Shetland. Eshaness.

Posted on July 18, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

It’s a wrench to leave beautiful Unst and make our way back to Shetland, but we’ve lots more to see, so we return via the ferries, first to Yell. Slightly larger than Unst, Yell seems almost entirely to consist of peat bog, swathes of bog cotton decorating it and areas where it’s been cut and bagged ready for collection. I get a sense it’s even more sparsely populated than Unst although it may not be so. The aptly named ‘Midyell’, half way across the island looks to be the biggest community.

Then we take the ferry from Yell over to Shetland. We are headed to Brae and Deltings Marina, where we are booked in. Many of the Shetland island sites are at marinas, where there are electric hook-ups, showers and sometimes kitchen facilities, too. These services are shared with boat users, of which, of course there are many as on all islands.

Brae is quite a large village in Shetland terms, sprawling around a large bay, and even has a small co-op supermarket, something we haven’t seen for days! It is also home to an award-winning fish and chip restaurant, which is a pleasant find.

Above the marina building there’s a patch of grass where a few tents are pitched, housing a group of young girls who are clearly enjoying the start of their school holidays. They appear on the jetty in wet suits and proceed to leap into the harbour or push each other in, shrieking, climbing out and beginning again. After their dip they clamber up on to the quay and shower using the hosepipe. Later they wander down in pyjamas for an impromptu game of badminton. They are a lovely, uplifting sight as they enjoy the outdoors and each others’ company.

We set off towards the north of Shetland, travelling to the north west, where the landscape becomes wilder and more rugged than ever and when the coastline appears it’s spectacular and can rival any coastline in the world for views. On the way towards Eshaness Lighthouse we pass a cafe/campsite, perched high above the sea with a stunning outlook, although there is nothing else around except for the cafe.

Further along, out to sea there’s an amazing island with an archway that looks as if it’s suspended somehow, an unearthly sight. This is Dore Holm, looking like a horse drinking the sea, its neck stretching down into the waves.

At Eshaness there’s the remnants of an ancient volcano. We pull up by the lighthouse and walk down across the springy, peaty turf to a giant scar in the earth, a gorge with sheer rock walls and dark, oily sea at the bottom. It’s a haven for seabirds who’ve taken over every tiny ledge. Again, we’ve got this wild, beautiful place almost to ourselves. We walk around the end and to the cliff edge and I spot what looks very much like an ancient spear head, lying on the turf. Husband is convinced, although it seems unlikely. But I pick it up anyway, because we can always say that it is!!

Next week: Sumburgh and the Puffins!

Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is now out and available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novellist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook

Exploring Unst

Posted on July 11, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

We set out from our base at Gardiesfauld, to explore the tiny island of Unst, which lies at the northern end of the Shetland Islands. Typical of the islands, Unst has no motorways, no dual carriageways or major roads. Most routes are single track, with passing places [if you’re lucky!]. Having said this, traffic is sparse. Just short drive away from our site is Muness Castle, small but relatively intact, sitting in an imposing position above the sea. We can walk around the structure and it’s quiet, with only one other couple stopping to look.

Like the other islands, Unst is littered with abandoned, ruined, stone cottages and in a nearby cove these buildings are everywhere, although the sole inhabitants of the bay now are Shetland ponies, skittish when we approach. Contemporary homes on Shetland are less glamorous; low, pebble-dashed houses, presumably easier to insulate against unforgiving winter weather.

There is also, scattered around the landscape much evidence of early settlements, with many remains of Viking long houses and burial mounds.

On a trip up to the north of Unst- the north of the north- at Baltisound, we happen upon Bobby’s Bus Shelter, a place of pilgrimage for tourists. Situated on a corner, it is embellished with all manner of creature comforts- a chair with a cushion, a TV [not real] bookshelves complete with books. There is even a ‘bus shelter visitors book’. Outside, a house-shaped box contains eggs and home-baked items for sale. A customer to the box informs me the bus shelter is customised each year. Inside the box there is a plethora of delicious baked items, from cheese scones to lemon drizzle cake. I choose a pack of cinnamon muffins for us, although finding the correst cash for payment is tricky. Tucked inside with the bakes is a cash box, open, with the notes and coins that customers have left. I’m humbled by the honesty of the customers and the trust of the baker. The muffins are delicious!

