Le Trou du Cul du Monde?

My DB calls Montpellier 'le trou du cul du monde' (bum hole of the world) simply because it is not Nice and the airport is not a hub for international travel. Personally, I can think of waaaay better candidates for this title because, despite its lack of international transport connections, it's a singularly beautiful part of France. It also has a marked lack of suspect money floating around from dodgy billionaires of all nationalities (but mostly Russian) pushing up housing prices and bumping off inconvenient people...

Yesterday the weather promised clouds and a spark of sunshine. We had agreed to go cycling with some friends down to Palavas les Flots. Palavas is a modest seaside town of no architectural distinction except ugliness, but you can cycle to it from Lattes just south of Montpellier along the banks of the River Lez and then along designated cycle paths. The route takes you through the wetlands that stretch from Lattes and Perols to the sea, an area declared part of the Natura 2000 ecological network of protected areas in the EU. It is home to 72 species of bird including flamingoes, and a number of lagoons covering 75% of the 847 hectares that make up Palavas.

This is the path at the start, at Lattes, looking south. It's recently been renovated to bolster the banks of the river. Our friends live just off to the left.

 The white dots are flamingoes. Recent heavy rain ensured that the étangs were brimming with water.

Winter storage for the little boats.

I was on the bridge which crosses the Rhone to Sète canal to take this photo. The white apartment blocks of Carnon are in the distance. You can see the étangs (lagoons) to right and left of the canal; the sea is off to the right on the other side of another strip of land (covered in ugly houses). You can walk or cycle from Carnon to Frontignan along the canal.

Looking east towards Carnon

Looking west towards Villeneuve les Maguelone

One of the things I like best about this route is that it is completely flat. I don't have to concentrate on puffing to go up, or worrying about my level of sport. I enjoy cycling as an outdoor activity, not as a way of keeping fit. I like stopping to take photos, admire the view as I go along, and have enough breath to chat if I feel like it.

We reached the sea in about 25 minutes, an autumnal sea of waves and gentle light. You can't appreciate the size of the waves in this picture, I think I caught them too early/late, but, for the Mediterranean they were a good size and crashed with a satisfactory show of spray. The coast here is protected by barriers to make swimming safe, and to preserve the sandy beaches. Sea paddling seemed to very popular yesterday, there were lots of people just standing about on the sea chatting by the look of things.

We crossed this bridge to reach the banks of Villeneuve les Maguelone on the right. We continued on past the car park from where you can access the beach, and along the narrow strip of land towards the Maguelone Cathedral set on a volcanic islet 4kms from Palavas. It was built in the 12th/13th century and is a beautiful building combining the strength of pale rock as a fortress, and peace as a place of worship. The acoustics are marvellous too - years ago I sung there with a choir. We performed Jeanne d'Arc au Bucher, an oratorio by Arthur Honegger.

Wetlands

Wetlands with flamingoes in the middle distance

After a brief visit of the cathedral, we headed back to Palavas for lunch, and sat outside Le Riva on the port, in the sun and sipped a much appreciated Puech Haut rosé.

Lunch was good too although two of the party who'd ordered rouget (fish) were somewhat surprised when the plate came with a whole baked fish including head (and dead eyes) on it. My DB said he would remember to look out for 'filet de rouget' next time! My lamb cutlets were lovely and meaty and fatty.

As the clouds decided to make a return, we headed off back to Lattes, passing over the Rhone-Sète canal again where we saw that a couple of paddlers had strayed from the coast for a canal stroll.

You might not be able to fly directly to Rome or the US from Montpellier, but it does have many other, less frenetic attractions, as I think you'll agree.

Certified Cycling

This is not me

Not only am I an official writer, but I'm also a certified cyclist. Since yesterday, what a day that was!

My youngest brought home yet another scrappy piece of paper which gave some information on the need for parental cyclists to accompany school cycle outings. I was all set to ignore it because it would mean taking precious annual leave to nanny a bunch of kids only one of whom would be mine and I'm not terribly motivated to do that, but my youngest emotionally blackmailed me into it. He explained that if there weren't enough parents they wouldn't be able to go out and that would be a tremendous shame because they'd have to do lessons instead and cycling is so much healthier...

