We didn't get sunsets at 1rueFB in Sablet: facing the wrong way we were.
So at least, that was a plus when residing in Villedieu. The terrace looked west.
Notwithstanding, we embraced more readily the rise of the shining orb above
the Étang de Thau when we arose at Marseillan to drink it in, our first stop back on our journey to the hallowed shores of the motherland.
No disrespect to Villedieu mind, just relief to be out of a holiday let that had so disappointed and frustrated us, that fell so short on what we had quite reasonably expected, but found wanting…
This is my record, for the record, of the journey back, because in many ways it made up for some of our discomfiture in Villedieu: some of it, not all of it. And most of what we did during our time in Villedieu was pretty fine, familiar, homecoming sort of stuff, the accommodation did not cloud those pleasures, well not much.
I might have a stab at relating a bit about that month (for the record) but first…
the return.
We can't stop ourselves. Even when we have secured an additional day to ensure we don't conflict with the departure time required of us, so that we don't feel hassled, we still get going as early as 0900, but are happy to stop after a mere three or four kilometres, at Violès, where the best croissants in the Vaucluse can be secured, and consumed in the little bar next door.
And because we are slightly relaxing now we don't join the A9 in Orange but drive to the Rhône crossing at Le Pont-de-Rochemaure (alongside the A9 and TGV bridges) where we resolve to give the autoroute a complete miss.
I won't detain you with the rather less than fascinating list of towns and villages this occasions us to find our way through… we complete, and reach the coast not far short of Frontignan. We take a breather to view the wondrous Canal du Rhône from Le Pont-des-Aresquiers, where it slices through the étangs close by the Mediterranean. Not that the ocean is much cop in this vicinity… although there is a fair old sprinkling of flamingos that hang around these shallow pools and lakes. And not just for the tourists either, you understand: I believe they are 'native'.
We leave out Sète today and motor to good old Bouzigues where we once paddled with the son & heir when he was classified as a toddler. By now we are feeling the heat so as well as taking the air we take in some liquid refreshment: in that hotel with the weird lettering on it, which once refused to give us breakfast simply because we weren't resident. Mme Melling and self rented an apartment here when we were considering this bit of France for a potential house purchase. Without a boat of some sort? Er…… Sadly not. No chance then.
Marseillan is just up the road now, through Mèze. We arrive, park up and get the keys. What a contrast! The coolest apartment that Mme M has somehow managed to secure, for just one night, because of the absence of suitable hotels. Fortuitous! Everything just so. Outside space, crisp and ultra clean. A bit of alright… mark it down… I want to come this way again.
I don't recall what m'family had but I had this little lot: – which is probably why I can't remember much about what the kith-&-kin consumed; preceded by fish soup if memory serves. After that, an early bed is called for… but nevertheless we perambulate down to the green port light where we dispute which phare we can see flashing across the way at Sète. Ah me. Marseillan, home of Noilly Prat (we have stocked up). Still got some of its original charm surviving despite the wear and tear of those terrible tourist types… thankfully just about out of season as October gets into its second week.
