This year the spring was wet, wet, wet so the thought of some time by the sea, wriggling my toes in the sand with the sun warming our backs became impossible to ignore. After cancelling last June’s seaside trip due to Mr McGregor’s dramatic health problems I was hesitant about booking something again but decided it was better to live hopefully!

Last year’s destination was the Ile de Re, an island on the Atlantic coast of France, very popular with the French in general and our neighbours in particular. They have a camper van and regularly return to the island to eat oysters, cycle around the salt flats and hunt for cockles on the beaches. It sounded irresistible so I was sad to have had to cancel.

But this year himself is so much stronger and as he managed so well on the Paris trip I decided to take a chance. So with crossed fingers I booked the island again although the original hotel was ‘complet’. Ultimately the new hotel’s instructions for finding them on the pedestrianised harbour side of Saint Martin, the biggest town on the island I discovered later, and then finding their private carpark with certain accessibility problems seemed all too much so I regretfully cancelled…again. But not to be defeated I did some online sleuthing and found Chatelaillon-Plage just to the south of La Rochelle, home to one end of the bridge to the Ile de Re.

Chatelaillon-Plage looked a tad bleak on Google earth as the photos were taken in the winter but there was a long expanse of beach with what looked like a quiet road with old fashioned seaside villas running behind it. A bonus was that it was only a thirtyfive minute drive to the island. Given that Mr McGregor’s boredom threshold is very low, the possibility of doing a day trip when the beach palled seemed ideal. So I went ahead and booked a hotel with a pool that was one road back from the beach with restaurants within walking distance. And last week we went!

The weather that had been a bit gloomy and damp after three very hot days when we had visitors (lucky them) decided to cheer up for our ‘depart’. There was a certain amount of faff, comme d’dab, as we stopped for diesel, then sandwiches, then in Brive so himself could buy a new watchstrap, as you do! Finally we were on the autoroute heading west. The A89 runs through beautiful rolling countryside, the Correze, the Dordogne and ultimately the Gironde. As per the first of only a couple of aires on the whole stretch of autoroute was heaving but after decent coffee from the machines we munched our excellent sandwiches from our home bakery watching the comings and goings around us.

The GPS deposited us in front of the hotel around four in the afternoon. As informed in an email from the hotel there was off street parking which saved us the expense of the hotel car park. The welcome once inside was very warm and friendly and my email after booking asking for a room on a lower floor due to Mr McGregor’s mobility problems had been noted and acted upon so we were on the first floor. Thankfully, as there was no lift!

It wasn’t long before we had settled ourselves in, had a recovery doze and then taken ourselves down to the rear terrace, overlooking the pool, to enjoy our arrival aperos. As we relaxed in our new surroundings we sensed this was going to be ok.

Later we wandered down to the seafront where the tide was high and the sea calm. We perused menus and opted for a covered terrace at the Casino, a majestic building dominating its surroundings.

We were at the seaside so it had to be moules frites…

The sun blazed into our faces and we had to remind ourselves that’s what we had come in search of as I tried to wriggle into some shade! 😊

Feeling replete and very satisfied with our first evening we walked slowly back along the front watching families finishing their al fresco beach picnics while youngsters swam and played ball in the shallows.

I was beginning to notice the old fashioned atmosphere of the town due in part to the seafront villas, no shops and quiet one way promenade.

This was all beginning to feel promising…

The next morning we took our breakfast trays out onto the front terrace. A charming young girl had shown us the buffet emphasizing the homemade products; three cakes, two jams and plain yoghurt. The yoghourt was delicious and I had it every morning on my fresh fruit. The apricot jam rivalled Bonne Maman. We passed on the cakes, they looked good but too much for breakfast.

We had decided on a beach day but first a little explore of the town, especially the covered market. The main road was closed due to a fete taking place that following weekend. We were bemused by a large panel depicting the Beatles but discovered the town was twinned with Knebworth…

The covered market was typical and full of regular housewives being aggravated by tourists getting in the way and lengthening the queues. We waited patiently and bought various yummy things for our beach picnic.

All the nearby cafe terraces were full so we wandered back towards the hotel and found a cafe/bar near the ‘curio’ shop where we had bought beach shoes and trunks for Mr McGregor who had forgotten to pack his.

Due to a confused discussion with the staff at the hotel we still had no idea of the state of the tide but put on our costumes under our clothes in anticipation of a sea dip. It was not to be! The water was almost at low tide and was only to be reached after a squelchy walk which neither of us fancied just for a paddle. We had been able to borrow a parasol from the hotel and so reclined on a blanket thing I had bought ages ago and never used, to enjoy our picnic…bliss!

Himself took a short wander to the high tide mark while I went further to explore some nearby rocks where a mother and daughter were busy with nets…crabs? Shrimps?

It was lovely…sun, sea (almost) and sand…lots of it. Apparently back in the 80s the beaches had been washed away and there was a huge operation to bring sand from Ile d’Oleron to replace it at Chatelaillon-Plage in order to prevent the town losing its seaside identity and vital economy.

