Shelley comes to visit

Shelley Boyes managed to get enough ahead on her work that she was able to come for a weekend visit. She rented a car in Aix-en-Provence, where she's staying, and drove down on Saturday morning, arriving about noon.

Shelley has some Luddite objection to GPS and insisted on navigating herself to our place with just maps - this despite our horror stories about driving aimlessly around the maze of one-way streets trying to find the place the first time we tried it. But hats off to Shelley, she actually got here, or as close as she could get without our little card for lowering the bollards on the pedestrian street around the corner.

After a short breather we dragged her off for a wander. We went through Place de la Comédie and down the Esplanade de Charles de Gaulle first, then dove into the narrow streets of the Ecusson. It's always a different experience, you always end up going a different route, and you always end up seeing something new you hadn't noticed before, even if it's just a pleasing street vista (of which there are many) or light effect, or a shop that wasn't open the last time you went by. We passed the nicely restored church of Ste.-Anne, which is now a contemporary art gallery - currently between exhibits - and noticed again the fine gargoyles on the front.

Church of Ste.-Anne

Near church of Ste.-Anne (note the bicycle in the wall)

We spent much time window shopping and examining restaurant menus. For lunch, we ended up back at Iles et Thé une Fois, the little place we went to with Caitlin behind Les Halles Castellane, the posh market in the centre. It was a different crew on duty this day, but the food was as good and cheap as before. I had the spicy Thai chicken brochettes, Karen had a Thai coconut beef curry and can't remember what Shelley had - Stroganoff?

Shelley and another fibber

After lunch we meandered on, wandering up to the Place Royale de Peyrou and the triumphal Arch (which, Shelley noted after reading an explanatory plaque we had missed, pre-dates the Arch de Triomphe in Paris). Both impressed, I think. By the time we left the park, it was clear there was some kind of commotion up Rue Foch, the wide avenue that ends at the Arch and the Place Royale. There were police directing traffic, and we could here rhythmic drumming. A parade of some kind was coming.

Spire of Ste.-Anne from Place Royale

Place Royale de Peyrou

We went down the street and came to the front of it - a ragged affair with a Caribana or Mardi Gras theme. Most of the participants were black - who knew the city had such a large black community? - and university age. Many were scantily attired (especially the girls; funny that), despite the overcast and chill. There were drummers and horn players, some groups with crude uniforms, some carrying banners (Je suis Charlie), much dancing and ostentatious drinking. Whatever the pretext, the event appeared to be mostly about partying. Ah, the young! When will they learn?

We cut off into the old town again and zig-zagged our way back to the apartment. We had a good rest (while downing a few glasses of wine), and I prepped our evening meal. Then it was out again for another ramble before dinner. I imagine we will tire of the city eventually, but not yet. Most of the rest of the evening was devoted to planning our Sunday - a driving trip to Sète, on the coast just west of here - and wine drinking. (Ah, the aged! When will they learn?)

In the morning, we got out about 10:30 and walked down to Antigone. We wanted Shelley to see it (and she was duly impressed), and we wanted to check out the Sunday farmer's market on one of the main streets that runs along the edge of the neighbourhood. The market was on a narrow boulevard and jam packed. There were lots of mouth-watering things on offer, but we just walked through and back home.

The plan was to drive to Sète, which is about 35 km away, or somewhere nearby for lunch. We got away not much after noon and were in Sète by one. It's a fishing and industrial town, known for its beach, marina and, especially, the canals. It calls itself the Venice of France - it's not - and is famous for its seafood restaurants that line the Grand Canal. It could be pretty on a busy summer day, but this day was chilly and windy, if sunny, and we weren't that impressed. We spent 45 minutes walking along the canal and peering at restaurant menus, then headed out in search of a smaller place we'd read about, Bouzigues, recommended by one of our books as a less crowded and touristy place with the best oysters.

