TGO - Cycling round the Etang de Ponant

I have been sent home from work today because of an orange bad weather alert. How different from the glorious sunny weekend a couple of days ago.

The whole country was bathed in a balmy anticyclone for the last weekend of the Toussaint holidays. Perfect weather for a Halloween tramp around the houses with over-excited kids.

We dug out our book on mountain bike trails around Montpellier 'Autour de Montpellier - VTT' that's been sitting in the house unused for five years. It sometimes takes time to catch up with action one's good intentions. I jotted down all the rides that were:

• on the flat
• doable in an hour and a half
• the list was:
• number 2 at Grau du Roi, 12 km, taking 1h30, flat
• number 3 at l'étang du Ponant, 13 km, taking 1h30, flat
• number 5 along the Vidourle river, 17km, taking 1h30, flat

The aim of enjoying a gentle ride was so that we wouldn't repeat the mistake of our last bout of VVT enthusiasm when we launched into a 27 km circuit around the Lac de Salagou, the memory of which was so traumatic we didn't touch the bikes again for months. We learned from that mistake.

La Vidourle river

So we chose the tour of Ponant lake between la Grande Motte and Grau du Roi. You leave the car on either side of the dramatically called Pont des Abîmes which crosses the Vidourle river. Unhitch the bikes and prepare for a couple of hours of delight.

Single track path, l'étang de Ponant

Although the start of the path is a wide 'chemin vert' along the river which is much used by people out to enjoy a nice walk with or without dogs or kids or both, after a few hundred metres, it turns right to start the tour of the lake. There, if you're not used to riding along single file tracks (like me), you can find yourself wobbling and falling off until you realise that you have to look straight ahead and not down at the track. Looking down is a to court disaster. My DB, following me, was highly entertained by my antics.

Boggy patch, l'étang de Ponant

We set out at just after 3pm in autumnal soft lighting and muted colours. The lake was a silky pale blue-grey, its surface barely broken by a gentle breeze. Growing around the edge are typical salt marsh plants such as sea pickle or glasswort. In the summer it's bright green, but in the autumn it turns a rusty red. It makes for a soft landing too...

Glasswort banks on l'étang de Ponant

The path was mostly dry, but there were several patches of boggy marsh. For most we could find an alternative way round, but we also had to ride through some muddy zones which left a sticky sludge on the bikes that had to be washed off with the powerful jet of a car wash.

Peaceful path, l'étang de Ponant

We didn't hurry. It was so peaceful - the water still except for the odd plop of a fish catching insects, the beautiful light that softened everything we saw, hardly anyone about, only a few fishermen sitting placidly waiting, and the perfect temperature for riding.

étang de Ponant

As the afternoon wore on, the mosquitoes came out, but by then we were nearly finished. The sun was starting to set and tinted everything with a rosy hue.

Aigrette on a branch, l'étang de Ponant

Fishing nets, étang de Ponant

There are many different types of birds that visit the étang. We didn't see any flamingoes but did see a number of herons and aigrettes posing stylishly on the tree branch 'sculptures' in the middle of the lake.

Heron? étang de Ponant

This is a fantastic ride to do in la demi-saison - spring and autumn - when it's not too hot, and not too damp. Especially on a wind-free day like the one we had.

No wind today, étang de Ponant

At the end, we felt energised and relaxed after a ride that was good for both mind and body. And we made a speedy getaway before a mozzie attack could ruin the effect!

Finally I can stop moaning about exercising - Zumba works!

Over the years I've been at this blog I've moaned about exercising 11 times (looking at my handy label list on the left) - exercising or more exactly lack thereof. Let's face it, exercising is excruciatingly boring on a regular basis. It means doing basically the same thing whether it's a nice walk, a jog, a bounce on a mini trampoline or pounding the tarmac on a bike. Obligation and repetition kills it for me.

My DB was quite happy with my Renaissance woman look, but I felt a bit clogged up and creaky. It was a tad annoying too to listen to the disapproving tut-tutting from Pierrette my personal shopper when she came with bags of titchy designer size 38s and I couldn't get the trousers over my thighs...

Eventually, after noting that my sister-in-law was looking pretty svelte after a year of zumba, I decided to take the plunge and sign up. When I mentioned this to a buddy, she said she would do it too especially as she has a dance/exercise school 50m from their front door. As my village has one lesson on a Friday night at 7.30pm, a hopeless time if ever there was one, I went along to the village next door and had my pick of evenings and times. We signed up and paid for two lots of one-hour lessons and have been at it for nearly two months now.

