Munching in Montech; walking with Wendy; boiling heat and bingo in Grisolles; Aperol spritz recipe
Daughter Wendy drove 4.5 hours from Marseilles to spend two nights on the boat with us: the first in Montech and the second in Grisolles.
Eat, walk, drink, eat again
She arrived in time for us to walk up the road to the centre of Montech for a salad-y lunch on the terrace at La Place. I had the Sud-Ouest salad, packed with duck breast and gizzards, and topped with a slab of foie gras. Hers was inevitably the carpaccio de bœuf, and Roy had the chicken Caesar.
Wendy has a smart new iWatch that must be obeyed. (Stand up, Wendy. Go for a walk, Wendy.) So we went for a stroll after lunch. The two tall industrial towers that dominate Montech belong to a disused papeterie, or paper mill. It was built in the mid-19th century, was an important part of the town’s success, and closed down for good in 1968.
Located at 21 Rue de l’Usine (which translates as factory road), just 200 metres from our mooring, the main building has been turned into a médiatèque – like a library (bibliotèque), explains Wendy, but with more stuff; and it also houses a ludotèque, which is a collection of board games for use by the local community.
We walked on back past the first two locks and then crossed the bridge to stroll back down the other side of the canal. Running out of path, we had to sneak over the écluse bridge – strictly forbidden to anyone étrange au service, say the signs. They means you can use the bridge while your boat is in or approaching the lock, but otherwise not.
Back on the boat, Roy was firing up the Aperol spritzes before another divine dinner at Bistrot Constant.
Everyone was out on the terrace tonight at Bistrot Constant. For starters, Roy and Wendy had the scrumptious crab; I had the heirloom tomatoes with crunchy mozzarella. For mains, I chose the poulpe (octopus, Mediterranean-style) Wendy the fish and Roy the steak tartare. (Total with a couple of bottles of Provençale rosé: about €130.)
Montech to Grisolles
By 9.30am, Roy had paid the capitainerie and I’d bought the best céreales bread we’ve had in France so far – not from the celebrated Secrets du Pain, but from a more nearby boulangerie called Desorme Jacques et Marie-Rose (3 Avenue André Bonnet) – and we were casting off for Grisolles. A relaxed day for the crew of two: just one easy lock, followed by a couple of hours of cruising.
Yesterday, Roy and Wendy had taken her car to Grisolles* and found some excellent mooring – several sturdy bollards that had been cunningly painted green to hide them in the grass – and it was luckily still available.
(*They left it there so as to be able to drive it back to Montech to fetch the Twingo.)
They’d also booked us a table at Grisolle’s buzzing Resto de la Gare. Though it was anything but fancy, the place was packed. €17 per head bought the excellent starter buffet, a choice of côte de veau (veal chop, not bad) or poulet marinade citron (chicken), plus a cheese and dessert buffet. Along with a couple of préssions (drafts) and a bottle of rosé, it all came to €60.
With full bellies, the mercury at 34 degrees and likely to stay that way until nightfall at 10pm, there was nothing for it but to sieste. Meanwhile, in a large hall adjacent to our berth, hundreds of mature locals had gathered for a Sunday bingo-fest. Wendy chatted up the man with the mike – he’d come to the door to find out what we were doing there – and he complimented her French.
Dinner was an apéro-like spread including Wendy’s devilled eggs, again washed down with Roy’s now-legendary Aperol spritzes. The secret? Just Aperol, ice and Prosecco – definitely no soda.
