Day 13 – Friday 27 June

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer to Sète

Hotel

Hôtel Point Bleu

Notes

The day passed in dead flat cycling alongside lagoons and the sea. There was a slight headwind from the south west and the temperature was hovering around 33°C.

We had to wait for the chain link ferry across Le Petit Rhône and then skirted the walls of Aigues Mortes. Wikipedia tells us the the name of the town means "dead (or stagnant) water" and that there has never been a source of drinkable water there. Charlemagne built the tower at the corner of the medieval walls as a defensive lookout and Louis IX set out from there on the Seventh and Eighth Crusades. I had lost the group again (probably by stopping to take photographs) and learnt afterwards the Mike had lost multiple brownie points by mistaking the route and climbing over a barrier onto a dual carriageway.

Our route wound through holiday resorts and sea-side villages. Le Grande Motte had pedestrianised boulevards that we cycled through carefully avoiding strolling shoppers until we found somewhere for coffee. Nearby there was a sandwich shop which made us baguettes to order, stocking up for lunch. We stopped at the marina at Mauguio Carnon and ate our purchases sitting on benches in the shade of potted palm trees. The place was pretty much deserted (as the French school holiday season hadn’t started) apart from a couple about our own ages who talked to me about our trip and expressed great enthusiasm about what we were doing. The others pulled my leg later as they all claimed I had "pulled" the chap’s wife. Nothing could be further from the truth; I was just being sociable! Later we stopped for a beer (or more) at Vic-la-Gardiole. The afternoon was still young and we were in no hurry.

A little later we got to the Cathèdrale-de-Maguelone re-built during the 11th century after having been destroyed in wars between Charles Martel and islamic forces a hundred years earlier. It’s amazing to realise how far into Europe Islam got from its Spanish base. The cathedral is perched on a prominent island in a lagoon and would have been a good defensive site in its day. We were intrigued to include it in our route as there is a floating bridge back to the mainland that swings aside on pontoons to allow boats to pass. We cycled round it but couldn’t find the way to the pontoon bridge until we discovered we had to climbed down a steep flight of steps and follow the track round at the foot of the island. That required unloading my bicycle and carrying things down in stages. I fell behind the others still further when I stopped to photograph the bridge. For the second time on the trip someone offered to take my picture but this time I declined graciously. One photo of me is quite enough.

The final stretch was along blindingly white concrete cycle track next to the road. I could see Mont Saint-Clair on the horizon. Sète snuggles at its foot and during our rest day on Saturday the others would cycle up to its top while I had a rest and walked to its foot. I’m not convinced by the logic of that, but it’s what happened.

Our road through Frontignan was closed for resurfacing. Not phased, we bounced along the first part, only dismounting when the surface got so sandy it was difficult to stay upright. I arrived to shouts of "Here he is!" and wheeled my bike into the spare room the hotel had put at our disposal. There was a key that I was very careful not to take charge of. The hotel had my camping box and I unpacked it to find everything in order. The only thing I’d not got was some spare insulating tape to repair handlebar tape that was coming a bit loose. Mike very kindly gave me a length from his emergency bag and I wound the bit that I didn’t use round a plastic front lamp extender. It would come in later when I ripped another chunk out of the handlebar tape heaving my bicycle up an escalator out of Rome’s central railway station.

After cleaning up we found that next door there was a truckers’ restaurant and we had an enormous meal with copious amounts of wine on tap and poured into individual carafes. It was almost embarrassing to think how much we consumed.