Running parallel to the beach a large carpark displays a ‘no camping’ sign. The area is filled (and when I say ‘filled’, I mean cheek by jowl, chock a block) with camper vans (and when I say ‘camper vans’ I mean rectangular blocks of homes on wheels fitted with satellite dishes, washing lines and patios. I would not have been surprised to see raised garden beds and a tennis court).
Taking advantage of the sunny clime, occupants had set tables and chairs outside their vans – the much feted ‘outdoor room’. Very sensible for breakfast and dinner but I had a bit of a chuckle at one couple, possibly not quite making the most of the get-away-from-cramped-suburbia-into-the-great-outdoors opportunity.
They sat, backs to their van, steadfastly staring down the next campervan two metres away across the tarmac, sipping their cold beverage and chomping their biscuits while 40 metres away, on the other side of a raised road, hidden safely from their view, the evening sun skibbled over the Mediterranean Sea, children gambolled, waves lipped the shore and other beverage-drinkers took it all in.
The World is My Cuttlefish 
This article is a real hoot: I live in the Hérault, and am always gobsmacked by the tourists’ capacity to spend a week here without actually seeing the scenery or heritage surrounding them. Many have picnics on the side of the road, ignoring the vineyards 100m further away. Thanks for the laugh, I’m off to read some more! Jo from http://multifariousmeanderings.wordpress.com/
Thanks, Jo. I wonder if they feel disappointed when they realise what they’ve missed out on. Maybe my Camargue people had spent all day on the open beach and just needed a little confinement.