Saturday, Alet-les-Bains

An unexpected good night's sleep; we have a pitch in a small site behind an ancient ruined Abbey and next to a church which looks just as ancient, but more to the point, has a set of loud and characterful bells which chime not just the hours and in between, but also ring a mad carillon after several of the hours. We though we would be up all night with ear plugs and aspirins, but the bonging stopped at nine p.m.
We had croissants at breakfast. Chris has his with fig jam. We must bring some back with us.
Alet-les-Bains is a lovely old town, a forgotten gem, as the guide book calls it. We wandered, in the morning, looking at the old walled town. We saw extremely old houses, some only just still standing, and newer houses, made centuries ago with stone pillaged from the ruins of the Abbey, which was once a Roman temple to Cybele. At the boulangerie we stopped for warm crepes which we ate in the tiny square opposite the entrance to the campsite.
We took the bikes out in the afternoon, up a very steep road to the hilltops above Alet-les-Bains. All around we had the most amazing views into the far distance. We had our picnic lunch between shady trees overlooking the view, where I sat on a thyme bush and became sweetly scented as a result. I (Kate, obviously) fell off the bike I was on, a fairly common occurrence, Chris tends not to fall off his. No injuries were sustained, the bank was grassy and the bike is not a big one. The ride back was extraordinarily fast, leaving time for more photography in the town for Chris and a spot of knicker washing for me (again, obviously, Kate), Chris tends not to go in for knicker washing.
Supper in a garden overhung by a huge fig tree, laden with fruit. We want one. Salad for each of us, with a basket of different hams, sausage, salami, chorizo and cheese. Wine for him, bio orange for me.