Baltisound also seems to be home to Unst’s one and only bar, although it’s an unprepossessing building. Beyond Baltisound we happen upon a replica Viking ship and a replica long house, immaculate and beautiful…and deserted! We have it all to ourselves.

Then we are up at the very tip of Unst and it feels remote, although there are a few homes. From the beach, we wind up a narrow track and around a bend to a car park at Hermaness Nature Reserve, above a rocky semi-island with a couple of houses that must be holiday homes. There are skuas nesting here and I spot what I think is a Lapland bunting.

Here on the islands I feel I’ve been transported back to a previous era, to a time when communities were small, people knew each other. The shops are community shops, packed from floor to ceiling with essentials. The pace of life is slow, the outdoors a precious resource for work and leisure. Each village has a community hall, essential for socialising. No other part of the UK I’ve visited is like this now, like the UK of my childhood, the 50s.

Our time on lovely Unst is up, but we’ve much more to see yet as we return to Shetland itself…

Orkney to Shetland

Posted on July 4, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

It’s our last couple of days on Orkney and we move out to a newly opened, relaxing site overlooking Kirkwall Bay, where the island ferries come past all day and the big Northlink ship stops in the port opposite every evening. Once installed we pull out chairs for an hour or so in the warm sunshine.

The weather turns wet for a last afternoon and evening to while away in Kirkwall. We shop, lunch and go to visit the Orkney museum, which is free entry and has a small but lovely garden as well as a few interesting exhibits.

Later we make our way round to Hatston Port to wait for the Northlink ship to pick us up on its way from Aberdeen to Shetland, though not until 11.45pm. It’s still twilight when the ship arrives to collect us, along with a half a dozen other vehicles waiting. Once boarded we go straight to find our cabin as our arrival time to Lerwick is 7am.

The en suite cabin is cozy and comfortable, if a little stuffy, but sleep is, at best intermittent with the ship juddering, pitching and rolling on this blustery night. Neither of us is especially well rested when the tannoy announces our arrival to Lerwick. It is a rude awakening, rolling from the bowels of the ferry into a cold, drizzly morning at the ferry terminal and up and out into a bleak, unforgiving landscape of hills dotted with sheep. At this stage we’re only interested in catching up on sleep so we park up and get a nap. It’s an inauspicious start to our Shetland visit but by the time we rally and drive out to Sandness in the west and lunch overlooking tiny Papa Stour island the weather has improved and the rugged scenery seems to have an appeal of its own.

For our first night we’re staying at Skeld, again in the west of this skinny island. There’s a chilly wind and some drizzle as we descend to the small marina below the hills and it feels remote. There’s no internet or TV signal and the services are a complicated system of keys and coin-slots, although there’s water and hook-up.

Next day we’re off north towards our main destination of Unst, the most northerly part of the UK. It must be accessed via two ferries- one to Yell then a second to Yell’s miniscule sister island, Unst, just two miles long. The ferries run like clockwork, backwards and forwards all day, efficient and quick. As we traverse Yell the surroundings become even more barren- vast areas of peat bog, the peat cut and stacked in many places, or bagged up for collection. With time to spare before the next ferry we park by a small loch for lunch then we’re off across to Unst and to our site, at Gardiesfauld. It’s a youth hostel [currently closed] and camp site on a small bay, the few pitches overlooking the beach. It is charming, a few stone cottages fringing the beach and a soft light over the water. Out in the bay there are circular constructions for a fish farm.

Unst may lack size but there is a lot to explore and we are about to do it!

Orkney

Posted on June 27, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

Our ferry from Thurso to Orkney passes the island of Hoy, where the stunning stack of rock known as The Old Man of Hoy stands out from the cliff, looking surprisingly lifelike. Then we’re rounding the edge of the island and into the harbour at Stromness. The small harbour town fringes the circle of the bay and rises up the hillside behind, grey stone houses in a tangle of streets and steps.

Our site for the first night sits out on the entrance to the harbour. It’s a small site but in a great position. As each day winds down here, in midsummer the nights never get truly dark and it’s magical to see the daylit sky at 11pm or wake at 3am to light and birdsong. The weather is warm and bright and the sunsets beautiful.

