Our last
evening in Marseillan plage and we attempted to get some evening pictures of
“the strip”, but for some unfathomable reason they all came out a little fuzzy,
here’s our best:
Nor did we
manage any escapades to local things, we decided to save that for our return.
However we have plotted a route today that takes us into Montpellier and out
again giving us another stopover at a French Passion. Unlike us we change our
minds and decide to bolt to Arles, which is somewhere that we’ve both always
wanted to visit.
Zooming
along we realie that we’ve taken this road before and when we stop for lunch in
Saint Gilles, it occurs to us that last time we were here was with Badger. We
go for a wander and revisit old haunts
and send up a prayerful greeting to the Bear, bless him.
We had
contemplated staying here, but we’re surrounded by clapped out camper vans and
sketchy characters who can’t seem to perform the most simple of functions i.e
keeping their trousers up, staying clear of fluorescent clothing, driving at less
than 200km/h, not sitting, not looking like six fingered imbeciles. Harsh but
fair. We decide to skip down the road to a French Passion that looks terribly
grand in our book.
Sure enough
on arrival, we zoom down a very glamourous tree lined avenue onto a LARGE
Domaine… Mas de Rey. Vines everywhere…
This is the
type of residence you see in glam glossies advertising the South of France.
Provincial stone, slightly shabby chic, vines and lavender in all the right
places. Tres Bien Rodney. Joking aside it really is unbelievably picturesque.
There is, by all accounts a renaissance chapel, but on this occasion we don’t
get the chance to get up close and personal. If for no other reason than the
mosquitoes. Biblical. Even Norm gets spooked whilst sat outside admiring the
view (edit – waiting for an opportune moment to (delete as appropriate)
bark/chase another dog/cause severe embarrassment to us/attack Moo/Poo in the
worst possible public place.
We choose
to sit inside and polish off some (semi) local wine whilst dining in exquisite
(safe) surroundings. We meet the lovely Sophie, who airily waves us a hello in
the barn enorme (read uber glam conversion restaurant thing, islands are
sinking because their marble bed rock now resides at Mas de Rey). We humbly
enjoy our shady grassy pitch and our wine (sorry sophie, quick Norm eat the
box!) and ease into the evening.
An early
night beckons, especially after a good few miles covered during the day. Safe
to assume then that a good night’s sleep is on the cards. Weill actually no. If
you don’t believe in the supernatural then come and stay here.
Norm, the
dog that once asleep resembles the dead does not sleep. At all. He maintains a
dedicated nightly vigil with precise outbursts of barking and alarm alerts
whenever the need arises. The need arises on a minute by minute basis. The
clash of roman weaponry versus the scream of a clapped out 2CV at 4am (4am…
lock up your daughter….woops, too late). The attack of the flying squirrels,
the falling pine cones, the odd irregular shooting from across the way, but
most of all the ghosts. Ah the ghosts. The restless ghosts still prowl their
ground here, be prepared to share. But gosh it’s beautiful. Do stay, but bring
anti mosquito stuff. And holy water??? J
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