Southwest France - a day in transit

Well, this morning (Wednesday) in Nimes, I was not feeling quite well - a sort of funny tummy.  It never led to anything alarming but was just uncomfortable.  Still I managed to getup and dressed - in normal clothes. No more hinking clothes - they were all bundled up and ready to go. Barb and I wanted to mail clothes home that we'd not want for the next two weeks. We were directed to La Poste, where for 39,85 Euros I could put together a large box and stuff the hiking clothes into it.  Even my hiking hat fit in. Only the trekking pole would not fit.  And except for that pole, I was rid of a bunch of stuff.  A slight feeling of freedom.

We strolled just a bit to a nearby statue of Augustus Caesar (I think)

surrounded by huge blocks of stone that may have been a memorial arch many centuries before.

But I still did not feel quite right, so I rested in the hotel lobby until the taxi came at 12:30 to take us to Nimes' train station..

At the train station, we tried to figure out how to buy tickets to the city of Sete from the big yellow SNCF machines, but hoped to find a live ticket seller. By great chance, our hostess from Collias, Marie-Agnes walked up to me, happy and surprised to see us there. We explained that we were having a bit of difficulty getting tickets. Marie-Agnes' daughter, Justine, was quite familiar with the machines. She stepped right up, asked a few questions, punched a few buttons, was delighted that we could each qualify for the "senior discount". But then the next barrier came with our credit cards and our debit cards. None of them had the required "chip" on the front.  So our clever hostess used her credit card, and we each gave her the cash.

I like French train travel. No matter what the train is, there are always clear instructions as to the track number or letter as well as where to await the train car. Every train seems to run on electricity, so they are fairly quiet as well.

We detrained at Sete ready to eat a bear. Fortunately there was a place where we could get sandwiches (why are they always made with baguettes?) and a cold soda - or beer. The train station is pretty far from where we were to spend the night - - like the opposite side of the city. But the hotel (called Joie des Sables) was right on the Mediterranean Sea, a place that we had been nearly panting to visit.

So we jumped into bathing suits and headed across to the water. The beach was protected by two breakwaters that curved around like protecting arms.

The water was a lot saltier than I'd expected, and a lot colder. I think I walked til the water was past my knees, but that was far enough for me. My friends were braver and went all the way in. The beach sand was very tan and fine, with tiny shell fragments scattered throughout. The wind blew strongly from the west, and I could feel it stinging my skin and getting between my teeth.

The hotel's restaurant was pretty nice, the service was slow, but the oysters (local, of course) were superb - out of this world. Way saltier than the local Virginia Chincoteagues.

Salmon was also superb. And the vanilla ice cream "Madagascar" was really very good. After rooming solo for several nights, I suggested that Barbara have a bit of solitude - she'd gone to some trouble to find this hotel for us. Pat and I got along fine and we read into the night. And so ended the day in transit, September 11.

And I must have read quite a lot, because the sun rose without me. Today we were to transfer to the Grand Hotel, the "official" pre-conference tour hotel for two nights. But checkout was not until 11:00 so we walked across the beach again, this time looking for shells. And there were many many to be found. Altogether a quiet and peaceful morning of beach-combing.

A treasure hunt.

We wandered over to one of the marinas there and met with a surprise. Two of the "water-jousting" boats were moored there. They are eight-oared boats with a long, wide but shallow ladder extending from the bow, with a platform at the end. According to postcard pictures, the "jouster" stands with his lance on the platform, the rowers race the boats toward each other, and the jouster attempts to "unhorse" the opponent.

Getting to the Grand Hotel involved a little adventuring - - to take the local bus, we walked down the street, around the round-about and up the hill to a bus shelter. The first bus was ours - it's destination was "GARE", the train station. However, the bus driver didn't quite understand my request for the "Hotel Grand". We were at the Gare when he turned back to me saying " Le Grand Hotel?"  I nodded yes, and he indicated that we wanted the third stop. And so it happened. There we were.

Sete is a small city on the Mediterranean Sea, criss-crossed with canals and waterways; lots of fishing boats, ferries, and pleasure boats as well.

The Grand Hotel is quite a piece of architecture - late 19th century styling, with a huge atrium in the center and most of the rooms off of very narrow walkways. Lucky me:  I don't like heights, so of course I was on the third floor, at the far end of the atrium from the elevator. The building was so old that the stone walkway to my room was worn in the center from over a century's worth of footsteps.

That walkway pictured upper right was way too narrow, but my suitcase did roll along nicely.

So around two in the afternoon (14:00 hours over there), our group of 32 or so climbed aboard the motor coach and drove off to Agen to see the round lock,

Some of us were amazed that this large boat fit into the lock.

then to the Libron crossing (which was a terribly confusing way for a canal to cross a river),

This boat has passed the complicated part.

despite explanations and diagrams, I don't understand.

and a quick look at the Orb aqueduct (I think).

From coach to open-topped boat for a trip across the Etang de Thau, which is a shallow lagoon, filled with oyster and mussel farms, and that particular afternoon it was covered with whitecaps.

Can I name everyone? last row = Keith and Judy Kroon, then the Chinese student, Padraic, Jilll and Cliveseveral unknowns, then Dan, Rod, Susan; a Brit whose name escapes me; Roger Squires; and right in front is Kerry Gruber.

First row = Dave Wahl and wife; Chris and Bill Holdsworth; Duncan Hay and Peter Anderson, with Carolla Grasso in the dark glasses

Indeed the water was choppy and in that open air boat we in the front got splashed - a lot. The point of going out there was to hear from the boat's driver a description of raising oysters (pretty complicated).

Little oysters ("spat") are first grown in these mesh thing that dangle from permanent structures in the lagoon.

These horizontal and vertical pieces constitute the oyster farm; growing and maturing oysters are suspended from the horizontals into the water.  At various stages they are checked, and about a year later they're harvested.

What's unique about the Thau oysters is that they are, from spat to finished, always in water. There is no tide in the lagoon, so the animal is never out of water. Is that why they are so salty?

Dinner was quite a few blocks away, at a place called "La Marina". I've forgotten the first course; the second was monkfish, which was fairly good but had a large chunk of what appeared to be spine! I won't ever forget the dessert - - a small chocolate baked thing with a large fiery "fountain" shooting out of it, along with a quite loud round of the Happy Birthday song for my 73rd birthday.

Fireworks for dessert?

That was my birthday candle.

Some time between the boat ride and the dinner, Barbara and I went to Monoprix to look for something to replace the white fleece jacket I'd lost on our very first day there.  I ended up with a brown cardigan sweater, fairly thin and light, but better than having nothing. A birthday present to me.