – all five of us. Lobelia had made it.

Enjoyed a beautiful sunset over the Etang and toasted our success with a glass of chilled white wine…

“Flamingos to the right of us, beaches to the left, here we are – stuck in the middle of heaven.”

Farewell to the Rhone

Departed Villeneuve les Avignon and headed down the Rhone to our final Rhone lock at Beaucaire and our rendez-vous with the Petit Rhone.

Relaxed about Rhone locks now!

Farewell wide Rhone and hello narrow, winding, reduced speed Petit Rhone.

Reduced speed unless you are a large commercial vessel racing to get another job. Two 85metre unladen barges caught up with us, their bows menacing through our wheelhouse rear windows. They overtook with a smile and a wave and we wondered where they could be heading.

After a long day of boating we moored by St Gilles lock where the Petit Rhone meets the Canal du Rhone a Sete.

Later at 9pm a shadow loomed large in the galley window. Jumbo had come to stay alongside for the night.

Belly Dancers

Woke to a magical new world where the waves are no more and the wind has died, leaving behind a sparkling blue never-ending sky and a becalmed river. Continued south towards Avignon in the quest for decent moorings.

Ancient Avignon loomed into sight, providing a horizon of honey coloured fortifications and golden statues. On the right bank and rising sheer from the water’s edge we could see a tower. Below it we spotted a pontoon with heavy duty piles (sounds painful) and an invitation to ring a number and arrange to moor there.  The number turned out to be the Tourist Board at Villeneuve les Avignon and they gave us permission to stay on the mooring for the princely sum of 40 euros. This seemed quite expensive, especially as we normally moor for free. However the promise of free water and electricity and the proximity to Avignon reeled us in.

Ten minutes after we moored - the Police turned up. They had been sent by the Tourist Office to turn on the water and electricity supplies and unlock the gate leading to the mooring. Obviously Villeneuve les Avignon was a well behaved town if the Police had time to do these duties.

Whilst Andy and Dan scratched their heads over the unusual water and power connections, Callum and I set off  in blazing sunshine to find the Tourist Office and pay our fee. We enjoyed the sights for a good hour : medieval arcades, hilltop castles, ramparts, winding narrow streets, deserted bars. But the one sight we failed to enjoy : signs leading to the Tourist Office. Finally found it hidden behind the travelling fair, paid the bill, requested better signage, picked up a map and found our way back to the mooring in ten minutes.

Decided it was Pimms O’clock.

Post Pimms we walked into Avignon and spent a relaxed evening walking around this city where the Popes had set up court in 1309.

The famous bridge of Avignon, which is now just four arches jutting out into the river, is a tourist trap. Despite its fame and its catchy tune, it seemed as though all its history had been cleaned away and it no longer truly looked its age. Besides – you have to pay to go onto it. We didn’t bother. Instead, to the irreverent chant of “ sur le pont d’Avignon, belly dancer, belly dancer…”, we marched up a spiral staircase to the Papal gardens where the views of the river and the city were breathtaking and the trees worthy of climbing.

Meandered through the city to the main square : the Place de l’Horloge. The boys had been working hard on their Roman projects and had earned giant ice-cream treats. Settled down to people watch and eat out and celebrate life together.

Splashed out on a family ticket for the big wheel as the sun was setting and enjoyed far-reaching views to the soundtrack of our boys’ delighted squeals.