Today, we hired bicycles. I’ve never been very good on a bicycle, and neither has David, but when in France….

Hiring the bikes was a bit of a hassle: the huge campsite is always understaffed, and the front desk is chaotic. The first bike they gave me had a puncture but we sorted that out and at about midday, we were off, with instructions to return the bikes by 7 pm. It’s an eight mile ride to Sete, which sounded quite far to me, but infact it took less than an hour. We flew along the two lane cycle track which runs the length of the beach, stopping for a coffee half way at a beach bar.

Arriving in Sete, we headed for the strip of harbourside fish restaurants which had caught our eye the day before. La Mauvaise Reputation drew us in with its memorable name and pretty harbourside tables. It was sunny but there was a fair old wind gusting through and one of the restaurant umbrellas blew over, almost braining one of the customers and smashing several glasses, at which point the waiter decided to put down the umbrellas. So we spent a couple of hours in full sun enjoying a leisurely restaurant lunch, lingering over it in the way that the French do. We went for the regional specialities. Tapenade and some kind of prawn Bouillabasse-type dish for me, and an Octopush salad and  ‘Marmite de Pecheur’ (a similar dish to mine but served with a side dish of dry toast and aioli) for David.   And a carafe of Rose, thank you very much. After which we decided we’d better stay off the bikes for a while. So we pushed them around town, admiring the traditional rowing boats plying up and down the river.

David was keen to strike up the hill to Mont St Clair and take a look at the enormous houses with big walled gardens which we’d seen in estate agent windows. Like a fool, I agreed. Cue an hour of pushing our bikes up some of the steepest inclines I’ve ever seen. David seemed to think it was all quite fun and I was so tired I couldn’t speak so we kept going up. The afternoon culminated in a flight of five hundred or so steep stone steps which we carried, yes, carried the bikes up. And still there was one more hill. However, it was now clear that David wasn’t the only one wanting to reach the top of the hill. There was a procession of puffed out cyclists, slow winding cars and even coaches. At the top of the hill was the viewpoint of Mont St. Clair, marked by a big cross.  Going up there was clearly the thing to do on a Sunday afternoon. There were a couple of shops selling icecreams, and an artist’s studio and an old church which an information board informed me used to be a haven for pirates back in the middle ages. In front of us there was an amazing view of Sete, the canal running down to the sea  and to the right, Marseillan Plage curving all the way to our campsite and then on another few miles to the nudist resort of Cap D’Agde (not that I could see anything at that distance!) Then to the left, the Etang de Thau, with oyster beds all neatly laid out, and kitesurfers streaking across the water. A beautiful sight.

We stopped for an icecream and then got back on the bikes, taking the opposite direction to all the crowds. We glided down a quiet hill past all the gated mansions and shady gardens which David had wanted to see. We passed ‘Pierre Blanche’, a nature reserve, a wooded hill with big white stones lying about and then finally we were back at sea level and picking up our cycle track to go back along the beach. We staggered back onto the campsite just in time to hand in our bikes –  and to book ourselves in for an extra night.

Sete, you are my favourite French town yet, knocking Collioure off the top spot. Will I find anything to top you…?