Stromness’ narrow streets are paved with original slabs and while they aren’t pedestrianised, vehicles are few and far between. There is a collection of independent shops; no chain stores, no ‘Specsavers’ or ‘H&M’, rather some fusion second hand/handicraft stores and a few charity shops plus ‘The Rope Shop’.

We move on to Kirkwall, Orkney’s metropolis and administrative centre, where our site is in a convenient, central location.

Next day we are off to explore our area and to stumble upon plenty of interesting sights and places to visit. We lunch overlooking an island with a footpath causeway, flooded at high tide, a popular spot. There is a ruined palace, [The Earl’s Palace] at the tiny village, Birsay. We drive around the coast for more spectacular views in unbroken sunshine- not something we’d been expecting here. At home there is torrential rain and unseasonal low temperatures and it’s hard not to feel smug.

We make our way to the Ring of Brodgar, an ancient neolithic/ bronze age site. It’s a huge ring of standing stones, impressive as it stands on the hillside in splendid isolation. We’re lucky to be wandering around unimpeded by fellow sightseers, although there are a couple of ranger volunteers, desperate to impart their gems of knowledge.

Next day we set off for an exploration of the southern islands, Burray and South Ronaldsay, connected by road causeways. First to Mull Head, a nature reserve where a short path leads to The Gloup. A seacave collapsed and created a deep, rocky tunnel through which the sea can be glimpsed, a stunning sight. The sheer rock walls look man-made, pockets of thrift clinging and a meadow pippet strutting about, unconcerned by onlookers. On the cliff edge, fulmars are nesting and I watch while a male bird comes in to land and greet his partner with a series of cackles.

We drive down across a road causeway to look at the Italian Chapel, a tiny, exquisite church constructed from a Nissen Hut during the second world war by Italian Prisoners. It is beautifully maintained. As we inspect the painted ceiling and lanterns made from bully beef tins I try to imagine how it must have been for the Italians incarcerated here on Orkney. How different the winter must have seemed, the landscape and the culture!

South to North

Posted on June 20, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

We have set off from our South coast home in Dorset in the UK to go up country to the farthest North on this [or these] islands, which is to say, to Shetland. In doing this we are leaving behind the best spell of warm weather we’ve experienced this year and will be swapping it for coldish temperatures and probable rain and gales. We’ll be taking a series of ferries to get to what is, in fact a series of islands, first Orkney, then the Shetland Isles.

We’ve made it almost to Preston [northern England, Lancashire] for our first night, in a pub car park. Our willingness to commit to buying meals in the pub gets us a night’s stay, although it’s no hardship! Already the weather has cooled, the sun gone. The day’s travel has been all on motorways, motoring to get the miles done on frantically congested roads clogged with huge lorries belching fumes; most routes mired in roadworks which slow the flow. The lorry drivers, dogged by rigid schedules, drive aggressively and angrily and are horribly intimidating!

Our second day of travel takes us far up into Scotland and while it’s still motorway to begin with, it’s quieter and less fraught. We whisk through the Lake District, treated to beautiful views there and beyond, the landscape widening out, hills dotted with sheep, homes few and far between, although it’s hard to find a place to park for lunch after we leave the motorway.

We skirt Edinburgh and cross the uber-modern Forth Bridge then forge on to Perth, where there’s time for a look around. It’s elegant, with fine Georgian terraces of grey granite and a pleasant centre, cafes and bars with outside seating. There’s an extensive park and the River Tay flows along the side of the town. Then we’re off to our site just on the outskirts.

The third day’s driving is the most spectacular, with a journey through the Highlands towards Inverness then onwards North. It’s a long day but we drive through wild landscapes dotted with tiny, stone, bothy homes and rushing, boulder strewn streams; many of the highest mountains still have pockets of snow, even now in mid-June. We pass Pitlochry, famous for its theatre and Aviemore, famous for skiing then we’re crossing the Moray Firth and futher on, the Cromerty Firth, where a forest of oil rigs can be seen, ant-like in the distant estuary.

We are heading for Thurso but opt for a detour to John O Groats due to its status as furthest North on the mainland. The road narrows and the hillsides are a mass of golden gorse as we follow the coastline, until at last we turn towards John O Groats and join a throng of others enjoying the late afternoon sun at the edge of the UK.

