HEADING ACROSS THE CAMARGUE

What a difference a day makes. Just 24 hours. The weather was much improved. Our spirits were lifted and we spent a wonderful day crossing the Camargue with a big tail win most of the way – so much so that we had sped along 90 kms by lunch and Bridget was suggesting we might make it to Marseille and our first couch surfing experience by the end of the day. That proved to be a little ambitious and by the time we rolled into a camp site 40kms short of Marseille we were yet again quite exhausted but we still had a stunning day of contrasts both in terms of scenery but also roads and traffic in a kind of "oh my god I just have to get off this lorry infested highway as soon as possible or its very likely one of them might decide to light a cigarette or phone his mate and squash me and my bike to oblivion and not even realise" kind of way. I can say this now as I am safe in Sofia and no harm was done but for about 20 kms the other side of the Rhone in what appeared to be an industrialised waste land we cycled for our lives desperate to find some quieter smaller roads on which we might feel safe.

We did make it through to a quiet little camp site about 40 km short of Marseille and were so tired it was simply a case of tent up, cup-a-soup on and bed. Then the next day we ran the gauntlet through Marseille itself. The road into the city soon turns from a main road into a motorway and we were forced off it in to the local suburbs where unless you know the local names of places or have an a-z its simply a case of following your nose and hoping you are heading in roughly the right direction until you find a road sign that actually refers to anything on your map. I can see why some tourers carry a small bubble compass for getting through cities - we can't seem to find one so we tend now to head straight for a newsagent to buy an a city map.

I freely admit I was pretty useless in Marseille, an angry man who has he became more and more angry also became more and more useless and ineffective. Bridget on the other hand was calm assurance personified and nimbly and ably guided us through the city centre with what seems in hindsight unprecedented ease. It didn't seem like it at the time as I ranted and raved about the lack of useful road signs and signs with street names on them but we probably sped through more quickly than my rage deserved. After a little prompting from a couple of shop keepers and some old guys drinking coffee outside a tabac we made it quite easily on to the road which would take us to Gemenos where Simon and Marion lived. They were letting us stay with them for the night - our first experience of "couch surfing" where like minded travellers help each other out buy offering free beds for the night. Their house is half way up a hill in a lovely location just outside the town. It was a stunning location and an unbelievable start to joining the couch surfing experience. I had expected axe murderers and weirdos and instead we found the most generous, warm hearted and kind people we could have ever hoped for.

Simon, Marion and Bridget

Simon and Marion weren't there when we arrived but their cleaner/ironing lady (their Nanu I think Marion called her) was and though she spoke not a word of English my limited French was enough to secure some cold drinks, a shower and our room for the night.

Relaxing at Simon and Marion's.

Simon arrived a little later and insisted he whisk us off into Marseille where he had some business to attend to.

Maria del Mare, Marseille

We had a lovely couple of hours in Marseille and then after a brief scare waiting longer than planned for Simon to meet us again (I had visions of being left stranded in the city in the middle of the night never to see Simon or our bikes and gear again - the reality of course was his meeting had over run and his phone was out of battery) and after a woman in the nearby laundrette proved extremely kind and helpful, even trying to ring Simon for us and warning us that Marseille was not a great place to be stuck late and night with nowhere to go, we went for meal with Simon Marion and two of their friends.

We had planned to stay just the one night but Simon and Marion insisted that we must stay two nights and spend a day in Aix en Provence. It was well worth it. It is a stunning town and although we didn’t do much other than wander around we really liked the place. That night we were left to our own devices and cooked ourselves a lovely meal making the most of a real kitchen. We were early to bed and off on our way again this time to a friend’s place near to St Tropez.

The ride was again stunning and we followed initially and inland route through the hills. Towards the end of the day we took a road heading towards the coast and unanimously (not hard I know when there’s only two of you) cycled our favourite road of the journey so far. It was a long and steep but steady road up to a ridge (nearly 10 km I think) and then a long flat road along the ridge with beautiful views of the French coast and the Med in front of you. The light was perfect as it was heading towards evening and was all rounded off with a great down hill to the coast road. Then it was a matter of cycling along the coast road – much of which had cycle paths – and into Mike's village. Mike and Rhona weren't flying in until late that night so we parked up outside the Mairie and Gendemarie and cooked ourselves a hot and sour vegetable soup before getting lost pushing our bikes up the very steep hill to Mike’s villa.

We spent five lovely days in one of the most luxurious homes I have ever been in, built on the side of the hill overlooking the sea with landscaped gardens, infinity swimming pool and tennis court. Understated glamour all around, all rooms with access to the garden and the view or to a balcony and the view, all with en-suite and all big enough to be a master bedroom in their own right.

Slumming it at Mike's.

Of course the house would have been just a house without Mike and his more than generous hospitality. He couldn’t have been kinder or more considerate and in fact the only down side was it was so good to be there it made it extremely hard to leave. But, having spent a lovely few days with all our friends, leave we had to.

We continued up the coast to Antibes where we couch surfed again – this time with Yves and his family. It’s a pity we only were there one night as we didn’t have much chance to chat and get to know them but they had a beautiful home with the most amazing garden that in another life Bridget would have died for – full of fruit trees, Lemons, Oranges, Fig, and many more. It was a garden I have promised Bridget when we win the lottery – either when we move abroad as a result of our good fortune or when I build her an orangery at our lotto mansion in England.

Yves and me

Yve’s was our eighth night in a real bed and when we left Antibes and reached Italy it was back to camping each night – though sadly because of the nature of the countryside not wild camping. Italian campsites we have found are generally of a different standard and type to those in France and we feel, for what you get, extremely expensive. But beggars rather than choosers sleep where they can and much more quickly than anticipated we arrived in Liguria just around the corner from Tuscany and our first planned stop off point Lucca.