Sète

Finding Bouzigues was an adventure. It's only a few kilometers from Sète , but the 2003 Michelin road atlas we were using was either out of date or not detailed enough, or both. And Bouzigues is strangely absent from road signs until you get within a couple of clicks of it. In the end, we turned on Miss TomTom and she guided us there along a route we would never in a million years have figured out on our own.

Bouzigues (with Sète in the background across the Bassin de Thau)

The restaurant we chose, the first we looked at, was right on the front, Chez Julie. It was insanely busy - why we chose it - with frazzled, sweaty staff darting about, dodging between patrons waiting to be seated or to pay. We ended up waiting almost half an hour. The restaurant was good, the experience fun, but it was also, as Shelley noted, a place that catered to the bourgeoisie - less, perhaps, about the food than the experience of being out with family at the sea front. (Not the we aren't middle class, you understand.)

Bouzigues, Chez Julie

Actually, the restaurant is on the basin front. Bouzigues and Sète are on the Bassin de Thau, a salt water lagoon or étang, separated from the sea by a narrow isthmus. Out the window from the restaurant, you could see the oyster beds - they look like large tables sitting in the shallow waters of the basin. I'm ashamed to say, I still have no idea how oysters are - farmed? And no, Karen and I did not try them, although Shelley did, and pronounced them very good.

Our next stop was Villa Loupian, a Roman villa, mostly dating from the 5th century AD (although it was first established in the 1st century BC). It's a place that was owned in later times by a rich entrepreneur and wine grower and used only a few weeks a year. It was huge and evidently very luxurious. The local governments that run Villa Loupian have apparently run out of money. The site is no longer being excavated and the museum is pokey, with a skeleton staff (at least on this day), and very bad English translations of the explanatory material - to the point of being unintelligible in many cases.

But the big attraction here is the floor mosaics, dating from the villa's later period. And as it was late in the day, our admission - quite reasonably priced for France - included a private English-language tour. Our charming young guide's English wasn't terrifically good, but he was able to get across the main points. And the mosaics, painstakingly restored and housed in a covered pavilion with walk ways around them so you can get a good view, are magnificent. I've never seen so many, preserved (or restored) so well, still in situ, in one place. We learned about the different qualities of mosaics, the meanings of the graphic themes - mostly geometrics - and why they were so important as a way for the owner (the "citizen," as our guide kept referring to him) to impress customers, suppliers and underlings. A good show.

Villa Loupian

We took a supposedly scenic route back to Montpellier along the coast. It wasn't very scenic, but the evening light was lovely - for a brief moment. Back at the ranch, we settled in for the evening with wine, cheese and baguettes, and two episodes of Downtown Abbey on the boob tube. (Shelley had rented the full fifth season from iTunes and authorized our Apple TV as one of her devices.) What a perfectly splendid, perfectly silly program it is!

Montpellier, Ecusson, new street art by Kirrikoo

On Monday morning, we went shopping with Shelley in the Ecusson, poking into little shops. (I spotted a lot of new street art by somebody calling him or herself Kirrikoo - all pre-printed and plastered bill-style on the walls.) Our objective was the funky toy store we had shown Shelley the day before but hadn't gone into. She wanted to check it out for Xmas and/or birthday gifts for her nieces and nephews and grand nieces and nephews and assorted other little ones she generously indulges. We never did find that store, but found another that was just as cool in a different way, with toys for younger children. She ended up buying a lovely cloth book for one of her infant protegés. We ended up in Place de la Comédie for a coffee before Shelley headed out.

Shelley at the Place de la Comédie

Once we'd waved goodbye to Shelley, who was heading back to Aix to work, Karen and I had lunch and did our shopping. We also bought a slip wrench at the grocery store with which to adjust Karen's bicycle seat, which we duly did - and also her back brakes. And then, for some reason, we were very tired and shamelessly wasted a gorgeously warm and sunny afternoon (17C), moping around the apartment.