Blog Zero: Edinburgh to Béziers

So – off we go again!   Our seventh long trip since I retired in 2018, notwithstanding Covid-19 interruptions.

The build-up to Trip Number Seven has been fraught with the customary dental issues – two of my (conjoined) teeth manage to fall out whilst I’m eating toast, a few days before we leave.  Estimated bill for a long-term fix is £5-6k.  Excellent.

We have a Ryanair flight to look forward to, but at least it’s only a couple of hours to Béziers.  The first challenge comes as we settle into our seats – will the seat belt actually manage to close around my svelte body? Despite the loss of almost two stones in weight, it only just does at full extension.

If it hadn’t, there would have been a problem, as you can’t use a seat belt extension whilst sitting in emergency exit seats for extra leg room.  The only option then would have been to ask someone in a front row seat to swap with me.

If they declined, I would presumably be ejected from the aircraft and thrown on the pile of fat people rejected as Ryanair passengers, which is growing at the side of the runway.  Must continue with the diet.

Presumably the runway we land on at Bézier is quite short, as the pilot slams on the brakes and we are launched into the seat in front.  The airport’s arrivals hall is tiny, and the Brexit-induced wait, whilst all the EU passengers are filtered through first, is stuffy and as annoying as ever.  At least I got to show my blue passport – hang on, it’s black.

As we leave the terminal, a lot of the older arriving passengers seem to be being met by a travel company called Riviera Travel – they initially assume that, being aged, we are one of their number, but sadly we fail to wangle a free lift into Bézier.

Taxis are €40 to the Centre, so we join the queue of 20-somethings for the €2 bus trip to the railway station instead (thinking of my future dental bill).  A much more reasonable taxi from there brings us up to the XIX Hotel, which has a lovely terrace bar/café out front.  First impressions are excellent.

We check in and are upgraded to a Junior Suite. This means our bedroom is quite large and includes A CHAIR, upon which it is impossible to sit.  The hotel and general area seem to be  relaxed and laid back, and the locals are very friendly and helpful.

We’ve booked a Moroccan restaurant for dinner which gets rave reviews, so we set off down a very steep hill. Within half a block we’ve passed from the sophisticated piazza of the XIX Hotel, facing a park with coloured fountains, into mediaeval streets that feel like we’ve landed in North Africa. We wind on down the hill.

We finally come upon the Tajine Royal.  It looks unprepossessing, but we open the front door.  “Let’s go somewhere else,” says Fiona. “Not after abseiling down that hill,” says I.

The interior makes Brattisani’s chippie look like the Dorchester.  North African families are consuming large amounts of food, and Real Madrid are live on the TV.  However, the food is indeed good, though the “Best tagine in the world!” reviews are a bit hyperbolic.  It’s a strictly halal establishment, so soft drinks only. Fiona is mollified by the quality of the kefte tajine.

We then have to drag our, now heavier, bodies back up the steep hill for a couple of drinks on the hotel terrace, facing the colourful fountain, with an accompaniment of deafening rock music blaring out of speakers arranged around the small park.  Everything stops abruptly at 10:00pm.  Bézier is not Buenos Aires.

In the morning, we make a much longer descent down through the ancient streets to the Pont Vieux (Old Bridge) over the Orb river.  The water is still and largely green, and the bridge affords a good view upwards to the city’s cathedral, towering over the scene.  It is getting very hot.

We grab an Uber back up to the railway station to catch our train to Collioure.