After a week of constant travel it was time to settle down for a few days. The plan was to introduce Sarah and Rob to some of our favourite places and for them to share some of theirs. I suppose with more than a thirty year age gap between us it could have been risky. What appeals to us in our mid-sixties might not seem so attractive if you have just turned thirty.
We headed south towards to coast stopping for lunch at Pezenas. Sarah and Rob had been to a nice creperie here when wandering previously to or from Lisbon. We have zoomed past Pezenas many times always in a hurry to somewhere else. This is the delight of travelling with other people, they introduce you to places that otherwise pass you by. Pezenas was much grander than I expected. In a way it's France's equivalent to Stratford-upon-Avon, being the birthplace of the nation's greatest dramatist - Moliere.
We loitered in the town for a couple of hours as the reception at our eventual destination - Camping Municipal Loupian, our favourite 'municipal' in France - tends to be quite relaxed about re-opening after lunch. The camping municipal at Loupian is as good an example of its type as you can find, basic but clean facilities, set in pleasant countryside, so long as you don't mind a bit of noise from the well used community sports facilities next door.
The village itself, surrounded by vineyards with a glimpse of the hills of Languedoc to the north and the Étang de Thau to the south is one of those venerable places in France that seemingly time has passed by. It has an ancient centre, a solid looking Romanesque church on the outskirts and the remains of a Roman villa in the field beside the municipal allotments.
The town of Meze, 3km away, is connected to the campsite by a pretty cycle track through the vines; in early September they were laden with smokey blue clusters of grapes. The vendage awaits. Judged from the busy main road that skirts the town centre, Meze seems like an unprepossessing sort of place. In fact tucked away between there and the harbour is a tangle of old alleys, two handsome squares and a well used covered market. The modern marina and fishing harbour is lined with cafés and restaurants; nearby is a small beach overlooked by a short stretch of the old town walls.
Contrary to first impressions there is a lot to like about Meze, so much so that when we first visited here in 2012, before we had finished work, it was one of those places where we looked in the local estate agents windows and thought, when we retire we could downsize and buy something interesting here. A two bedroom apartment overlooking the harbour, a townhouse with a roof terrace down one Meze's ancient backstreets, a village house overlooking the vineyards in Loupian, any of these could be had back then for less than €100,000. We could have afforded a terrace house in England and another one in the south. Meze seemed perfectly positioned, at the southern end of the free A75 autoroute, equidistant between Genoa and Valencia, the perfect base for a Mediterranean hide-away.
By our mid fifties we had both spent over three decades working in education, mostly in management roles of one kind or another. It was rewarding, but stressful. Whatever transpired we were determined to draw down our teachers pensions as soon as we reached sixty and do something different with our later working life. Maybe I could do some short-term contract work or consultancy, mixing time in a place in the sun, with short term contracts. We toyed with buying a house in the south or maybe travelling longer-term in a motorhome.
We loitered in the town for a couple of hours as the reception at our eventual destination - Camping Municipal Loupian, our favourite 'municipal' in France - tends to be quite relaxed about re-opening after lunch. The camping municipal at Loupian is as good an example of its type as you can find, basic but clean facilities, set in pleasant countryside, so long as you don't mind a bit of noise from the well used community sports facilities next door.
The town of Meze, 3km away, is connected to the campsite by a pretty cycle track through the vines; in early September they were laden with smokey blue clusters of grapes. The vendage awaits. Judged from the busy main road that skirts the town centre, Meze seems like an unprepossessing sort of place. In fact tucked away between there and the harbour is a tangle of old alleys, two handsome squares and a well used covered market. The modern marina and fishing harbour is lined with cafés and restaurants; nearby is a small beach overlooked by a short stretch of the old town walls.
Contrary to first impressions there is a lot to like about Meze, so much so that when we first visited here in 2012, before we had finished work, it was one of those places where we looked in the local estate agents windows and thought, when we retire we could downsize and buy something interesting here. A two bedroom apartment overlooking the harbour, a townhouse with a roof terrace down one Meze's ancient backstreets, a village house overlooking the vineyards in Loupian, any of these could be had back then for less than €100,000. We could have afforded a terrace house in England and another one in the south. Meze seemed perfectly positioned, at the southern end of the free A75 autoroute, equidistant between Genoa and Valencia, the perfect base for a Mediterranean hide-away.
By our mid fifties we had both spent over three decades working in education, mostly in management roles of one kind or another. It was rewarding, but stressful. Whatever transpired we were determined to draw down our teachers pensions as soon as we reached sixty and do something different with our later working life. Maybe I could do some short-term contract work or consultancy, mixing time in a place in the sun, with short term contracts. We toyed with buying a house in the south or maybe travelling longer-term in a motorhome.
In the event our plans went out of the window as the Coalition Government's cuts to public spending impacted on both our jobs. In 2013 I opted for voluntary redundancy, jumping before I was pushed, as the small college where I worked became unviable and merged with a local university. Gill hung on for a further eighteen months, as vacant posts went unfilled a reduced staff tried to cover the gaps, one person covering three roles. The final straw for Gill came when she dropped to half-time but her line manager refused to cut her work load. She resigned six months short of reaching her sixtieth birthday. Both of us were burnt out, and saddened by what felt like a somewhat ignominious end to our professional lives in which we never gave less than 100%.
With eight years to go before receiving our state pensions and our youngest with six years to go before finishing her education then any ideas about finding a home in the sun had to be set aside. It's not something we regret, our home on wheels brought us more pleasure than we could have ever imagined.
Still, we had a browse in Meze's estate agents windows, little did we know back in 2012 that it would not simply be financial issues that shaped our retirement plans, responsibility for ageing parents, the need to support Laura through university, and from 2016 onwards, chaos and uncertainty resulting from Brexit all conspired against us buying property abroad. For us Meze represents the future that never happened.
In the event Sarah and Rob understood why we were attracted to the place. The Thursday market proved bigger and more vibrant than the one at the weekend we had visited before. We loaded up with fresh ingredients and bought some fresh red tuna to cook later, then had an early lunch at the market hall café - oysters washed down with a small glass of local white wine.
We introduced Sarah and Rob to the pleasures of Meze, they introduced me to the delights of fresh oysters. An acquired taste, indeed one that had taken me 64 years to acquire. I love the sea and the sensation of downing an oyster was the gastronomic equivalent of diving head first into a deep pool. Maybe I'll get to do that for real next week when we settle down for a while in the Costa Brava.
We introduced Sarah and Rob to the pleasures of Meze, they introduced me to the delights of fresh oysters. An acquired taste, indeed one that had taken me 64 years to acquire. I love the sea and the sensation of downing an oyster was the gastronomic equivalent of diving head first into a deep pool. Maybe I'll get to do that for real next week when we settle down for a while in the Costa Brava.
No comments:
Post a Comment