We were up early in anticipation of a hot day with little shade.
It appears that we should have good opportunities to stop for drink or food breaks on this next section clear through to Beziers, but I am guessing based on what I see on Google rather than local tourist bike maps, or the guidebook which I have now given up on.
It is cool this Sunday morning. Coffee, fresh baked rolls and we set out. Walking past the bakery is the smell of heaven.
On the edge of La Redort is the beautiful Bridge de Argent. The early morning light slants through under some of the arches, the trees lit just so. The old stone bridge was built so that any water running on it during a storm would spill into the canal.
Just past it, the canal itself passes high over the river below. The sides of the canal are slightly lower here, so any flooding waters can run off spilling into the river below. Flood control all around. It is obvious a lot of water has been spilling over recently, the walkway here is slick with wet moss, and signs warn us to pass with extreme caution.
Looking up ahead, there is a pig on trail! Neither of us can believe it. But we look again,a little black porker is standing, looking at us, unsure of what to do. We laugh, and I quickly name him “Jambon” (Bacon).
I call out softly, “Here Jambon!” and he turned and ran off on his little legs.
At least Gail didn’t think it was an alligator.
We get out of the stretch of heavy trees and are back walking through vineyards. Grapes as far as we can see.
The only sound is the distant clanging of church bells from villages far off.
There is just something about the early morning light; the magical softness, a gentle way to wake up.
We pass some workers frolicking in the grapes. That’s it. Frolicking. Laughing and shouting as they work, unlike the workers who toil and struggle.
Perhaps they are paid in wine as well as money?
There are no trees trees here on this elevated bank, like a levee separating the canal from the fields. No trees, just brown grasses and a gravel path.
We crunch along, following the endless canal.
But Gail is not frolicking.
I have noticed that the first part of the walk, from Toulouse to 0+00 was more tame; wide paved path, benches to sit on, giant plane trees hanging over the canal. There were few boats there.
But since dropping down from the Parting of the Waters, the trail is more overgrown, there are less trees, and more little villages springing up. If you decide to walk the Canal du Midi, this is something to keep in mind.
Homps.
We stopped in at a canal front café for an espresso and sparkling water. Red flowered oleander trees line the canal, and people sit and sip their morning coffee on the boats. Hey! There are the people who passed us at the lock yesterday, the ones who looked at us as their boat sunk down a level.
We wave hello.
“Again Us!"
The soft French spoken by the barista and customers, the clink of the dishes and sound of the birds. I ate the little ginger cookie and downed my espresso, we paid and headed on past the church and out of town, waving goodbye to the boat friends.
There is an actual boat jam at the Homps lock. The lock keeper is jamming three boats in at a time.
Now we are walking under tall pines.
Yet another impressive canal over creek bridge.
We come around a corner and find two Rent-A-Boats, at least one of which is piloted by someone who can’t drive. Somehow, in a narrow section of the canal, (I surmise) the boat with the British family, mom, teenage girl, teenage boy and dad in charge, drifted and got stuck sideways. The second boat came up on them and is now semi-sideways behind them. No one can pass through in either direction, and curses are going back and forth between the two “captains.”
And that is why, you see, I myself don’t rent a boat. I know for sure how to walk!
We pass wine producer after wine producer, all of whom offer tastings… but they are never open until later in the afternoon, long after we have passed.
There is a neat little castle village called Argens-Minervois, just past it at the Argens lock we stop for a glass of rosé, and again watch the boat jam as they worked packing three boats in for the lift down and two for the lift up.
Off again, this is the last lock for 53 km, and the trail is now out in the open grass and heat. Our pace slows.
We pass another village or two with nice church steeples and places to sit right on the water, and the dry hot trail goes back under the trees and turns into a paved road.
We staggered into the port town of Le Somail (another cute village).
Sixteen miles done, five to go. Gail is tough but her feet hurt and she is ready to throw in the towel.
So we stopped at the canalside bar for water, lots of cold water and beer, wine and a salad while I considered our options.
Meanwhile at the next table over RudeBritishMan is belligerent about the slow service, shouting, ”My French isn’t that good!”
No jerkwad, your French is totally non-existent.
We are staying in a place right on the canal, almost two miles out of the next village, Argeliers. It is five more miles from here. And I just don’t see Gail making it there, at least not by sundown.
So, I paid for our drinks and we went to the tourist information across the canal.
On the way over we passed a canal boat tied up to the wharf, that was a store, selling bread and local products.
I got a taxi to take us the last 11 KM to our guesthouse.
Our guesthouse, La Maison Bleue, is really an apartment for a family of four, renting by the week. But he was curious to have his first ever guests from the US (and BONUS!!! from California!) to visit.
We have a nice talk in broken French and broken English, smiling a lot as he shows us around the huge place. You can contact him here.
