Montolieu to Narbonne

20th October

50 miles.

With Matthew with us, we decided the delights of Montolieu were insufficient to keep a twenty something entertained so we headed towards Narbonne planning a cycle ride alongside the Etang de Bagnes and a visit to the city. Camping Nautique is a few kilometres out of Narbonne, on the shore of the etangs. As we feared this returned us to the 'mosquito coast', so as I manned the Cadac outdoors, hoping the smoke would deter the mossies, Gill and Matthew took shelter in the van. We're hoping that on tomorrow's bike ride we'll present too much if a moving target for a full scale mossie attack.

21st October

The Etang de Bagnes is crisscrossed  by bike trails and small, quiet roads which are great for cycling, if a little frustrating as the canals which divide up the marshland have few bridges, so quite often you can end up just a few yards from where you want to be, but on the wrong side of the canal. It is an interesting Mediterannean wetland area, a mix of vineyards, pine forest and salt flats. Here and there small rocky outcrop of fissured white limestone breaks up the empty plain. On one of these I could see in the the ruined castle of Gruissan. That's where we heading, we remembered the old village gathered around the castle, with its small harbour and old streets from a previous visit. It seemed like somewhere we might find a nice simple lunch. Eating out is something we've had to forgo to fund our extended trip, but with Matthew visiting it seemed a good opportunity to break our self imposed restaurant moratorium.

I stopped to take a photo  at one of the few bridges that crossed the canal. By the time I had packed the camera away and waited for a tractor to trundle across the single track bridge, Matthew and Gill had scooted off out of sight. It was very peaceful pedalling alone across the empty wetlands. The marshy pools had little wavelets in them when the wind gusted which turned the still water a kind of beaten pewter colour. When the wind dropped they reflected the deep blue sky, and because the water was brackish. I suppose, took on an even deeper hue, reminding me of the royal  blue Quink'ink, that I managed to blot my exercise books, and fingers with years ago in school. It's funny the things that go through your head when you unexpectedly find yourself alone.

One of the few bridges over the canal between Narbonne and Gruissan

As I crossed a particularly fen-like stretch of marsh a large spindly bird took flight, an egret perhaps, and flew a few feet feet above the water slowly beating its long white wings, then it wheeled upwards, wing tips momentarily see-through as they caught  sun, then silhouetted against the cloudless sky.

I was approaching Gruissan and pleased to see two figures waiting for me by the fish quay. We wandered about a bit looking for a place for lunch, finally settling on a Breton themed restaurant as Gill fancied a crepe complet. Matthew and I I opted for a pasta dish. It was good. As we ate, an irritating breeze had got up, strengthening with each gust. By the time we decided against coffee it was blowing so hard the condiment sets started to move about on the tables as if involved in a game of impromptu chess. By the time we had climbed up to the ruined castle the chilly mistral was so strong that people were clinging to railings in fear of being blown off the ramparts. Though scary, the wind had cleansed the air completely and the colours of the red roofed town below, the ochre stone, olive green trees, the blue etang and distant sea were vibrant, the whole landscape shivered, wild and animated in the blustery wind.

getting our bearings

Gruissan's ruined donjon

wandering about looking for a restaurant...

The strong wind ruffled the water at 90 degrees to the tidal current.

Matthew braves the elements on top of the castle

difficult to stay upright - but great light for taking photos!

The practical effect of this did not dawn on us until we mounted the bikes to pedal home. The head wind was so strong and blustery that you could scarcely make progress at all, furthermore, it tended to blow you into the path of passing traffic. After about 300yds.Gill announced, "I don't think I can do this". Certainly the prospect of a seven mile ride back in these conditions, on roads now busier after the lunch 'close down' was not an attractive proposition. We thought through the options - lock-up the bikes and get a taxi back to the van, then drive it to Gruissan and pick them up; or Matthew and I battle our way back, and then drive back to collect Gill. We were exploring this option further, looking for a parking place without height barriers, when Gill noticed the bike trail that skirted the eastern side of the Etang, not only did it look more sheltered, but for the first five kilometres or so was traffic free. Gill plotted an alternative way back using the GPS on her Moto. We decided to give it a go. What we found is if you put the electric bikes on full power but went at a steady pace you could make good progress, without getting blown about. This did not help Matthew on his somewhat decrepit hire bike, an ancient Decathlon City Bike, with just five gears and dodgy brakes,nevertheless, he did pedal along at the the same pace. I imagine thirty two years younger and four stone lighter must help. Even so, he must have found it hard going. "That was a bit brutal," he remarked as, with some relief, we free wheeled through the gates of the campsite.

it all looks deceptively calm - great bike tracks though.

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