Then we must head off to our site, at Thurso, where our pitch faces out across the bay with a grand view of the Orkney Islands and a cracking sunset. and tomorrow there’s a ferry to catch…

Rhos and Return

Posted on June 13, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

The second site on Anglesey is Rhos Park, on the edge of a village called Pentraeth, which lies on the Easterly coast of the island. The park is being taken over by a big company and straight away it is clear that it is tailor made for statics and permanent caravans. In fact, we are to be the one and only tourer on the site throughout the stay and the sole campervan, occupying the one hard-standing pitch on the entire site. Our fellow guests here are mostly from nearby Liverpool and surrounding areas, rather than Wales, which we have found to be commonplace on Anglesey. As Friday progresses the site comes alive with revellers making the most of the long bank holiday weekend, bringing their children, dogs and carfuls of paraphernalia.

We get lucky here with a convenient pub a short stroll along the main road, although the road is busy! The pub serves acceptable pub grub, too.

We still have sunshine for walking the coast path here, at Red Wharf Bay and it’s a huge contrast to the path at Trearddur Bay, following the bay at ground level and requiring a fair bit of leaping and avoiding streams and puddles under our feet. I’m glad of my new walking boots here! But it’s also wonderful fun and feels intrepid. At last the path rises up through a wooded area and emerges by a crazily busy pub, which we by-pass, heading up and around a vast rocky outcrop and through some more woods, onwards until we climb up from the beach at Bellech in great need of a cup of tea. Bellech is gifted with several fish and chip shops and a Tesco Express, but no coffee or tea shop- or at least, none open by 4.30pm. Foot-weary, we locate the bus stop and ride back to site. Then it’s down to the pub for a beer and a meal.

It’s warmer next morning. We make our way down to the bay again, intending to follow the path in the opposite direction, but the afternoon is hot, we’ve walked for about seven days and the path lacks the thrills of the other way, so we abort and opt for a rest day! Back at Rhos our neighbours are packing away and disappearing and we’re set to move again in the morning.

We have a look at Beaumaris, on the Menai Strait overlooking Snowdonia. It’s an elegant, pretty town and thriving, in stark contrast to Holyhead. It has a pier and also a beautiful castle with a moat. The tall, terraced houses overlooking the water boast well tended gardens. The busy High Street offers all kinds of treats for tourists including Italian delis and swanky hotels and we leave with some delicious pasties for our lunch.

After crossing the iconic Menai Bridge we have a scenic drive through Snowdonia, although it appears that half the population has opted for a day out in the national park. There isn’t so much as a bubble car space left anywhere to park, let alone a campervan, so we have to be content with a wait for a coffee stop until we’re almost out of Snowdonia.

We travel all the way down to Tewkesbury, where a pub stopover with a cheerful landlord awaits. We can stay overnight in the car park if we have a meal, which is not onerous!

Next week we’ll be off on the next trip…and to more islands…

Anglesey. Beauty and the Beast.

Posted on June 6, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

We leave soggy Porthmadog on a much sunnier day and make for our next location on the Llyn Peninsula, Aberdaron. It’s a scenic drive, wilder than the journey so far, with rolling hills populated mainly by sheep, the few communities spread out and not large. Our site is a field, lies at the top of a steep hill and is on a working farm, but has wonderful views out across the bay. Having set up, we venture down the steep hill to the tiny hamlet of Aberdaron, a collection of dwellings, a couple of pubs, a couple of shops, one or two cafes and a bakery, divided by a rocky stream. On this bright Saturday evening the tiny village is teeming with people, sipping beer, eating ice creams or having coffee in the late sunshine. It’s too busy for us to get a table outside and we are sternly directed to a table in a back room where we have a beer in solitary splendour- not an uproarious experience. Then it’s a steep slog back up the hill to the van!

Next day is…wet, slowing enough for a drizzy stroll down to the village and around in the late afternoon. Next morning is…wet. But the in the afternoon it dries up and the sun is out, meaning that we can stride out along the coast path which has access opposite the site. It’s undulating and green, the views beautiful. There is an exploding profusion of wildflowers after all the rain. We walk as far as the headland, where Bardesy Island can be seen and wander back through the lanes.

En route to the next destination we decide to see Port Meirion, a strange, Italianate village famous for being the location for eccentric, 60s TV series, ‘The Prisoner’. The yo-yo weather has turned warm and sunny again, which is ideal for a visit to this place- so touristy that tickets for entry must be bought! It is all pristine and immaculate so perhaps the ticket price is valid. The vast car park, however is free and an ideal spot for lunch, after which we are off again and after a quick look at Carnaervon, which has an impressive, gigantic castle.