The results are impressive although not everyone is happy, my DB in particular who is lamenting the loss of wobble. I go along and prance about, sweat and puff, and enjoy the combination of Latin dance and exercise, and then go back to my pal's house and have an apero and a natter. Who knew it could be so effective and entertaining? Here's the sort of thing we get up to:

My dancing days go back to doing ballet when I were a wee nipper. I knew my destiny was not the Royal Ballet when I never got chosen to be the butterfly at the end of the class. Only the good dancers got to be the butterfly. The sodding teachers couldn't even rotate the honour! A lesson learned young, I can tell you.

Not to be discouraged, however, I took some tap classes much later when I was a bored teenager, and did some jazz ballet too. I was never any good of course, but it kept me entertained, got me as far as managing to do the splits, and of course, was good exercise. I even went on a week's course with a friend up to Norwich I think it was to take prancing about in a synthetic silk circle skirt to a new level...

When I went to university I joined the jazz dance group for the exercise and the pleasure it gave even though I was still pretty useless. When I left and came to France, I bought Jane Fonda's Workout (remember that?) and regularly did the longer routine, leggings included. My ex-h learned how to dance le rock in 6 and taught me which meant on the rare occasions we went out and there was music, we could let swing and enjoy ourselves. I remember my pleasure was somewhat dampened at some point when he started dancing with a colleague who it just so happened had done a lot of dancing in her time and was waay better than me. It took much gritting of teeth not to hold it against her and detest her forever more. Fortunately there was no additional flirting to really piss me off.

My most recent foray into dance was when I bought the XBox Dance Central for the boys (and me) so they could have (girl)friends over for a laugh, and I joined in too sometimes. Then they went back to shoot 'em up games and I could no longer get access to the tele on a regular basis.

So, I suppose I have done enough dancing in my time to get the hang of zumba quite quickly and enjoy it, and having paid, will continue to go to the classes to the end of the year. At the end of the first class I was a wreck and had to take the easy movement options until I got fit enough to finish without collapsing.

I spent some time looking through zumba videos to find one that wasn't too annoying, and was amazed to see in some of them that blokes were doing it too. We have no men in our classes, only women and adolescents, and I seem to be among the oldest if I'm not the head old bat... Everyone dresses in unpretentious sports clothes, many, like mine, from Decathlon, and not official Zumba wear which costs an arm and a leg on the internet. So it's all quite parochial and friendly which suits me fine. My friend and I have a laugh, say hello to some of the others, and then go back to her house for a natter and an apero. Really, it's a most civilised way of exercising.

My stomach is flatter than when I used the lazy sod's answer to exercise - Slendertone - and my arse has shrunk, and that's just after six weeks or so! If my DB doesn't like it, he can always take me out for slap up meals to fatten me up. Now there's a good idea!

"Mummy, You Look Pregnant"

The immortal words of my youngest son this summer, blast him. Still, sometimes you need a kick up the arse to get you moving, and get moving is what I did.

As this is not a sponsored blog I'm not going to plaster the mark of the equipment I used, but I'll mention it in tiny letters at the end.

I may have mentioned before that I find exercise unutterably boring. It can be mildly alleviated by listening to music on an MP3 player, but not enough in my opinion, and my player was 'borrowed' by my eldest son and dumped back with the announcement that it didn't work any more. Thanks, son!

But I have a friend who gave me a stomach firming kit which uses battery-controlled buzzing (or vibrations but it feels like buzzing). Stomach-firming for the lazy, I call it, and thus perfect for yours truly. I'd had it for a while, and used it from time to time on a fairly low level. Naturally nothing much happened and I didn't like using it in the winter as the pads are so cold it's torture putting them on and waiting for them to warm up. Yes, I'm that much of a wimp.

However, my youngest son's image of me convinced me to speed things up a bit. As it was July and thus relatively warm (not that warm as we had crap weather) I happily got the kit out and racked it up to 20. It buzzed with much more vigour. Next day 21 then 25 (buzz buzz) for a few days then I thought, what the hell, and set it as 30.

So did it work? Well, yes it DID! Amazingly so.

