Sanary Sur Mer as wedding guests

A visit to the the town hall of the Mairie and a first for us. At high noon not a cloud to be seen in the sky or on the horizon. No rain fell overnight just a powdering of light ochre desert dust from the other side of the Med. A relaxing day by the harbour and a grand restaurant meal to celebrate our lovely holiday this far and its polling day at home. Only the third poll in all of Britain's long history.

The strengths and weaknesses of those that aspire to lead us have been exposed as never before. Big changes are sure to be seen, after this historic vote to leave the EU. Restoration of independence and freedom to control our borders is seen by the majority as vital to the future.  No longer are we to be lectured. Leader Cameron now a "dead man walking". One who ignored the will of his electorate.

Bells, Pyrenean Mountain Dogs and Sheep

Castellan to Sanary sur Mer was a shorter leg earlier today, heading nearer to where we shall attend a wedding party and cavalcade of honking autos, en-route to the ceremony. Hopefully the Morgan twin tone horns function, since one of them stopped working along the Gorge du Verdon, coaxed back alive with a fiddling of connections under the front grill.
Transhumance of this large flock delayed our progress for several minutes but reminded me of the BBC, and "Bells on Sunday".

The second video shows a short section of the Gorge (two thousand feet deep), that cuts its way through the high plateau, where the sheep graze through the summer months.

Sanary-sur-Mer

The sun sets on Sanary sur Mer

Two days on the road between Exeter and Sanary-sur-Mer included an overnight stop at Chaumont sur Tharonne, a few miles south of Orleans.
The ferry crossing between Newhaven and Dieppe, tried for the first time, was four hours long and gave a chance of quiet respite from the steering wheel.
Newhaven was found to be a freight port not quite as well sign posted or cleanly swept as our usual Plymouth departure point. Cheap and cheerful it was, but with few other plus points.

Thierry and Rene' - our hosts at Tharonne  were charming, welcoming and spoke good English. The ground floor suite spacious, all beautifully clean and well furnished. Three King Charles Spaniels stood guard at the tea table.  The little village a delightful place where the rural sports include (wild) boar hunting. 

LePetitClos-Chaumont-sur-Tharonne

First light on the village green.

Starting early on the road soon after breakfast we headed south once more on the A71 but  my failure to listen to Helen and ample speed limit warnings led to an abrupt halt by a pair of flashing blue motorcycle lights, a 96 Euro on the spot fine administered with cool precision.  Helen was rightly vindicated and openly amused by the whole procedure and enjoyed the remaining few hours in relaxed fashion as I reflected on my misdemeanour.

We reached Sanary sur Mer as the light was fading and bedded down in our chalet. but the excitement was not over. An hour or so into a deserved rest and internet browsing the ill fitted slats on my bed suddenly collapsed and dumped my derrière onto the floor.  More chuckles from Helen, a sip of cold tea and some sweet dreams to follow. 

Sunday in Sanaray dawns dull but by at noon the sun warmed the harbour-front.

Harbour (double take).

The fish market

Fresh caught

Sunday trading

Fresh fruit and veg.

December 20 and like summer

Very tempting

Showers begin to clear

Nativity scene

Église Saint Nazaire

The street scene is buzzing with a Happy Christmas atmosphere.  

The glittering night scene of Sanary sur Mer harbour

In sight of the the Italian ice cream vendor offering Liquorice and Lemon Ice

 

Soon heading south.

Towards Sanary Sur Mer via Roscoff on Brittany Ferries. Later we plan to go to Chioggia, near Venice then back to Var in the French Alps.

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All bookings made, insurance and paperwork double checked. M.O.T. sorted and a brake light replaced. Replaced the Lodoxol gear oil and differential oil and replaced standard drain plugs with magnetic ones . Bled the brakes and engine oil changed. Renewed the air filter.

Helen refuses to take the tent, but accommodation is now booked.  I like to drive with a flexible itinerary, but Helen prefers to know the precise route and sleep in a comfortable bed.

Now Sophie is a mum and Helen and me the proud grandpa and ma.  Leon Joseph is doing well, Sophia and Max even manage to get some sleep.

Spring has sprung beautifully on our doorstep and this primrose wood is just ten minutes away. I begin to wonder if we might not be quite mad to dash away, when all seems so rosy in our little garden.

An earlier post here includes a piece by Alan Bennett who depicted Primrose Hill. He does not have the primrose all to himself though. Devon is awash with primroses at present, but these belong to Lord Courtenay whose ancestry includes pirates of the pillaging kind (privateers).  I am afraid my ancestry includes links to a lesser variety of high seas bravado, smugglers of  the south west approaches; whereas the Courtenays had their coffers royally rewarded, my ancestors' allegiance lay towards the church which bled the common man. The Tapper name figures on a brass band around a pillar of Dawlish Parish Church and in the lead of its tower roof. 

Now where was I ?  ... Oh yes;  rambling on about primroses!