After cold drinks in a nearby beach bar we meandered back to the hotel to take advantage of their pool. One of the helpful receptionists had told us that morning that the pool was good in the afternoon as it was partially in shade. And it was….even himself came in for a while despite disliking chlorinated water.

Then another evening of reading menus at the many restaurants around town and the beachfront before settling for a very busy one opposite last night’s venue. This town must be heaving in July and August!

Then the stroll back along the beach watching the sun sinking into the sea, now at a height for swimming in…

but I contented myself with just a paddle. 😊

Thursday was to be Ile de Re day. Our thoughtful hotelier produced a map of the island and pointed out the best routes to take and places to visit. We already had recommendations from my sister and a note of favourites from our neighbour that we found tucked under a windscreen wiper the morning we left home.

Our first stop was the 12th century Abbaye des Chateliers , surrounded by wild flower meadows full of poppies where skylarks sang. My first skylarks in years! Founded by Cistercian monks it lasted only until the 16th century when finally destroyed by the Huguenots during the wars of religion. It had previously suffered badly in the 15th century from partial demolition by the English during the siege of La Rochelle. But only invaded by tourists nowadays, most of them on bikes. As a driver you have to be wary of when the bicycle and its designated routes take precedence over the motorised vehicle!

I looked back at the bridge that had enabled us to drive here and wondered about the monks who probably had to row across…

Next stop was La Flotte where I had a fight with the parking payment machine, as did several other drivers. Modern technology, pah! La Flotte is a plus beau village that my sister had stayed in and it really is very pretty and very busy but we found a table for our regular beer and cappuccino with a good view of the harbour. I even managed a quick shot minus passers-by.

The village is very pretty with lots of expensive clothes shops, we noticed, as is so often the way with plus beau villages, they become full of bijou boutiques and artisan studios that close as soon as the holiday season is over. We were looking for the market and somewhere we could buy local wine. I had been enjoying a Chardonnay from Ile de Re at aperos time at the hotel. Market visited and wine found in the local Carrefour we returned to the car to continue exploring.

As we drove towards the seaward end of the island, home to an enormous lighthouse, I noticed the abundance of hollyhocks and giant agapanthus. I love both flowers but have failed miserably to grow hollyhocks and my elderly agapanthus now produces leaves rather than flowers. It needs dividing, I’m told. We avoided the centre of Saint Martin, the harbour village I had originally booked, as the parking looked difficult and it would probably be as crowded as La Flotte. The village of Ars-en-Re was seen from a distance, its celebrated ‘fleche’ reflecting the sun from its white base from which an odd black spire rose, a ‘daymark’ for sailors apparently. Ars is another ‘plus beau village’ plus being part of a group of villages of ‘stone and water’, a designation cooked up by the Charente tourist office it seems.

Arriving near the ‘phare’ we followed signposts to the huge dusty carpark. A standard pay later machine, thank goodness. There were even hollyhocks growing wild as we walked from the carpark towards the lighthouse…

By now we were peckish having driven past lots of oyster shacks and hoped to find a fish restaurant. I can only cope with one oyster at a sitting unlike himself. Happily, we were given a table after only a short wait in a very busy but cheerful place.

Of course, Mr McGregor chose oysters as his starter while I had crevettes. The good news was that the restaurant offered their fish soup, which I love, as either an entree or a main course so I was sorted!

After all that there was no way we were going to climb to the top of the lighthouse/phare as my sister had done!

But we did walk to the end of the island up by the windswept Tour Vauban and gaze out to sea…low tide, of course…

Studying the map I decided (as the designated driver these days) we would drive around the southerly side of the island and see some of the places our neighbours’ recommended. Several of the little villages are bypassed by the bigger roads so I swung off onto little ones that wiggled past white walls with hollyhocks swaying against them. Sadly, the salt marshes seem to be more easily available to cyclists and walkers. Our neighbour told us later that you can buy salt from tables outside cottages with honesty boxes for your payment. A lot more reasonable than the fancy little bags at the tourist shops. There are about one hundred sauniers/salt workers on the island making seasalt in the traditional way that dates back nearly a millenium. There are some quiet beaches nearby too. Next time?

Before leaving I had managed to find a card that summed up perfectly my impression of the island and its wonderful hollyhocks.

Back over the toll bridge (you only pay to come to the island) and on to the hotel for a very welcome swim in their pool.

After the by now obligatory aperos sur la terrace, himself enjoying a pastis made on Ile de Re, we went in search of tapas at a place on the beach.

We were served by a affable young chap and I marvelled at how good humoured all the waiters etc had been on this trip given how hard they have all been working. But it’s not high season yet! 😊

We shared a couple of platters and reflected on what a good break this had been and what a find the hotel was.

The next morning, after another delicious breakfast, we thanked the owners, Celine and Frederic, for their warm welcome and helpfulness, bought a bottle of the said pastis from them, kissed the strange installation chap goodbye and drove away from Chatelaillon-Plage, hoping for a return visit one sunny day.