We have woken up to a different campsite today. Scores of caravans are queuing outside the gate, campers are arriving in droves. The restaurant is bustling full of early morning coffee drinkers and as I ran through the town this morning on an early morning jog I felt the town preparing for something.
A quick Google search tells me that today is Ascension Day, a date more celebrated in the UK. It is the 40th day of Easter and ten days before Pentecost Sunday. It is a public holiday in France and used by many to take a long weekend with the family.
It makes our holiday feel my authentically French than ever before as the English voice is drowned out by a sea of French accents. It makes me like the place even more.
I explored more of the surroundings of Club Farret by foot this morning. Jogging out of the little town hub and out along the canal. Moored beside my dancing feet were barges of all descriptions, the remnants of last night BBQ’s sitting abandoned on the river bank, empty bottles stacked tidily explaining last nights frivolities.
Runners were everywhere, taking advantage of the cooler morning air, they called out to me;
‘Bonjour’. ‘Ca va?’
And I answered in broken French as best as could. I doubt they could interpretate owing to my heavy panting rather than my poor accent.
Back at the Al Fresco site, my holiday home was wide awake and I heard my kids before I saw them. They were greedily eating croissants and pulling on swimsuits in excitement of the day ahead.
“Oomh, I’m starving mum.” Said my smallest, whose tummy had somehow emptied from the previous nights al fresco dinner.
“How was your run? You look really tired,” complimented my older child.
“Get dressed, we are off to kids club this morning,” instructed the next.
That motivated me, as much as I love my children, the idea of not having them for a couple of hours was moderately appealing.
The older pair were safely dropped at the campsite kids club, and BB, a year away from being the right age, stayed with us. We enjoyed a quiet coffee by the pool before heading to the beach.
BB adores the sand with the same passion that I loathe it. She rushes into the cold Mediterranean sea as I linger at the edge, squealing if so much as a toe gets damp. Her Dad, a far better beach sport than I, starts immediately on the biggest sandcastle on the beach. She fuels his competitive nature by highlighting bigger piles of sand up and down the shoreland.
This truly is the life.
We are reviewing the Al Fresco Experience, for more details on how to book, please go to the site.