My TWDB told me that there are two zones to the stomach area: a sexy one below the belly button, and a normal one above. On models, they are flat as a board from top to bottom, but while this is what's required to be a clothes' horse, it is not ideal from a male point of view. Your average bloke likes beneath the belly button to be gently rounded because this denotes fertility and sexual attraction (did you know that?). A flat area is not sexy because it doesn't show a high level of potential fertility.

However, above the belly button should be flat and 'held in' by the stomach muscles. Presumably otherwise one is likely to be mistaken for being pregnant...

You could be doing 100 sit-ups every day for the same effect, but frankly, why bother, especially if you have a delicate back? Kit yourself out in a buzzing belt and you can exercise whilst watching tele, reading a book, surfing on the internet or even ironing!

I now have a much-improved silhouette, can get into more of my trousers and feel much better. My TWDB is delighted because while he thought the same as my son, he didn't dare say anything (what a sweetie!). My youngest does have a tendency of saying things how they are but he does it with such sincerity that one can only think of it as a call to action rather than take offence. Mind you, I did take a tiny bit of offence, then pulled myself together because he was absolutely spot on!

The kit I used, then is Slendertone, and you can get them pretty cheaply on Ebay. Highly recommended.

On the Rebound

Not sold with bloke

I have been bouncing my way through the week thanks to Merewoman at NoDamnBlog. Or rather, rebounding, the official but much less (pornographically) evocative term.

In my quest to get moving without exerting myself uncomfortably, she suggested buying a mini trampoline. What a brilliant suggestion! I used to love jumping on the bed when I was little. We had a little trampoline for the garden too and I spent hours on it. Little did I know that it's amazingly good for your health.

To start with, it's very kind on your joints - important when they start to creak unnervingly. Whilst jogging puts enormous stress on certain joints, with bouncing, all joints (and cells) are affected, but without the stress. Isn't that cool? Plus you don't have to worry about looking a mess and facing the elements (or stepping in dog poo, this being France...). It's something to do with the zero gravity you get at the top of the bounce and twice the force at the bottom.

Another amazing health benefit is on the lymphatic system. The website Healing Daily has a nifty explanation why:
"The human body needs to move. The lymph system bathes every cell, carrying nutrients to the cell and waste products away. Contrary to blood which is pumped by the heart, the lymph is totally dependent on physical exercise to move. Without adequate movement, the cells are left stewing in their own waste products and starving for nutrients, a situation which contributes to arthritis, cancer and other degenerative diseases as well as ageing. Vigorous exercise such as rebounding is reported to increase lymph flow by 15 to 30 times."

They even have a diagram of how it works on the human body for those interested in the biological/anatomical aspect. So, it's important to exercise to prevent cells stewing in their own waste, and if that isn't a good enough reason to get your arse bouncing I don't know what is!

You start gently enough just doing the odd bobbing movement to warm up, and swing your arms a bit too. You can perk things up by watching tele at the same time, or listening to the radio, your iPod (if you have one), an audio book or any other mentally stimulating activity. As I have a small house, my mini trampoline is in front of the tele, so I'm often watching Fable 3 or some such XBox game that's being played by the boys. We have a relatively democratic house. I can lay down the law but only if I choose, otherwise they can decide what they watch. Most of the time I'm not bothered as it's all a bunch of crap anyway.

Once you've warmed up nicely, you can jog on the spot, pick up your knees, kick out your feet, swing your hips and so on, plus do arm exercises too. Trampolines usually come with a sheet of exercises most of which are pretty intuitive once you get the hang of it.

Of course, once the rest of the family see the trampoline you might have to fight them off to be able to use it and in our house, there's usually one of the boys bobbing up and down on it. It's been a huge success and I've used it every day.

I bought mine for €35 so less than the price of a pair of jogging shoes (which I wouldn't buy anyway) and a terrific investment. My cells are at this very moment popping the champagne corks with relief at having been saved from stewing in their own waste. It's all go in there!

So, to summarise, here are 10 reasons to invest (not heavily) in a mini trampoline:

1. You can do it in front of the tele.
2. You don't have to go outside.
3. You don't have to dress.
4. It's really really good for you.
5. It's kind on your poor old joints.
6. You can pretend you're a kid.
7. It's very amusing bouncing up and down.
8. There are probably some very original ways of using the trampoline with one's dearly beloved...
9. It's a cheap form of exercise.
10. The whole family will be fighting to do it.

