Our next destination was Montpellier, just a few miles further along the coast from Sete. The plan was to head in, scope the place, and then find a campsite as close to the centre as possible. We were keen to spend an evening in the city, which has a reputation for its nightlife, especially its live music, but not keen to bring the campervan with us. Once we have a camp set up, it’s not that easy to drive off.

After some trouble parking (all the main car parks were underground, with not enough head room for the van) we found a space on a tree lined avenue by the Rhone, facing what looked like university halls of residence.  Montpellier is famous for its University.. With no map, we took pot luck on which direction to head and happened across a tram line. Soon we were on board the tram, heading for the Place de Comedie, the central square known as L’Oeuf (the egg) because of its oval shape. First impressions were favourable: bold new designer builds mingle with lush parks, fountains and elegant squares, all on a grand scale. There were lots of young people milling about which made  a refreshing change from the retirement crew we’ve been rubbing shoulders with on the campsites. We wandered through the centre past the Opera house and the Musee Fabre, the fine arts museum, which had an interesting sounding exhibition, ‘Francis Bacon – Bruce Nauman, face a face’. Perhaps we’d have a chance to go in later.  Happening across a market, we bought some ripe plums and I eyed up a pair of knock-off Birkenstocks to replace the sandals which broke yesterday.  “Seulement dix euros, madame.” Sold!

Returning to the van, we picnicked on a bench by the river, watching some boys casting their lines on the far bank.  David, who never travels without a fishing rod, was keen to give it a try himself but Id rather watch paint dry and it was time to find a campsite. The weather was hotting up. As we drove out of Montpellier, we comforted ourselves with the fact that we’d be back soon. But could we find a campsite? No. Our usual approach is to search for campsites on the satnav but nothing came up, and we didn’t pass anything, either. Finally, David managed to locate one at Perols, right at the end of the tramline, so we headed out there, only to find it closed. We pushed on towards the coast, our dreams of a night on the town in Montpellier starting to recede.

And then suddenly we spotted a flamingo. And did a double take – what?? I didn’t realise there were wild flamingos in France. And yet here they were.  Looking about, I realised we had strayed into unexpected terrain, a flat landscape of lagoons, marshes and salt flats known as the ‘Petit Camargue’. There was not just one, but hundreds of flamingos, standing on one leg, or curving their long necks to drink. When they take flight, they seem to defy gravity. Incredible, beautiful, comical birds. And that colour! There were also white egrets and grey herons. But it was the pink flamingos that made such a striking impression.

Not long after that we hit the sea and found a beach resort called Palavas-les-Flots with a campsite. Shades of Valras Plage made my heart sink –  and yet there was something special about the location with the beach on one side of us and a lake full of flamingos on the other.  We gave up on Montpellier, swapping it for the usual round of campsite activities – table tennis, swimming pool, beach.

At sunset, we wandered along the windswept prom with low expectations for the evening ahead. We were heading for some underwhelming restaurants clustered round a Marina. Then suddenly we spotted a canal between us and the marina – how would we get across? – at which point, we looked up to see some people whizzing past us overhead – there was a cable car! Soon we were flying across the canal, our legs dangling high above the water.

Dinner on the Marina was nothing special, but the view of the sunset was spectacular and the outside tables were buzzing – until the sun went down, and everyone disappeared into the warmth.  Soon we were the only diners left outside.

After the meal, we found the cable car closed and resigned ourselves to taking the long way round, down the canal and across a bridge. On the other side of the bridge, we happened across ‘the lighthouse of the mediterranean’, a tall tower with a panoramic view of the town and the sea. We had to pay 2 euros to take the lift to the top and the cost of a drink was astronomical, but the views were worth it.  We were the only customers.