Part 1

Monday

(to follow)

Tuesday

In Which We Close a Pool and Open a Bar Tab

Some days begin quietly. Tuesday began with the pool man, who arrived, tucked our pool in for the winter like a very expensive, very wet toddler, and left with the news that a couple of replacement parts will be needed before spring. Of course they will. Pools, like cars and teenagers, are never truly “done.”

The moment he left, we leapt into the car. I may be exaggerating the leaping. There was a pause for knees, and a brief negotiation about who had the keys. But we were off, heading north, or at least in the general direction of “not here.”

First Stop: Aigues-Mortes

Home is Carcassonne, a magnificent walled city, and I say that with love. But Aigues-Mortes is also a walled city, only this one is lively, beautifully kept, and sits by the water in the Camargue like it knows it’s the good-looking sibling. I spent a good part of the visit wondering why we didn’t move here in the first place. I have no answer. I have since been told there is a mortgage involved.

Lunch was at Banaras, an Indian restaurant I’d scouted online with the focus of a man planning a heist. Verdict: excellent. Pleasantly spicy 🌶️, and then came the Indian café gourmand, which was a dessert platter that might, in hindsight, have been a cry for help from my stomach. A digestive stroll followed, past restaurants with every outdoor table occupied. End of October, and the French were still sitting outside as if winter were a rumour. Respect.

On to Nîmes

Fifty kilometres later we reached Nîmes and our home for the night, the Novotel Atria, a couple of minutes’ walk from the famous arena. Not our first stay, and the location in the old town is perfect. We had barely unpacked before we were out again, which is the sort of discipline I usually reserve for finding the biscuit tin.

First up was the Maison Carrée, so well preserved it makes the rest of us feel poorly maintained. Nîmes is basically a Roman history buffet, and we were hungry for more. Then the Jardins de la Fontaine, which were absolutely worth it. We even sat on a bench for a few minutes to take it all in, which at our age counts as an extreme sport. The spring of Nemausus bubbles away a few yards off, and you can’t help picturing yourself in Roman times, wondering what it was like. (Mostly, I suspect, a lot of sandals and no gin and tonic. A tragedy.)

We then couldn’t resist buying tickets for the arena. Of the 200-odd Roman arenas still around, this is one of the best preserved, and it’s still used for shows and concerts. I must attend one soon. Gladiators optional.

Aperitif O’Clock

By 6pm, a tough fact had emerged: visiting ancient monuments is thirsty work. Fortunately Nîmes’s old town is generously stocked with bars, and we settled outside one for a couple of drinks plus one gin and tonic. (The maths is deliberately vague. History is hard to count.)

Still full from lunch, we staggered back to the hotel bar for a couple more G&Ts and a planche mixte, that glorious French plank of charcuterie and cheese, then retired very early to a very comfortable bed. I say this with authority.

The 1 a.m. Plot Twist

I woke just after 1 am, an odd hour even for a man who has just consumed a small distillery. And then it hit me: exactly 15 years ago, at this very time, I was having a rather nasty heart attack and being rushed to hospital in the German town where we then lived. It was touch and go, but I made it through in the nick of time.

So here I am, 15 years on, in a Roman city, full of cheese, gin, and curry, with a perfectly good heart and a very comfortable bed.

Maybe I should celebrate this anniversary every year. In fact, I think I will. Same menu, please.

To be continued…