Brilliant!

Elle MacP and Me

Elle MacP, not me

Why is it that when you eat a Christmas chocolate weighing roughly 20g you put on 1kg in weight? Does anyone have an answer to this conundrum?

My answer has been to stop weighing myself until the boxes are all empty and a week or so has gone by. I mean, I can't NOT eat them, can I? I LOVE chocolate and only really indulge myself at this time of year. I go off it completely in the summer as it's too hot to contemplate it's heavy sticky sweetness. But when it's cold and miserably dark, there's nothing like a dip into a box of Thornton's Continental Selection to perk one up a tad.

Port would work well too, and indeed has, to the point that I've finished the bottle, but it doesn't have that bizarre weight ratio issue that chocolate does.

I was reading The Times online this morning and came across some exercises for middle age bats like Elle Macpherson and me. Well, she's not so much of an old bat because she's been doing these exercises that James Duigan (never heard of him but he seems to be some celebrity fitness trainer so I suppose he has to deliver the goods or those delectable invitations to celebrity events will dry up) came up with, and I suppose, to be honest, she has fine genetic material that puts her in a physical class above mere mortals like me. Anyway, she still looks fab, natch.

So I had a look at the timetable of exercises and liked seeing three day's worth of Taking a Rest. That would suit me fine, but in order to deserve the rest you have put yourself through a degree of exertion on the other days. Exercises to ward off/away for example, bat wings, saggy bum, back fat (didn't know that crept up on us, I thought it just all sagged!) and flabby tummy. Sounds dreary, doesn't it?

Exercises are always dreary and these ones are no exception, but at least they are age-related, to me. I'm not young, I'm not an OAP and it's nice that someone's taken the time to think up a regime just for us middies. Out of gratitude, then, I may give his exercises a try. I do need to move my arse and at least he's not exhorting us to give up alcohol or chocolate!

Unfortunately, a second reading of the article has made me realise that you do need to warm up with some tedious cardio stuff first - 3 mins of brisk walking, 2 mins of light jogging, and a 30-second sprint. That's not all either, you have to do the last two 3-5 times. I'm rapidly losing interest mainly because I live in a geographically complicated area with few pavements and there's no way I'm driving out to a better spot. Exercise is supposed to fit in easily with my lifestyle or it just goes the way of all the other good intentions - astray.

Take today, for example, I got up and went to work leaving behind two sick boys. Came home at lunch time and tended to said boys, plus grabbed some lunch. Left work early so I could take the youngest to an MRI appointment at 5.30pm, came home at 7.30pm and had to make dinner for all. Just when am I supposed to fit in the Saggy Bum exercises including half an hour of warm-up?

I'm rather assuming I'll catch one or both of the bugs and then I'll have ample time to exercise but will be prostrate in my bed. Actually, I rely on sickness to do as much lying prostrate as possible. It's something of a luxury and one of the advantages of being at work - time off sick!

Will I won't I? The suspense is killing me!

Nookwii

Now, I'm not old, I'm middle-aged, but an article this week in the Times practically sent me rushing out to buy a sodding Wii. It was the one on 'Sex and the Old' and it basically said that if you want to continue have great nooky in your old age, you'd better be fit and healthy.

Fit. Ah. Hmm. I'm not completely not fit. No sirree, I cycled 27km round Lac Salagou up and down over hill and dale only last autumn. I recovered within three days. But I don't do enough on a regular basis and I can't seem to work out how to rectify that.

I'm most drawn to buying a Wii because it'll mean not having to go out. I'm also drawn to joining the local fitness club at the Mairie - not a commercial gym - because of potential blogging material. Of course, there may not be room in the gym class this far into the year which may solve that problem, which would be nice...

I have popped down to the tennis court to hit a few balls around on the practice court recently, but then the weather turned nasty for ages and that was that. I have to re-motivate myself now which is a toughie. All I want to do at lunch time is go home and have lunch and watch Wycliffe.

Why is keeping fit such an effing pain in the arse?

I work full time and have my writing to do around it, I have two boys, and take care of the house. I'm usually tired in the evening and the thought of cooking something for the boys, but only being able to eat something light so I can go out at 8.45pm for an hour to do some yoga or gym down the road fills me with loathing. Especially as that is the time my youngest goes to bed, so that would all be disrupted.