Then we cross the Menai Strait to the Isle of Anglesey, a UK spot I’ve never visited, which adds to the enjoyment. We head for our site at Blackthorn Farm up in the corner of the island. It’s fairly isolated, although well-placed for walking the Angelesey coast path. Almost all of the fellow guests here have permanent, sited caravans and visit for holidays, as we see when the weekend comes.

For our first full day we set off to walk to Trearddur Bay, the coast path a marvellous walk past rocky chasms and across buttercup meadows. It’s beautiful [and for me, unexpected]. The sun shines, the path is undulating but not gruelling and we arrive to Treaddur where a few dozen people are enjoying the vast beach. There is a lifeboat shop, an ice cream van and almost nothing else for tourists, which is just fine by us. We trek back via the road and by the time we’ve returned we’ve walked eight and a half miles.

There’s no Holy Grail in the shape of a nearby pub or restaurant. Next day we opt for a stroll into Holyhead, Anglesey’s main town and port, and a gateway for ferries to Ireland. The route is along a pretty lane and then a footpath across fields. The walk is the best part, poor Holyhead revealing a town which is in dire need of revitalisation, as the depressing High Street shows, with more than half of shops redundant. Holyhead is not pretty, with row upon row of pebble-dashed terraces leading down to the dismal docks.

Next day we’re off to our second Anglesey site at Pentraeth…

Wet and Windy Wales. Part 2.

Posted on May 30, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

We are in our tiny, third class compartment, which is sandwiched between one accommodating an over-excited and very loud group of students and another with an elderly couple and a dog. It is raining, as it has been for more than 24 hours; in a relentless, driving deluge that kept us confined to the campervan the entire day previously. But having purchased the tickets for this little train journey up into the mountains we are obliged to go.

Most of the miniature compartments, the ones with plush, upholstered seats, are occupied by a coach party from Bognor. Ours is spartan- shiny, brown, plank benches- and very cold on the backside. I rummage in the rucksack and find my waterproof trousers, which are an inadequate but makeshift seat pad. We wait until a cheerful young woman in a railway uniform locks us in, then we’re off, rumbling and rocking, smoke billowing past and steamy windows through which we can just make out the flat marshes of the estuary at Porthmadog, our start station.

We rattle on through stations, begin to climb and then we’re on a steep gradient with a [wet] rocky face on one side and a drop on the other. I imagine the view, since it is obliterated by rain. The students screech relentlessly at each others’ remarks as we go, whilst also demanding to know if the field is ‘real’ or cooing at the hundreds of lambs we pass. There is sudden excitement when next door’s one-eared dog apears in our compartment, filling it with furry greeting, having ducked under their seat. Once it has been welcomed and made a fuss of it is hauled back by its owners.

After an hour or so we come to a halt, the end of the line for today, before being shunted back down to the last station we passed, where a cafe awaits us, the captive passengers. There being just this one cafe, we queue up for whatever is on offer, hopefully hot, as it continues to rain and the compartment has not been a cosy experience. Seating is under cover but outside- no chances being taken! We wander around the station while the tiny engine is moved from one end to the other and see that an ancient diesel engine has been co-opted for the haul uphill.

Downhill takes less time, of course, and once we’ve returned to Porthmadog the rain has, at least slowed to a drizzle.

Next day is predictably sunny as we prepare to travel onwards, shopping en route. It is a picturesque journey with a detour in Pwhelli to get LPG but the garage is closed on this Saturday afternoon. Pressing on over the hills and along the lanes we come to our next site, at Aberdaron, a tiny beach village with two pubs, two shops, a bakery and three cafes! Aberdaron is used to tourists. The sun is still out when we wander down the steep hill from our site to get a beer, and there are throngs of Saturday pub goers everywhere- an uplifting sight.

One of Three Countries

Posted on May 23, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

We are out on our second trip of 2021 striking out west into Wales, from where we’ll head north into territory I may not [or may have] been before. I say this because I know my family had camping trips to Wales when I was a child but my memory is hazy on which locations. I do recall that some kind of precipitation featured regularly on these trips though and it’s likely to be no different this time round.

