Get in the Boot!

We have been keen to have the gates at either end of our little street removed as some of the locals had decided to use it as a pissoire, perhaps whilst they were fishing on the cale. As mentioned earlier, they had been installed as part of the Fete de l’Insolite which was in early July. Despite a visit to the Office de Tourisme, they remained in situ. Until… One morning our doorbell rang. We were still in our PJs, upstairs in the sunroom having breakfast. It rang again and so Fran hurriedly pulled on some shorts and a jumper, and before opening our gate enquired “Who is it?” The male voice replied “ La Gendarmerie Madame“. Not wishing to get on the wrong side of the law (although there was some fear that he had heard about Fran’s exploits on the roundabout!!) Fran duly unlatched the heavy gate. A very handsome young gendarme asked whether she knew anything about the mirrors in the street being scratched. Fran could not help him with his enquiries but proceeded to explain that we would like the doors taken away and Voila! - three days later they had disappeared. Ah ... the power of a smile!

We have just returned from travelling south to the Mediterranean for a mini break by the sea. Whilst the distance doesn’t seem far - around 400 km - it is a long way travelling at speeds of up to 130 km per hour whilst dodging trucks and cars entering the autoroutes. As the autoroute on which we were travelling neared the coast, the traffic slowed dramatically, bumper to bumper for several kms and we started to wonder whether this is the norm on the French seaside routes in the height of summer. It was caused by the confluence of two major auto routes, one heading south to Spain and the Costa Brava and the other heading east to Montpellier, Marseilles and the Cote d’Azur. Fortunately (?) cars resumed their harrowing speeds after that point, hurtling onwards to their particular seaside destination.

We had decided to stay at Sete, an interesting fishing port town, located almost on an island, famous amongst other things for les joutes nautiques. Two teams of men, dressed in white pants, and shirts under which is a long sleeved blue and white striped t-shirt, row towards each other on the main canal in town. On each team there is a man standing at the highest point of the boat holding a shield and a lance. As the boats meet, the jouster readies himself to tackle his opponent, unbalance him and effectively “knock him off his perch” into the water. It was certainly an entertaining spectator sport, although we both thought that it looked fraught with danger. The men seated below the jouster are also at risk of getting toppled. At the front of each boat sit two musicians wearing boater hats, one playing a trumpet and the other a drum.

It's best to be a musician in Sete!

The whole sport is really quite amazing. Apparently in August during the Fete de St Louis which lasts for several days, les joutes nautiques are a major drawcard, IF you’re lucky enough to score accommodation and brave enough to bring a car into the town.

Fran in jousting gear

We ate and drank well there - lots of wonderful seafood, including bulots (sea snails), huitres (oysters) and moules (mussels). We had originally booked for two nights, but as the drive was relatively long and costly (tolls on the French auto routes add up!) we decided to extend our stay, but move to another interesting town nearby - Agde, close to the Canal de Midi - and stay at Hotel Le Donjon. With a name like that, it was a risk, but one that was touted in the Lonely Planet as a good choice and right in the middle of the historic old town and beside the Cathedral (another risk, knowing the noise church bells can make by day and night). In its time the hotel had been a convent and then a coaching inn.

What we hadn’t been prepared for was that a rock concert was scheduled that evening on the river, located not much more than 50 metres from the hotel. Consequently many of the roads had been blocked off. To get to the hotel required some negotiation including travelling across the bridge and then coming back before taking an alley to the right. Fran was providing some navigation tips having long since abandoned Karen who had gone into meltdown or was sulking (one of the two). Adrian did well to ignore one of Fran’s tips which, unbeknown to her, was going the wrong way up a one way street. As she took on the persona of Frantic Fran, Adrian calmly enquired “Would you like to get in the backseat?…or perhaps the boot”?

We finally made it to the hotel only to find we had a front row room for the evening’s concert. That is also when Adrian realised (or admitted) that he was feeling really sick. He had a fever, nausea and stomach ache. Add to this, a stiflingly hot room, a noisy rock band whose tunes (?) were accompanied each hour by the tolling of the church bells and … you get the picture.

As Fran was concerned that Adrian might "cark it", she ventured to the front desk to get the phone numbers of the local hospitals. The man at the desk must have wondered what sort of callous wife she was, as not more than 15 minutes later, the same previously worried madame was jauntily taking herself out for dinner (with Adrian’s blessing as he couldn’t eat and she had eaten little all day). We were both anxious about the trip home. Fran had offered to take the wheel to allow him to recuperate, but the thought of her driving at 130 kph on the wrong side of the road was enough to speed Adrian’s recovery. Well…he put on a good act anyway.

We are enjoying a quiet day today, recuperating, reading and relaxing. Fran is doing some French homework having started lessons two weeks ago with a delightful local woman in her 60's. She lives in the woods behind Duravel, the next town west along the river. The lessons are one on one and consist of conversation, interspersed with grammar and vocabulary. Slow progress is being made.