Boring boring and yet... great nooky depends on it. Damn! Tips, anyone?

Exercise is fun?

Don't you find that the moment someone says 'you should do this, you should do that', that immediately, even if you were not viscerally against it, you would resent the bossing about and therefore do nothing?

This is how it is with exercise and me. I have nothing particular against exercise. It's a bit of a drag, let's face it, but I do feel good afterwards. The trouble is, since we've been told we should be exercising for 20mins 3 times a week, my already weak enthusiasm just petered out completely.

It went negative when my TWDB told me the advice now is one hour three times a week. Dream on, I say.

Last Sunday, he wanted us to take the bikes and do some cycling. I entertained the idea theoretically as a good one, but in practice all I wanted to do was fart about. In the end, with much cajoling, I put together a picnic (including wine - always a good way to encourage me!), we got the bikes inside and on the car, and I drove us all to Carnon's fishermen's cottages.

They are precariously (with global warming's threat of rising water) planted on land betwixt lagoon and canal, with fabulous views over another lagoon towards the Cevennes in the distance, on a clear day.

The canal path has two main advantages: 1) it's flat; 2) it's off-road. You cycle along in peace and quiet, water on both sides and no one to get in the way. For the exercise-allergic, the ride does help to reconcile you to the concept of off-yer-butt muscular exertion. It's about 3km to Palavas where we left the canal and cycled over to the beach for our picnic.

We had all brought our cossies, but I don't really like swimming. Water is wet and when I'm dry and warm, the last thing I want to do is get cold and wet. Still, it was very warm so I was quite happy to dabble my toes and cool off. The water was not that warm even in the cunningly created little bays that enable tiny children to play in the water (supervised) safely.

Boys don't do toe-dabbling so they were in the water splashing, fighting, swimming and egging me on further in. I then found myself being manhandled (yum) by my TWDB and, in order to avoid being thrown in, had to negotiate my way to an agreement - I would swim, but IN MY OWN TIME!

I couldn't sneak out and renege on the agreement either because my progress was closely monitored by 3 pairs of eyes with muscle superpower at the ready. I braced myself for the shock of cold, and plunged in, swam about a bit, snuggled with my TWDB and then headed out to dry off and warm up on the towel.

We stayed all afternoon, having left the suncream in the car, and cycled back positively glowing although not solely with health...

Today, I'm signing us all up again at the tennis club. Last year we made it down there no more than three times, and I played with my TWDB once. Hopefully this year we can do better; it would not be difficult!

Exercise is such an effort though *yawn*.

VTT to the Sea

Last Friday was May 1st which meant all us poor workers had the day off to celebrate the Fête du Travail. My TWDB and I were more concerned about celebrating a fête de free time so put our mountain bikes in my boot and drove to the Hôtel de Région on the banks of the Lez in Montpellier.

From there, you can cycle all the way to the beach at Carnon, a mere 10km along the flat.

It was a lovely sunny day, with a slight wind which warmed rather than chilled - perfect for cycling. I parked the car - free on a jour férié - and took to our bikes. I had thought we'd be able to cycle along the Lez all the way to the beach, but work is being done to shore up the banks of the river to protect against flooding. It started in March and won't be finished until some time next year. Damn, missed it by peu!

Instead there is a cycle path which follows the main road for most of the way. It starts off going through the new quarter of the Hôtel de Région with its impressive architecture designed by Ricardo Bofill.

Just after is Montpellier's very own bidonville made up of half a dozen shacks. As bidonvilles go, it's not very big - more of a bidon-hamlet really, but it does come as quite a shock if you're not expecting it. I have no idea who lives there as there was no sign of life, just the odd shopping trolley and broken toys.

We then had to leave the river bank and take a sharp turn to join the path next to the road. It's not too bad as it follows the road peacefully but is not part of it. You can see the fields south of the city become part of one of the commercial zones of Perols. At Alinéa, we stopped to have a look at garden furniture on display outside and through the windows.

Once we'd got passed all that, we finally reached the étangs - Méjean on one side, l'Or on the other. Herons and seagulls were the main performance, with the odd duck. I didn't see any flamingoes however. The view opened out over the expanses of water with oyster and mussel beds in the distance, the little fishermens' cottages set prettily in the middle of it all, and the Canal du Rhone à Sète severely straight from east to west. At Carnon, it was all activity with boat yards, boats and boat suppliers.

