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Going to Agde was a real trip down memory lane. We spent several summers in the area with our best friends, Pat and Dave when our children were small.  The campsite, Les Romarins, was really good, with nice clean facilities and very friendly and helpful staff.

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The Bromptons came into their own there, as the area is flat and has some excellent cycle paths.  On the first day we cycled to Cap d’Agde and on round to the lovely bay nearby that is famous for its volcanic rock. (I restrained myself from saying things like ‘Call that volcanic rock, now Iceland has volcanic rock’).

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The beach resorts around the area are not outstandingly beautiful, but they felt safe and clean and we enjoyed parking the bikes next to the marina, where there must have been millions of Euros of boats moored. 

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Lunch was very nice as well and we managed to find our way back to the campsite after a couple of wrong turns…(The wine was very nice too.)

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The following day we cycled into Agde along the Herault river,

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We find the landmark where we always took our joint family photos. 

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It is a nice little town and the antique market was charming (we resisted the urge to buy some old British ‘thrupenny bits’ and ‘hapennies’ for silly money). 

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We found a fountain that had every kind of being looking quite ill

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I have never understood why fountain designers want to have vomiting figures all over the place.  This foot also looked a bit creepy to me

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We had another lovely meal in one of the floating restaurants and found the route back along he river much easier to follow. (Bit more worrying though, as the water was somewhat deeper).

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The weather on the last day was not good so we drove around the area, visiting places we could remember from the past.  Twenty years have changed many things, including the iconic road along the beach between Agde and Sete, which now consists of a cycle path and a whole load of car parks.  The latter were no good to us, as they were height restricted to keep out RVs, but they also didn’t allow Camel in with her roof rack and Bushpack.  Meh! 

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We managed to find our way back to Pinet, where we had hired the same gite for three years running, and managed to identify the house where we had so much fun, right next to the church with the bells that kept us awake for so many nights. 

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The sad thing was that our favourite local wine merchant, despite still being in business, (or at least his two sons), was shut.  No lovely Gaujals wine for us then.  Sigh!

That night the rain hammered down, which was typical, as we needed to pack the tent away for nearly a week, as we were going to visit friends and then blat back across France, staying in hotels.  The last thing we needed was a mouldy tent.  Luckily the rain stopped before morning and the sun came out, allowing the old Tentipi to dry out pretty thoroughly.  I felt a bit strange to think we would not be sleeping in it for quite a while.

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