28th September to 9th October, Normandy to the Camargue

Once again I am behind the times; it seems to happen all too easily!

We left Normandy on 28^th September and hot footed to the south coast of France. One night camping near Tours (only 3 degrees at night...brrr...) then another night in the mountains (brrr again). Got to Montpelier on 30^th and headed straight to a MacDonald’s for their free wi fi and to get news on Beechwood and communicate with the agent. No news really. The prospective new tenants will not sign until their house sale goes through so we won’t get news till around the 21^st of October and then they want to move straight in. Nail biting continues (actually I don’t have any left).

Found a campsite in a wee village called Lansargues in the midst of the Camargue region which is rather like Spanish Basque country – own dialect, lots of bulls (Torreaux), bull fighting, their own type of cowboys who round up the bulls (called Guardians) and lots of white horses (the type used for the bulls). Small and quiet campsite which was just what we were after. Set up the whole tent ensemble and almost immediately became friends with a lovely French couple next door who own their own mobile home on the site – Georges and Sylviane. What a bonus this was, Georges spend the first evening (unbeknown to us) creating a tour route for us to follow the next day to see the highlights of the area – Aigues Mortes (an ancient village still enclosed by the ancient city walls), Le Grande Motte (a rather ugly modern seaside town with bizarre architecture and millions of yachts) and then onto the wee village of Stes Maries de la Mer.

Through George and Sylviane we were introduced to Christian, a real life Guardian (complete with 2 white horses called Pegase and Aramis. He let the children have a ride on Pegase and showed us his collection of old horse drawn carriages. We watched the last round of a bull fight in a nearby village – unlike Spain, in French Torreaux the bull is superior; he is not killed but many young men in white  (Les Razeteurs) try and remove 3 ribbons attached to the bull’s horns. Very exciting – men in white leaping out of the ring very acrobatically - the kids loved it.

Two nights quickly became extended as the car alternator packed up and the car disappeared off into a garage to await a new one for 4 days. We were left with bikes and the generous assistance of Christian who drove me to the supermarket and generally helped us out with everything we couldn’t achieve by bike power alone. (by the way, the it turned out the only reason the alternator broke was due to a mistake back in Scotland – the garage there had over tightened some belt or other and this overheated and something broke off into the alternator and broke it. A frigging expensive error on their part. I leave Pieter to get on their case).

So our over-riding memories of our 9 nights in the Camargue region....

1.  Our 3 lovely new friends who could not have been kinder or most welcoming and gave us an amazing insight into the region
2.  The children getting to ride the horses and being pulled by carriage throughout the local countryside while Pieter, Sylviane and I rode behind on bikes. We collected apples, grapes and berries en route.
3.   Another adventure in Christian’s 4x4 into the heart of the Torreaux – to the Manade he is connected to (the name given to the farm owning the bulls for the fights to which a group of Guardian ride for). We saw the salt marsh lands and all the flamingos, duck hunters Cabanas (ancient old stone buildings which provide shelter for a few nights when out in the middle of the marshes for shooting). There are other Cabanas for the Guardians when they are out herding the bulls.
4.   Evenings spent talking with Georges and Sylviane and one dinner in their “house” with Christian – me struggling to understand his local (and strong) accent and everyone being very sympathetic with my French. Lovely local sausage, Kir Royales, great red wine and excellent company with new friends.
5. Some days of glorious weather, some days of howling gales and home schooling around the tent – the routine has formed that Pieter deals with maths and I do English. While one was having lessons the other two got to bounce around on the campsite trampoline!
6. Not very warm showers and having to share each one with 2 shivering, purple lipped children – or on a good day, only one.
7. An afternoon visit by bike to the local wine farm “Domaine de Moulines” where the kids played outside in the vines and collected conkers while we did tastings by ourselves with the grandson of the wine farm, Vincent. All great wines, most around £4 – wow.
8.  Mara thrilled to have a real life French lesson from Sylviane
9.   Archie with a new vocation in life – no longer wants to be a racing car driver, but instead Une Guardian (no surprise there – chasing round the countryside on a white horse and rounding up bulls with a long pointed Trident!)

Sadly we eventually had to leave this place we felt we had come to know better than most tourists. On Saturday 9^th October we left Lansargues after some sad farewells (Mara particularly upset to leave G&S and we had to explain that actually it wasn’t sad to leave as we had made new friends who would always remain our friends in France) and drove to the very tip of the peninsula south of Hyeres in the Cote D’Azur (Presqu’ile de Giens). We stupidly arrived really late as we detoured to Arles on the way to see the town that Vincent van Gogh spent much of his life. So we arrived at a rather awful campsite, plagued by camper vans and motor homes and no locals at all. We ended up pitching the tent in the dark, in howling gales and rain and scarcely speaking to each other. When all was finally set up and pegged down again (and again...and through the night....again) we made it inside (by now about 9pm) – grumpy and miserable. The tiniest pitch in the world without space for the car, the dome tent, or any privacy (I could touch the table of the camper van next door from our tent) – plus it was a rip off. We were cold, the toilets were miles away ......grrr.  To add to the evening as we finished some heated up soup I got the news that Uncle John Fyfe had died. Wow. Such a massive part of my life and most of my childhood memories involve UJ and AI. Many tears that night, from all of us. He was an amazing, gentle man. He taught me one of most major habits –whistling – from the operatic stuff I seem to do subconsciously to the monumentally loud and unladylike football stadium kind.
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