So I agreed (being, at times, a pushover) and spent the first half hour after I got home yesterday changing the inner tube of my front tyre. I have two bicycle pumps which seem to work or not on a whim. I don't know what it is with pumps but they are often as frustrating to use as computers. Many a time I have wanted to hurl one at something hard made of bricks to teach it a lesson.

My temper wasn't the sweetest, then, as I tried to connect it up to the inner tube in situ. My youngest and his friend were busily giving a running commentary on bikes and pumps and other useful tips. I suppose the hope was that one would hit the useful jackpot. Meanwhile I was silently cursing. The damn thing wouldn't connect properly so I was pumping air along the pump tube but it wasn't going into the tyre and came out with an explosive whoosh when I wrangled it off the tip. Eventually, by some freak of chance (must have been because I have no idea what I did different that time) it worked and I pumped the sodding thing up.

I then rootled round in the garage for a helmet because I assumed they would probably be into all that elfansafety lark, as this was an elfansafety training. I found my youngest's which was a tad small but would do, put on my snazzy cycling shorts and sunnies. When I got to the school I realised that I was the only one of the women thus dressed. The French turn up to an elfansafety cycle training in sandals and no helmet. In fact the guy in charge remarked that I was correctly kitted out. I wondered if the others would be allowed to continue. You never know with elfansafety stasi.

We were shown the course: cycling standing 'à la danseuse' to begin with, then sitting down, round the corner, over a couple of planks, between two more, round the corner and going in and out of a number of poles, a figure of eight, a roundabout, pick up a ball and put it in a box, another roundabout one-handed, under a rope and charge to the end to brake suddenly only knocking over one out of two planks on cones.

If we could do all that we'd be certified to take out the kiddies. There was a pretty leisurely attitude to it all with people ambling unhurriedly round the course. We got two trial goes then the real thing. Naturally we all passed, even those who knocked over both planks on cones. I feel that what was actually most important was to have a bike you didn't fall off. The rest was just icing on the cake!

It didn't finish there though! Just when I thought I could go home, we were taken into a classroom and shown a powerpoint presentation on taking kids out on the road. When we go, the police municipal cover us with police cars and flashing lights and woe betide any driver who doesn't give us 1.5 metres room. They are pursued and told off or even fined!

Someone asked if there'd be room for an ice bucket of chilled rosé for the aperitif. I think it was me... The woman next to me said she'd been thinking exactly the same thing.

The guy in charge asked if we were surprised at having to take a training. I replied that nothing to do with schools surprised me any more. There was much laughter at this, not sure why. Schools are a black hole of elfansafety, paperwork, scaremongering, and litigious parents. I try to avoid anything to do with helping out. This might sound bad mummy-ish, but the people involved are just too unbearable. It's always the same (stupid) ones, they have their little clique and there's no way I want to deal with them.

Anyway, the cyclists were a fairly jolly bunch so I'm now ready and certified and hoping they won't go out too often!

Round the Lake

Today I'm recovering from yesterday. But I fear tomorrow more, two days after mountain-biking around the Lac du Salagou, all 27 km of it. My muscles will be giving me hell, I'm sure. Today I'm just wrecked with fatigue.

You see on the picture there on the left? You see circuit number 1? That's the one. It's red, like for ski-ing so definitely a challenge, especially for rank amateurs like me.

I went with my TWDB (his idea, actually...), and my youngest. My eldest had earned the right to do what he wanted in the afternoon thanks to a good attitude on Saturday so he opted to stay at home and see his pals.

So it was that, in 14°C, we arrived at the lake, jumped on our bikes and headed clockwise from the Liausson Base de Plein Air. The track is actually pretty cool for about 15km, being mostly on the flat practically on the beach. It's a very popular spot with weekend mobile home owners/renters and there were lots of relaxed-looking folks sitting reading, eating, and getting water-sports material ready for use.

We stopped a bit further on from the end of the green track 12 to have some lunch. No wine, natch, or we would never have been able to make it further. Nearby was an old truck that had been converted into what looked like a romany caravan with smoke issuing from the chimney. Another truck, a converted refrigeration one (with good insulation) had also been converted into living quarters and had its own electricity generator. Some people are really desperate for peace and quiet!

