A far cry from Thursa

When we were little, that's what my father would say about our travels, that we were a long way from our roots.....and the days by the med showed that.

At the end of Saturday J showed me a little fishing village that I found hard to believe; in Sete, a stone's throw from the tourist traps, the big hotels, the rows of holiday homes, a small corner which reminded me of Burano, off Venice. There was a real feeling on community there. In fact people were painting what was going to be the scenery for their "fête". In the north of Scotland they still have their galas and their games. And maybe more of those later.

They also seem to have a sense of humour.


The above picture was taken early sunday morning, as we bought oysters to take to the Drome.... different from the boats of my childhood....the Primula in particular. The men were however rather similar!