Wake up with a baguette and two croissants delivered
to the door. This is more like it. Early morning swim, breakfast to die for,
wonderfully evil coffee, everything we own in the washing machine, well rested
and happy, an old town to go and explore and the grand prix later: tout is very
bien.
We take the road less travelled into Cagnes sur Mer
(we were aiming for Haut-De-Cagnes, oops), we find the route to the old town:
as always, it’s vertical, but thankfully this time we are on foot. It’s
impossibly pretty and has been the home to both Renoir and Yves Klein.
We wander around the old streets, past the castle and
the grand views of the Med and end up back down at the bottom of the hill for a
few beers and the Grand Prix. Mr old dissipated silver fox barman is super
accommodating and puts it on for us at Noush’s request, but upon her asking for
‘wi-fi’ ( en France c’est weeee-feeee) she is greeted with a blank stare and
‘Du whisky? Je ne comprends pas’, you win some you lose some.
Lovely gentle afternoon, weave back to campsite and
early bed.
After a lovely few days relaxing at this great campsite,
we move on to the hopeful delights of the Gorge du Verdon. More hills beckon –
eek! Next time perhaps we should go to the Netherlands – hmmmm. Amsterdam anyone?