Not that they were in the middle of nowhere by any means. The circuit is popular with cyclists and walkers and we saw several as we made our way round. I wouldn't want to be walking on the cycling track, however, with bikes coming hurtling round corners, down slopes and along the straight. Serious mountain-bikers have time limits they watch so woe betide the hapless old walker doddering along admiring the view, the peace and the path beheath their feet.

The soil around the lake is dark red and in places people had taken white pebbles and spelled out romantic liaisons and other messages for all to see. Some were beautifully enshrined in a heart, others with less time/fewer pebbles/less conviction had kept it brief 'Gerard et Kiki' or just plain single 'Julie' who was perhaps waiting for her beau to add his name to hers.

Further round, up some of the undulating weathered humps and bumps and down down down as I threw myself into the slope hoping that a) my bike would take the hammering, b) I wouldn't hit a rock, come flying off, crash land, split my head open, need emergency treatment, not get it and die in agony as my brain poured out onto the dark red rock. It did occur to me that I should perhaps be wearing a helmet if I was going to this sort of energetic biking. My TWDB suggested I only needed one if I had something to protect... cheeky sod.

My youngest, who is a member of a mountain-biking club, was giving me advice on how to go downhill safely - to stand on the pedals, botty behind the saddle to shift the centre of gravity backwards. I would take off and he'd be yelling after me 'FESSES DERRIERE, MAMAN!' That did help concentrate my mind off crashing and ending up lying helpless in a pool of blood.

Then there was quite a bit of climbing where you see circuit 13 joins 9, after which it's an easy ride along a country track looking down onto the lake some 200m below as far as Mas Audran. Fantastic views from above give a different perspective of the lake from the ones on the beaches.

At Mas Audran, near Lacoste you go all the way down to the bottom of the valley weaving your way along the twisting lanes of the village built on a steep slope and arrive at the bottom of the dam. It's a daunting sight because you know that you have to climb up to the top along the road, and it's quite a haul. I had to get off and push because we were by this time quite a long way round and I was feeling super tired. I'd eaten my eldest's energy biscuit and had some chocolate too, but still my legs screamed out that enough was enough.

We eventually made it, and then had another few kilometres gentle climbing until AT LAST the little yellow bike signs indicated us right, off the road and back to the car park. Relief.

Still, it was a fantastic ride with so much scenery to enjoy. My TWDB was so taken with it that he suggested we do it every weekend to get really good at it...

In yer dreams, mate.

VTT competition - Uzès

These mountain bike competitions are killing me! Sunday's one was just outside Uzès, a 95-minute drive away involving getting up at 6.10am to be out of the house by 7.15am, on Mother's Day.

Not as a result, but I didn't go and vote in the European elections. I hadn't signed on at the Mairie before the end of December last year, so couldn't vote even if I'd wanted to. You have to be damned well-organised in this country, and to be honest, last December I didn't even know there would be European elections in which I could vote. I can't vote in the local ones or national ones despite being part of the happy Euro family and paying my taxes, so it tends to make one a bit apathetic about the whole voting palaver.

My youngest had made a couple of Mother's Day bits 'n' bobs at school, while my eldest gave me a kiss. His French teacher had apparently told them they shouldn't make a big fuss about giving pressies and such but should just tell their mother they loved them. Big deal. Stupid cow should keep her mouth shut. Why not love AND a pressie? Who'd say no to spa vouchers/bottle of champagne/diamond earrings/Gucci handbag/bunch of flowers? Not that I'd expect my son aged 12 to get me a pressie seeing as he has no money, but I don't think she (yes, the French teacher is a SHE) should be encouraging stinginess and the idea that pressies are pointless.

What if I just told him I loved him on his birthday, no pressies? Think 'lead balloon'...

The first race at the competition then, was orienteering. The kids haven't received any particular training in this, so they lose loads of points because they have no real idea. Yesterday I scoured the internet and found a set of teaching booklets on orienteering which I sent to the bike club with the suggestion they might find them useful for helping the kids be more successful.