We’ve spent two nights on the driveway of a family member [that is to say, in our van- not sleeping rough on the gravel!] then we travel west up through Herefordshire and into Wales, stoppping at Abergavenny for our first cafe meal indoors since last year, which feels momentous and is a novelty, even though the weather is warm and sunny and the cafe has cute outside booths for diners.

The little town is pretty and its long, main street is traffic free. Having lunched and wandered in and out of a few shops we return to the van to press on towards our first stop, a two-night stay at Rhayader, by the River Wye. We’ve followed the Wye path for miles and now we are parked up in a site next to it, a footpath adjoining to take us into the town. Rhayader is a simple, unpretentious place but has an abundance of pubs, which means a great deal to Husband, whose interests include the pursuit of beer.

Next day dawns wet and looks likely to stay that way but after lunch it’s dry and we stride out on a walking route towards the River Elan which meanders up and over sheep populated hills and through corridors of bluebells before leadi ng back into Rhayader. We’ve booked a table to eat at a pub in town, choosing lamb, of course!

We leave Rhayader and continue to travel north on a route through the Cambrian mountains, rugged and spectacular, a beautiful journey and in bright sunshine. We finish at Porthmadog and take a quick look before going to our site half a mile outside the town. A small steam train journey from Porthmadog can take us into the Snowdonia National Park so we buy some tickets for 2 days time then drive along to Tyddyn Llyn site, which is bathed in sunshine and has its own mountain view.

There’s more than enough time after setting up, to find the wooded footpath that leads back into Porthmadog, for a closer inspection of the place and to sit in the sunny courtyard of The Red Lion pub with a late afternoon beer. Then it’s back to our site to make dinner- and to discover that we are to be fleeced 50 pence for the privelege of using their showers, on top of our site fee! Scandalous! We shower in the van.

Next morning we wake to a relentless downpour…

Tales from the Tow Path

Posted on May 16, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

I’m continuing this mini series on favourite places with a look back at experiences along the Canal du Midi, France. The canal runs for 240 km from the lovely old city of Toulouse, south to beautiful Narbonne, connecting via a shorter section, the Canal de Robine to the Mediterranean. There is a corner along this shorter section where waterways merge and it is here that a gorgeous old stone cottage stands, crumbling and neglected, so that whenever we’ve cycled past I like to imagine living there between the two canals in the green, watery space.

Taken bit by bit we’ve cycled all of the canal at some time or other, the experiences punctuated with stops at picturesque or historic sights like medieval, walled Carcasonne, [touristy but fun] or Beziers with its stunning run of locks and the canal crossing the river via aqueduct.

Cycling canal tow paths is not challenging and is unlikely to suit those who pedal purely for exercise, but for those who enjoy leisure cycling, where scenery, tranquility, beautiful wildlife, occasional stops for coffees or beers and a chance to explore iconic and historic towns and cities it offers great rewards. The hardest slópe is a short pull up and over a lock, the trickiest navigation stray tree roots.

There are long stretches of canal where nothing much changes, avenues of trees- mostly planes but with some poplars or oaks, flank the sides and the banks are riotous with wildflowers.

Parts of the waterway are popular with boat users, usually hirers who are in the process of learning the business of lock negotiation, which can provide entertainment in the height of the season. It is mostly good-natured although we’ve had occasion to witness some disputes over lock access at times.

Other stretches are occupied by houseboats, like Dutch barges, but, unlike UK canals there are few narrow boats- we did, however watch one being taken down the nine Beziers locks once!

At the southern end of the Canal du Robine lies Narbonne Plage, from which cycle paths extend either way along the coast. We stayed on the beach site with a tent many years ago, a first stay in the area which was followed by several more, latterly with vans. The town, though not picturesque has all the ingredients necessary for a beach holiday [including lovely weather]. A preferable option for staying, and one we’ve taken up a few times, is Gruissan, which certainly is picturesque from any angle and has narrow, cobbled streets with interesting shops and bars, the streets winding up to a high pinnacle topped with an old church tower.

I’m sure we’ll return to parts of the Canal du Midi- not least because we’ve deliberated following the waterway north east from Toulouse at some point- although not, of course this year.

Another trip, however is imminent, here in our own UK [but not in England!]. We’ll be setting off as you read…watch this space!

Anecdotage

Views from the Descent

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