This article was originally published in The Times.
Fifteen minutes into our walk around the chic town of Saint Martin-de-Ré, I realise that our decision to ‘spend day one exploring the town on foot’ is a mistake. We’re standing on a cobbled bridge that crosses the town’s mighty Vauban ramparts with two hungry children, in the midday sun. On the map, I can see the oyster farmer’s beach-side auberge is just ten minutes away, but all the restaurants on the town’s fashionable quayside are the same distance in the opposite direction.
The pressure to decide which way to go is on. “Look kids, it’s not that far, it’s just on the other side of those vineyards. Come on!’ I yell, marching on purposefully. As cyclists of all ages, on all shapes of bikes, zip past us, we walk – comparatively at a snail’s pace – beyond the town’s gargantuan zigzagged walls.
After much moaning and whining, we arrive hot and dusty, but are quickly rewarded by bottles of Orangina and glasses of chilled white wine from the cheery waitress at Auberge Paysanne de la Mer. A huge platter of glossy oysters and juicy prawns follows alongside the children’s succulent fish dishes, and everyone is happy. Afterwards, as we take our time finishing our wine, they play contentedly on the rocky beach, skimming stones and collecting shells.
Correct decision made on the restaurant, but a bad decision on transport, for here on the Ile de Ré, everybody cycles. The 30km-long island was made for it; it’s flat (just 19 metres at its highest point) and smooth cycle paths lead everywhere. Practicalities aside, cycling gets you into the island’s heart and soul: it lets you hear the birdsong, inhale the smell of honeysuckle and pine, and feel the warmth of the sun on your back as you pedal between soft golden beaches, stone-walled vineyards and whitewashed villages.
The next day, we right our wrongs and hire bikes. We’re bound for the beach and we weave our way along a quiet cycle path from the sleepy village of Saint Marie-de-Ré past poppy-filled meadows and verdant vineyards. We speed along carelessly, only intermittently meeting a road. Saint Marie is sprawling but quiet – it’s filled with holiday homes – but just as alluring as the other nine villages of the island, all characterised by their green shutters (there are 11 permitted shades) on whitewashed walls, where hollyhocks stand proud and perfumed rose bushes arch over doorways.
The dunes divide the path from the beaches, putting them out of sight, but we can hear the sea swishing to the shore. We pedal on to Les Grenettes beach where I breathe in the heady scent from the pine trees along the road that leads down to the soft sandy beach. On the horizon is the Île d’Oleron, the Île de Ré’s more rustic neighbour and the beach is wide, with just a few fellow visitors. The paddling and sandcastle-building prove the perfect respite from the saddle, but soon we’re raring to reclaim our wheels and weave our way back along the lanes to the village for decadent ice creams at a cafe in the square.
The following day we pedal over to La Flotte for dinner provisions at the village’s early 19th-century market, where a technicolour array of fruit, salty charcuterie and myriad cheeses are spread out on the enticing stalls beneath the rustic wooden-beamed roofs. We wander down to the sleepy harbour front, where even the souvenir shops pack up for lunch, and take a table on a restaurant terrace. While the children feast on golden crispy galettes, we gorge ourselves on steaming moules-frites and sip Breton cider from traditional ceramic cups. The return cycle is a languid journey in the warm afternoon sun, our destination is an afternoon by the pool.
While most of the island is within reach by bike – though the Phare des Baleines lighthouse was a stretch too far for our under-eights – a day out in La Rochelle required us to use our four wheels to cross the soaring arched bridge back to the mainland. The town’s impressive aquarium is home to 12,000 sea creatures of 600 species varying in ferociousness. Noses are pressed up against the glass to take in a whirl of sardines, bobbing jellyfish and lurking moray eels before arriving at the Shark Theatre where we come face-to-face with the beady eyes and grimaces of three bull sharks gliding silently beyond the glass. We’re mesmerised for ages, before we’re lured on by further tanks of briny beasts in the Mediterranean zone and piranha tanks in the tropical garden. At lunch afterwards, in the aquarium’s sophisticated but relaxed rooftop restaurant, it seems callous to be eating the poor relatives of the creatures we’ve just admired, but soon we’re feasting on delicious baked hake with a crispy seaweed garnish, while the children devour potato fries, fresh fish and ratatouille.
Outside, La Rochelle’s impressive old port has had a makeover in recent years and two of the town’s iconic medieval towers, the Tour de la Chaîne and Tour Saint Nicolas, stand sentinel near to a newly paved quayside and hip summer hangout, the Guignette Saint-Nicolas, an outdoor bar and dance space. We stroll on to the old town, past the 14th-century gateway and clocktower La Grosse Horloge, and into the arcaded streets that once sheltered merchants’ precious goods – La Rochelle was once one of France’s most important trading cities, and even now it is the region’s main hub for shopping. For now, the low stone arches shelter our quickly melting ice cream as we walk towards the Natural History Museum, which holds some 10,000 carefully curated objects, from a stuffed polar bear to tribal masks. The dinosaur bones and fossils display proves a hit, but it isn’t long before the children are begging to return to the island for more cycling escapades.
And so for the remaining days, we pedal to the beaches, and past salt pans en route to Loix, where a honey farm and its little factory holds the children in thrall. We also return to Saint Martin, by bike this time. As we judder down the cobbled back streets towards the port, my son yells from his tag-along bike: “My bottom is sore – can we stop and walk?”
Need to know:
Carolyn Boyd was a guest of Charentes Tourism (infiniment-charentes.com) and travelled with Brittany Ferries, sailing from Plymouth to Roscoff. Crossings for a car and four passengers in July starts from £480 (£261 for two passengers) (0330 159 7000, brittany-ferries.co.uk). She stayed at Villa Clarisse in Saint Martin, with doubles from €210, room only (00 33 5 46 68 43 00, villa-clarisse.com) and then rented a house through AirBnB (airbnb.co.uk).
See article here.