My youngest found two control points out of 5 and came 5/16 which shows the general level. My eldest got lost and was penalised off the planet. The cross-country race took place in the afternoon when it had hotted up nicely, while I sat in a minuscule area of shade. I also suggested to the club that the kids receive training on gear changing. I'm sure they lose time and points because they don't understand the fine art of doing the right change at the right time.

We had to stay to the end and wait for the prize-giving which meant we got home 12hrs after we'd left in the morning. Heavy!

I'm still not recovered today.

Bike Trap

I'm sure I've railed against bad customer service before, especially concerning Cegetel who now has no chance of selling me anything until I'm dead. That was some time ago however. Since then, I've managed to return goods without a problem to Decathlon, Carrefour and Darty, and was even able to cancel an unwanted insurance policy during the period of grace.

However, I'm not impressed with Mr B, my local bike shop guy. I bought my eldest's bike from him last September in an effort to support local businesses. I could have paid less elsewhere, I'm sure, but I know very little about bikes and wanted to be on good terms with Mr B down the road.

To thank me for my custom, he has fitted two faulty rear derailleurs both of which caused problems during mountain bike competitions leading to my son having to pull out of the cross-country races he was doing. He screwed the pedals so tightly on that we couldn't remove them and had to get him to loosen them. He even fitted an automatic pedal on the wrong way.

When I complained about the first derailleur which broke just a month after purchase, Mr B refused to replace it for free, insisting that I should at least pay for the part, 80Eurs. I wasn't happy but he refused to budge on the issue. I wasn't happy about the pedals either, especially as we had wanted to remove the automatic pedals prior to a race but couldn't, and my son, who hadn't quite got used to them, crashed into someone whilst trying to get his foot in, and sprained his ankle, thus ending the race.

I'm sure I'm not getting either good service or good workmanship from this guy. I'm also sure he doesn't give a stuff, so I decided I would remove my custom and take it to the shop where I bought my youngest's bike. They seem to be more professional, don't take the piss, and appreciate a good customer.

Interestingly, when I took the bike and explained the situation, and how much I'd been charged for the part, he didn't believe me. So, my deduction is that despite Mr B telling me he'd make me pay the part only, he actually fitted a poor quality derailleur so that I'd also pay for the work. The guy at the Bicycle Store told me he'd fit a better quality one for 40Eur.

Hopefully, my eldest will actually be able to finish a race at the next competition.

Yesterday we were at St Côme, near Calvisson. It was a blazing 32°C so really tough for the competitors. In the morning they had orienteering which was a bit difficult by the sound of it. Reports came back of children crying because they thought they were lost. Being in the middle of the garrigue there were very few landmarks - just paths and bushes.

In the afternoon was the cross-country with a mixture of single track technical bits, open speedier paths and a climb. My eldest said it was a good course and was furious that the derailleur let him down after one circuit. He was supposed to do 9km while my youngest finished his 4km.

I sat and sweltered, plastering on sun cream and thinking it was a bit early for so much sun. Are we in for a scorching summer?!

VTT - Canal Route

Yesterday we had the second of our May days off. It was WWII Remembrance Day and my youngest's teacher had asked her pupils to attend the remembrance ceremony, so we did. Just. I forgot to keep an eye on the time so we ended up dashing down to the memorial just after 11.

Our remembrance done, we didn't stay for the apero. I had been in the middle of cleaning and had to get back to finish it off. Not the most amusing way to spend a day off, but unfortunately necessary.

My eldest had been whisked off by a friend to spend the day at Les Rochers de Maguelone which is one of those swinging in trees adventure type places. I had to go and pick him and the friend up at the end of the afternoon so decided it would be a good idea to do some cycling with my youngest who was nagging to go out.

I hauled out the bike rack and fixed it to the boot. It's a real pain because the rack is quite high and lifting the bikes onto it requires manly strength. However, I got there and attached both of them to the car as you can never be too sure about racks.

We drove down to Vic la Gardiole and parked the car at the start of a bike path down to the beach of Les Aresquiers. The Région has been busily creating bike routes and this one is really pleasant. It's a Wizard of Oz yellow path wide enough for bikes and pedestrians to move with ease, and well off the road. Three and a half kilometres later, you arrive at the beach, but I suggested we cycle along the banks of the canal for some real peace.