We cycled to le Lézard, a private beach and restaurant where my TWDB and I went to on our first date. We sat in the sun, I sipped on a Marguerita and had a mighty salad for lunch, halos of exercise smugness hanging brightly over us.

As drowsiness overcame us, we went and had a snooze on the beach, or tried to. We seemed to have found the place a team of Auvergnate sportsmen had chosen to gather to make matey masculine war cries and flirt with chicks. Their tee-shirts gave no clue as to what sport they played but they were throwing a rugby ball about...

In the end we gave up and went to chat to a guy who rents out jet skis.

The return ride was remarkable for the number of people who were also cycling to and from the sea. It's a very popular route, unsurprisingly. It's easy, not far, and pleasant.

Next time I'd like to cycle along the Canal du Midi from Béziers to Portiragnes with 9 locks and a lovely shadey ride. Fun!

Brainercise

We've been told for years now that our brains start degenerating early on in life and that we should make an effort to keep them active. Use it or lose it, as the saying goes.

Quite right too. There are lots of (quite expensive) commercial products that set out to improve cognitive function and memory with regular use. Many of these are listed today in The Times article on this subject. You could also play chess or read a good book.

I'm quite interested in this subject, especially since the demise of my father's brain through Alzheimer's. Apparently whether you exercise your brain or not makes no difference to your likelihood of contracting the disease, but maybe it could retard the onset.

I'm also aware of the problem of using or not my brain as my job is not in the least bit challenging. I therefore have to find ways of interesting myself in my daily life. Of course, having lively children is great for keeping the brain active. Combating subterfuges, negotiating your way around demands, and finding answers to complex issues is all good exercise. My boys are certainly doing their best to keep my brain well-trained. For which I thank them, naturally...

One of the expensive software products listed in the Times is called 'MindWeavers' (mindweavers.com). You can try out a couple of the exercises online and the one I did was indeed quite a challenge. Would I pay £90 for it for one user? No, I wouldn't. I'd rather read a good book ta. Still, I'm not too over the hill yet. Give me another 15 years and I might start panicking enough to fork out the dosh. I may also have fewer (boy-like) demands on my resources to be able to afford said dosh...

The article gives snippets of advice on how to stay brain-ful. This is my favourite:

The best advice I ever heard came from a Spanish neurologist, Damaso Crespo. He said I should do 100 yards a day, not sprinting but walking. But I had to walk with a friend and talk all the time. It’s the walking, the talking and the friendship that feed the brain; the sprint just feeds dumb muscles.

I've already read that social interaction is terribly important for maintaining a healthy interest in life and keeping the old grey cells moving. This advice just brings it all together - the need for physical exercise as well as a nice chat, and the warm and fuzzy emotions that having a good friend produce.

So, really, it's not difficult or expensive to stay brain-fit. Keep talking, keep reading, keep walking. Yep, I can do that.

Lowering the Tone

Yesterday afternoon, my TWDB and I went for a brisk walk along the beach. The weather has been terrible lately, but it was clearer towards the sea, so we headed down to Carnon to get a fix of ozone and clear the cobwebs.

It has to be said that, while the stretch of beach from Carnon to Palavas is lovely and sandy, the beachside buildings are quite revolting. They are evidence of 70's cheap, design-free concrete block architecture. In fact, I hesitate to use the word 'architecture' because I find it difficult to believe that any architect worth the name could come up with such boring, bland, and ugly buildings.

Low-rise block upon block of functional cubes line the beach - mostly apartment blocks, with the occasional house. Many of the blocks have been battered by the elements and are in sore need of repairs and paint, which adds to the shoddy air of the place.

Frankly, the best solution would be to tear down the lot and start again. Mind you, I say that, but one block had been renovated to prove that with creativity (and money) you can transform the ugly into something attractive and even chic!

It had been transformed using wood panelling to extend the rooms out over the balcony thus enlarging the living area. A couple of columns, some porthole windows and a bit of aluminum gave a whole new look, and increased the desirability of the place a thousand fold. The block suddenly became the most attractive on the street, but I wonder if the surrounding crap affected its value. You know what they say about having a house out of character with its surroundings...

