While on a jam-packed train from Narbonne to Montpellier I stood shoulder to shoulder with five rugby players who were visiting France on a long weekend jaunt from York, England. So much fun. They had a cooler full of beer and passed one out to whomever was willing to chat. I felt an obligation to uphold Canada’s reputation so I accepted the offer. They had a bluetooth speaker to keep everyone entertained and were playing music based on where people were from. Being from Canada, they assumed I love Shania Twain and … they hoisted their bottles to toast Anne from Canada while singing ‘Dada da-da dah dut-dut, Man I Feel Like a Woman’! They invited me join them for lunch and to go to a rugby game in Béziers. Alas, if I hadn’t been committed to Montpellier, I just might have.

After my rugby buddies disembarked I continued on in standing-room only conditions, nursing my beer and gazing out the window. We passed through a small place called Sète. In my limited view from the train I could see the sun shining on the sea, canals instead of streets and lots and lots of boats. The town looked like the opening scene of a 1960’s Mediterranean caper movie. I was smitten. Why am I not going there?

The joy of travelling alone is you can act on your whims as you please. On my way back from Montpellier (which I never saw, see previous post) and Marseilles, I stayed two nights in Sète. 

Sète was as picturesque as it had promised; it’s been described as France’s answer to Venice. Legend says it was founded by pirates and fishermen. Built on an archipelago with a salt water inland lake, it is a fishing town harvesting the best mussels and oysters.

My full day in Sète started out with a search for breakfast. I found a café but they weren’t serving food. Coffee and tea only. I shrugged and sat down thinking at least I would have a café au lait. I must have looked either very disappointed or very hungry because this generous proprietor brought me a toasted half-baguette with butter and honey. A lovely kindness because I was truly famished.

There are beautiful beaches in Sète, but the best ones are at a distance much too far to walk. I found a bicycle rental shop and pedalled along the coast—a well paved path used equally by tourists and locals. The afternoon was warm and the Mediterranean beckoned; I swam in my underwear. (It’s like dining alone. Nobody cares.)

I have more opinions about travelling solo but I’ll save them for future posts. For now, let me say I appreciate the freedom to follow my own feet, my own whims, and my own hunches to wherever I so desire.

Keep your joy.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger, unless it’s a holiday weekend. Or summertime. Facebook or sign up for delivery to your email.