The path stretches as far as Palavas and beyond to Carnon so there is plenty of ground to cover if distance is what you're after. You cycle along a track on a strip of land entirely surrounded by water. It's very quiet, very flat and very empty. There was the odd person out for a stroll but they don't go far so the further you venture, the more alone you are.

The sea is on the right of the picture, identifiable by the white line of the breaking wave. In the etang on the left were oyster and mussel beds, the fruits of which could be bought direct from the producer along the road near where we parked the car.

It was, in fact, a bit flat and unadventurous for my youngest so he made up for the lack of rise by bouncing on his bike. Naturally, this led to him getting a puncture because the ground was full of sharp little stones and the odd bit of glass. I had the wherewithal to change the inner tube but hoped it was sufficiently small to cope with being pumped up from time to time.

No such luck, natch. I pumped and then we went down to the sea too see the pretty energetic waves and stony beach. Although the carpark was heaving, there were few people about. I think they were out for a walk rather than sitting about on a cool and windy bunch of stones.

Time was moving on, so we set off back to the car. After I'd pumped up the damned tyre for the fifth time, I decided to change it. All this bike activity has forced me to learn how to change an inner tube and I'm amazed I never had to do it before. I never got punctures even though I used my town bike a lot.

Anyway, I got out the kit and the new tube and set to work. While I was working away, I was asked several times if I needed help by kind men out for a stroll with the family, or other cyclists. I had almost finished and was pumping the tyre back up when one old guy couldn't believe I didn't need help. He so insisted that my pump didn't seem to be pumping that I let him finish it off. Then of course I thanked him nicely for being so kind and he went off happy that he'd done the gentlemanly thing and helped a 'damsel in distress'.

The rest of the way back was thankfully uneventful apart from the fright my youngest gave a young mother when he swept up to overtake her and her small child and swerved somewhat at the last moment. This led to a lesson on sharing the road and good bike practice and a promise he wouldn't do it again.

Had we had time, it would have been nice to cycle along the cycle track next to the beach. It's a green-marked route on the Michelin map, and goes as far as Frontignan. Probably too flat for my youngest, but a great one to do with my TWDB so I'll be adding that one to the list too.

I managed to get the bikes back on the rack, and they were still there when we arrived home. Perhaps my pessimism is a little unjust.

Three Cheers for Chocolate!

The good news is that eating dark chocolate eases blood pressure a little bit. It contains those lovely polyphenols that certain red wines contain in quantity too. I can forsee a wonderful diet... For the moment, the dark chocolate I eat is revived Bourneville which, for some obscure reason was ditched by Cadbury's some years ago, and has been resurrected due to the increased demand for dark chocolate.

You can just imagine the brainstorming session at Cadbury's:
Youthful Keen Bean Manager: "Okay, today's task is to come up with a dark chocolate to add to the Cadbury's range. As you know, it's been proven to ease blood pressure... blah blah...".
5 minutes later...
Cynical Old Marketing Exec: "Well kid, you are too young to remember (sniggers from room)... but we had a dark chocolate."
YKBM: "Oh, really?"
COME: "Yeah. Bourneville."
YKBM: "Oh."
COME: "Great, meeting over. Back to work!"

The world's shortest product ideas meeting!

I used to love Bourneville, but, living in France, had not realised it had been withdrawn. I bought French or Swiss chocolate instead, as they were the ones on the shelves. Being quite rich though, it's difficult eating more than a very little, for me, anyway. Bourneville has a much smoother taste and this lends itself to pigging. Still, it's not available in the shops here so home stock levels depend very much on trips back to Blighty. This leads to rationing, which is probably a good thing, for la ligne...

Talking of which... as I'm off today. It's Independence Day in the US and while I might not give a shit at the origin of the holiday, it being a tad painful and all... I'm quite happy to benefit from the result. Having had my hair cut and dashed around buying artistic creative bits and bobs for the boys to enliven their summer holidays with, this afternoon I think I'll get my bike out and flex those thigh muscles.

I'd better take some chocolate just to keep my heart ticking over...