Anyway, I suppose the hope is that it'll drag up the others, their owners suddenly inspired to do as the Jones' and go renovation mad... An optimistic thought!

We were in need of a cuppa by the time we reached Palavas. The rather trendy restaurant was closing, so we sat outside facing the beach, at a bar. There we were unfortunate enough to have the most revolting tea and coffee the country, and perhaps the whole of Europe, has ever had the gall to offer paying customers. The tea was Lipton Yellow - that well-known bag of tea dust and floor scrapings - served in a pot with a broken spout, with hot milk. Quite foul. The coffee must have been made with three grains.

When we went to pay, we had to step inside the grottiest bar outside la zone, which made one fearful for the hygiene, or lack of it, of the cups... The waiter had filthy stubby fingers too. The whole place was a disgrace, and there's no way anyone should have to pay for the disgusting crap that is served up.

We admired the view seaward, and left, amazed at how such a place could make a living, although the evidence was that the living made was pretty poor. Unsurprisingly!

We walked back along the road, admiring the efforts of those who aimed to raise the tone of the place with home improvements, and lamenting the waste of valuable views to grotty flats in ugly buildings.

It's not like this in Nice... so I believe...

Hip-ache

I think I overdid it yesterday. The weather, which had been depressingly cloudy and wet during the week, turned glorious just in time for the weekend.

I had spent a fraught Friday night getting the boys off on their trip to Paris to see their father. Because of my eldest's faffing about getting his schoolbooks sorted out to take, we had to race to the platform only to see the train pulling out and on its way. I emitted an expletive loudly and forcefully.

We then queued up for half an hour to change the tickets and they must have got the last two seats on the next train, in first class natch, and needed a supplementary financial top-up. They looked mighty pleased with themselves sat at their two-place table with two glamorous and perhaps even famous chicks at the foursome table on the other side of the aisle.

So yesterday I was boy-free, and it was sunny, and I was determined to make the most of it. Pooh-poohing the idea of shopping, I donned some sporty shorts and tee-shirt and headed off to the beach. There wasn't a cloud in the sky - the sun shone generously, warmly, full of vitamin D.
I aimed to do my Carnon (Petit Travers) - Grande Motte walk at a healthy pace. The beach was empty except for a few people walking their dogs/girlfriend/spouse or jogging, and one or two families scattered sparsely. There were even people in the sea. I tested the water and it was surprisingly warm, not that I was about to rush in and go for a bracing swim, mind.

I set off quite lazily, warming up. It's been a year since I did the walk and I was feeling a bit the worse for my lack of regular exercise. As I loosened up, I upped the pace and walked briskly along the hard sand at the water's edge.

The sea was peaceful with only little wavelets splashing up onto the beach. It was too calm for sailing boats so there was hardly any activity going on further out. The odd plane heading for Montpellier droned from overhead as it swept out over the water to U-turn back for landing, wheels down at the ready. A handful of fishermen had their rods out, and their nutbrown wives were enjoying deepening the colour on their topless chests.

I nearly killed a Yorkshire terrier puppy however, inadvertently I might add. I was walking along at a brisk pace and passed a couple with two dogs off leads one of which was the puppy. I didn't realise it, but it seemed to think I had something terribly attractive to smell round about my ankles and came tearing after me running under my feet and causing me to trip up. I nearly trod on it, and it would have been a goner, it was that small. Its owner came rushing up to scold it and try and make it realise it had behaved stupidly, but it was really an exceptionaly stupid animal because it had not learnt its lesson at all. I had carried on walking but became aware that the owner was shrieking at the mutt because it was charging straight for my feet, again. I looked down and there it was dying to be trodden on, and the temptation was almost too great... However, it was scooped up into the arms of its owner before I could do any damage and whisked away.

I reached La Grande Motte and sat down for a rest in the sun, soaking up that vitamin D and some colour to my face, then I got up and walked back. I was feeling a tad tired though, so fairly ambled along back to the car.

Despite climbing up hills and doing bits and bobs in the recent past, that walk has left me physically exhausted today. I had to do some cleaning, but my hips are killing me and I feel like some crippled old biddy as I hobble around. So I've been taking it quite easy, had a snooze after lunch and been reading my latest compelling read, 'This thing of darkness'. Not chicklit, but a fabulous story of adventure mapping that most hostile of coastlines, Patagonia, back in the nineteenth century.