He presents us with a bottle of already chilled local rosé (it was really good and we drank it during the afternoon, before dinner) and a brioche that his wife made for our breakfast. There is a coffee maker and some coffee… we are set. I pay him just €70 (a whole apartment!) and he leaves us.
We lucked into it. When I was setting up the trip, I had a hell of a time finding anywhere to stay in this area. Many places had gone out of business.
It is so quiet here off the main road and out of the village. The occasional tractor goes by, and so we can relax in the back by the ancient windmill. The man renting it to us had to go do something with his grandson, and the wife is away so we are alone, it is quiet…
...and we suddenly discover that we have no towels for a shower!
Crap.
This is my fault; it is a weekly apartment rental, and towels (as well as food, toilet paper and so on) are my responsibility.
I go around to knock on the door, to see if I can pay a supplement for two towels, but he has already left. (And later we were able to talk with him; he apologized for the oversight as well.
C’est la vie!)
Walking back around I am thinking, because we really need showers.
It is a hot, sunny day, there are sunning beds out back, no one is anywhere around here… so we jump in the shower, clean off, then go out back to air dry.
No shoes, no shirt… no pants, no problem.
Gail’s feet are not doing well.
She is limping and has blisters, though she is using moleskin and plasters. She has the energy, and her legs are fine, but because she does not wear shoes very often in “real life” (She is a sandals and flip-flop girl.) her feet are sore and taking a beating.
I am looking again how we can modify this walk. After all, the idea is to have fun and enjoy France a new way.
The idea isn’t to have to amputate a foot or two.
What to do…
If you look at their web page they don’t even really take reservations, but I had emailed them in advance because I wanted to make sure we had a place to eat.
Well, was I mistaken.
By all appearances the place looks like maybe we could get a good roast chicken dinner or something, but it turned out to be maybe one of the best dining experiences of my life.
Our waiter greets us as we walk up; in fact he practically sings greetings to all. He dances around to everyone, and when it is our turn he is very patient with my French. Though he speaks excellent English, he encourages me with a smile, not even a suggestion of annoyance, as I work on my French.
He helps me along with new words (medium-rare) and pronunciation, stretching me to order entirely in French.
"Très bien!" he says each time I make it through a part of the order, or actually say a word something like he does, so that he can at least understand it.
(Just as an example: I was trying to say “poulet” the other day. That is chicken. Looks simple enough, yet I am saying it to the guy and he looks very puzzled. When we switched over to English, he laughed when I said “chicken” because I had been saying something like “I want the small wine region near the Loire Valley.” Seriously.)
He’d be a great teacher.
Most of the other customers are not even trying at all, but I was très bien!
OK. So first of all the location was Très Bien.
The people were Très Bien.
And I have not even gotten to the food...
So, back to the food:
We both ordered from the fixed menu. We had like six pre-set menu choices. I had the “super meal” and Gail got a smaller version.
While I cannot speak French, I can read it, so it was simply a matter of picking the meals that had the most things we knew we would like.
We started with an apértif of a red martini (me) and white martini (Gail). These were really good to sip as we made up our minds.
We got a bottle of sparkling water as usual; Gail had a glass of local white wine and I got the half bottle of a local red.
Her Lou del Milan meal went in this order:
An appetizer of some sort of cold, blended herb and vegetable soup. I thought perhaps it had mushrooms in it. It was excellent and flavorful.
A first course of fresh goat cheese mousse on ratatouille vegetables with crisp chips of pancetta and an olive sauce. When it was actually served there was more to it than that, but boy was it great. The mix of flavors and textures, not to mention the presentation, made it an awesome dish.
The main was a grilled fillet of sea bream with minced razor shell (clams I assumed) cooked in butter and parsley sauce. Again, beautiful to look at and cooked to flakey perfection.
The first dessert was of course the cheese plate.
She finished with crème brûlée and coffee.
Photos of the Food
A starter of sea bream marinated in lime and passion fruit (with little flowers on it). It was this very first bite when I knew we were in for a real experience. The taste just exploded in my mouth. I literally sat back and just held the food there, marveling at the tastes.
Then I had fried foie gras and poached melon (yes, poached) with a pepper sauce. I wanted to lick the plate but tried to have manners.
Next up, a rolled slice of courgette (zucchini, which I hate) stuffed with lobster, tarragon and lemon butter sauce. Wow. By now my eyes were rolling back in my head (Steve, you will know what I mean) and I am wondering just how much more of this I can take.
We both took a break here and had a homemade lemon sorbet to clear the palate.
Then onto the main, which was actually the weakest link in the entire chain. It was a grilled filet of beef with a sweet red wine sauce. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t eye-popping great like the first three appetizers. It was just very very good.
For first dessert I too had the cheese plate, then I wrapped up with an excellent cafe gourmand.
Well, it was quite a meal, a fantastic way to end a hard day. We stayed late, and thank goodness we had only 100 meters to stumble home and collapse.
Today: 16 long hard miles, stopping short of our goal.
78 miles in five days.