Flamants Roses et Fromage

Having carried his golf clubs with us from England, we felt it imperative that Gary should use them.  Early research indicated that membership in the Beziers Golf Club  for a little over ten months would be 1800 euros.   Much as I wanted him to play, this amount was far beyond our budget and we agreed it wasn’t feasible.

A bit more research found a nine hole course, costing half as much in membership fees.    We went off to view it on a sunny day in January.   It is  a pretty course, long and narrow and following the path of a river.   A newly built clubhouse offered such a good standard of food and drink that it was open to the public.   Any worries about dress code were allayed as we watched a young man teeing off  in jeans and leather jacket, with a Gauloise stuck firmly between his teeth.

After his first game,   Gaz seemed happy enough, but he had lost six balls:  four in the river and two under one of the many Coypu who, with the odd duck or two, wander around the course.   Gary pretends they are his golfing buddies as he has not yet had the confidence to chat to other golfers, despite the fact that most golfing terms have strong roots in English:  “les green fees”, “le pitching et le putting” etc.   I hope he will get over that shyness.  Bit lonely till then.   Coypu and duck aren’t big on conversation.

The course is on the outskirts of Lamalou  les Bains.   It is a very pretty spa town and this  golf widow looks forward to many a happy hour being pampered,  while, on the golf course, Gaz is holing in one.

It was New Year’s Eve when our last visitors from home were here, so we eagerly awaited our visit from Maz and Johnny last week.   As we knew they both had strong associations in the design world, we decided to show off some of the man-made beauty of this area.   We had not been to Millau to see the famous Norman Foster-designed Viaduct, so we all set off with eager anticipation.

It was a beautiful drive.  We had  enjoyed an idyllic breakfast in our sunny garden and drove up high into mountains topped by snow and swirling mists.   As we drove across this amazing edifice there was a collective intake of breath at the peerless beauty before our eyes.    Once again, we all felt privileged that man and nature had combined to show themselves at their very best, just for us.

Having feasted royally on food for the soul, we travelled onwards and upwards to Roquefort in search of cheese and served our baser instincts there.

Regular bloggees will know how much we were affected by our visit to the Petit Camargue and the desire to share an experience is strong in us.   On our two day design immersion we wanted to take Johnny and Maz to La Grande Motte to see the 60s/70s architecture there.

A limpid sun illumined our journey across the wetlands.   The flamingos looked happier in the warmer weather; there were hundreds of these funny, beautiful creatures.

Our friends were as amazed with this town as were we.   We almost had a pride of ownership in their pleasure … and the  Moules (in Roquefort sauce naturally) Frites went down very nicely with a pichet of white wine.

Everyone quickly fell asleep on the journey home as I read to them, from Wikipedia, a dozen  pages of facts about the town.

And all too soon it was time for our friends to leave.   As they were flying from Carcassonne, we took the opportunity to do a lightning tour around the old town.   And of course,   enjoyed more lunch.

The town is huge and deserved more time than we had to spare.   We managed about an hour in  the walled city, which was well  worth the visit.

Another good bye.    Another little airport.   Another afterthought:

As I got into Mistress R. Soul for the homeward journey, a gust of wind grabbed hold of my long scarf and then banged the door.   Shut.  My face made intimate contact with the window.   I tried to rescue my scarf but it was stuck fast around the lock.   The door would neither open nor shut.   Freed  from my end of the scarf, I spent the journey hanging onto the door in case a bump suddenly dislodged the scarf and the door fly open.

That car hates me.