Jane wished us Bon voyage as we left Seillans and headed west. Three hours later a general exclamation rent the air. Soon after crossing the mighty Rhone, we had reached the Languedoc!. Le Languedoc, 750km from Paris and the region responsible for a third of France's wine. Trucks domiciled in Spain became more frequent and overhead road signs indicated Montpellier, Toulouse and Barcelona. Bisecting Nimes, the A9 led to the tollgates where a convention of Danish and Geman Banditos noisily converged. A hitchhiker morosely held up a sign "Toulouse SVP".
Is it a supermarche?, Is it an ultra marche? No!, it was IKEA Montpellier, the size of le Stade, bluer than was thought possible, and one of the few flat surfaces not covered in graffiti: Le tagger francaise is more prominent than peages and pain!
At Sete, mouth of Le Canal du Midi, a 360 degree deviation plus a crossed out sign resulted in an exploration of Sete's zone industrielle prior to a bamboo lined trip to Marseillan. Camilla parked the Zafire and we exited in search of a bar. This is fantastique, exclaimed Kim. It has all the features of St Tropez without the bling and awful people. We grabbed a table at Cafe Camille and ordered local wines, beer and Noilly Prat cocktails. A series of motor boats executed three point turns opposite our chairs on Quai Antonin Gross, dislodging guests and crew in search of Camille's refreshments. Local artists were setting up displays as we made our way back to Boulevard Lamarting and Petit Hotel.
Gloriously discreet, ancient stone stairs spiral up to a contemporary open plan living space and outside terrace. Birgit seated us under canvas and offered local Marseillan rose accompanied by pistachios and delicious German sausage nibbles. Dinner is scheduled for eight, so we had better finish up and get ready. Tonight' degustation dinner at Emilie's is highly anticipated!.
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