It's about as much adventure as I can take right now, hunkered down in a comfy chair in the sun.

Heartiness

I'm getting pretty nifty at this beach-walking Petit Travers-Grande Motte malarky. I did the round trip plus 12km there and back walk in two hours. That means the walk took 1 hour because it takes roughly 30mins to get from chez moi to the beach.

It was another lovely day although there were many fewer at the beach than on Thursday. Today, I saw a more varied cross-section of the population. It's well-known that one should avoid the dunes if one does not wish to see what one would rather not see. Today, one of those came and took a good view of the sea in all his naked pot-bellied dangliness as I was walking past. Frankly, I could have done without that particular view. Had he been an Adonis, or sporting god I would have admired and slowed down to appreciate the view all the better, but I was not impressed so averted my eyes whilst putting on a special turbo spurt.

Along with the usual families, couples, people with dogs and keen beans like myself although some of them are jogging where I do a brisk walk, was a group of handicapped adults. You don't often see handicapped people of any description out and about in France. The taboo seems to be well-ingrained in society to keep certain individuals behind doors. I find it shocking, so was pleased to see this particular group enjoying a walk along the beach. I don't know the last time I saw someone in a wheelchair outside a hospital. Odd.

Having had a lovely energetic walk, I came back to make hearty soup. I tried something new today - putting the veggies in hot olive oil in the le Creuset casserole pot and roasting them in the oven until soft, then adding the homemade chicken stock and putting it back in the oven. Normally I do everything on the hob, but decided to live dangerously... today and do it all differently. The veggies I used are carrots, turnips, onions, celery, leek, squash. It's turned out deliciously and will no doubt be even better tomorrow. I'm going to take a pot round to NG for our lunches. Hearty soup and crusty bread with a hunk of cheese - what better lunch is there?

Saturdays...! bis

Earlier I had been pondering how to spend the couple of hours I had spare while my eldest and his two pals watched Ratatouille at the cinema. It seems that The Simpsons had been lifted early but they were perfectly happy to see the alternative.

I decided to drive down to Carnon, to le Petit Travers which is a stretch of beach next to the road and leads eventually to la Grande Motte 6km further on. As it was a beautiful if somewhat humid day, there were quite a few people on the beach although not enough to make it difficult to park.

I found a space at the Carnon end, donned my MP3 player and crossed the dunes via a little sandy path to the beach. Then I turned left and started walking on the firm sand next to the sea. The Mediterranean has mostly pathetic little lapping waves so although there was a slight inward tide, it was nothing to get excited about and it was certainly easy to dodge.

Onwards east, I passed a pleasant variety of people - enough to entertain me on my trek. I passed parents with young children, a few people actually in the sea (brrr!) and some walking their dogs. There was a super muscley jogger who looked like he was a Serious Runner because he had a belt on that looked a bit like Batman's multi-faceted one. It had little boxes attached to it - for pills? his mobile phone? glucose tablets? While I was trying to work that out, I admired his tan (very brown), full head of hair and nice enough face. Then he raced past me and I turned to look at his back view briefly. (Nasty Girls was playing on my MP3 player at this moment...)

Carrying on, I came across a team who were dismantling a summer beachside club/disco for the winter. They seemed to have stacks of Pepsi to get through or maybe it was all left over from the summer too. There were various fishermen who hogged the firm sand which meant either I had to dodge round them, or keep close to the rods to avoid being decapitated by the fishing thread which stretched out into the sea. I didn't find out what they were trying to catch.

I passed a couple of young guys kicking a rugby ball to each other with bare feet. One of them kicked just as I was passing, so I said 'Ouch!' to him (because it must have hurt!) at which he smiled and looked tough... At one point I was overtaken by the Serious Runner who had been down to Carnon and run back again, so I was able to admire his back view, now free of tee-shirt, all glistening with effort until he was but a tiny blob.

At la Grande Motte, I turned round and started walking back again. I could have sworn I recognised one guy I passed but just in case it wasn't him, I resisted going up and accosting him giving him a potential fright of his life... I was also in full swing forced march so didn't really want to lose my rhythm for nothing.

It took me an hour and 20 minutes to march the twelve kilometres; a walk I enjoyed very much what with my music, the sea gently pounding next to me, and all the life going on around.

So, I made the effort... and it was, of course, worth it. It nearly always is.