France leave with a bottle of wine or two .” Luckily , there are no interlopers and our wine stash remains intact . We are left to roam alone , occasionally espying nesting storks , white horses and wild-eyed black bulls . Bosco , the barge ’ s guest dog , stays close to base . Not too far away are salt pans , where the salt is dried by the Mistral wind . We overnight in our barge in the reeds and are lulled to sleep by unidentifiable sighs .
Next comes the excitement of the sea , or at least the Etang De Tau , which borders the Mediterranean . Only sandbars separate this brackish lagoon from the sea . After so long spent under verdant canal canopies , we feel exhilarated by the salty tang of the sea . Tellingly , this saltwater lake is also sandwiched between the Canal du Midi and the Canal du Rhone . The barge glides past the oyster fisheries and mussel beds and we come nose to nose with the molluscs . The oysters are speared on ropes and suspended just above the lagoon .
In the quaint lagoon fishing ports our crew buys fresh fish and shellfish straight off the boat . Our voyage ends at Marseillan , a pretty port founded by the Phoenicians but now synonymous with shellfish and Noilly Prat , a dry Vermouth infused with herbs . On the bistrot menus are shrimps , sea urchins and eels , but above all oysters and mussels . Moored in the inner harbour , we are entranced by the yachts , which now feel like alien craft to us bargees .
At best , the mood on board has been like a floating house party with like-minded people who also love barges and canal-cruising . By the end of the voyage we have all become raging barge snobs . “ More Tupperware heading our way ” shrieks one of our party upon spotting a non-wooden boat bearing down upon us . But if you have any doubts about the selectness of the company , simply charter the barge and bring your own crowd . Let Anjodi serve up the atmosphere and intimacy . Just choose your friends wisely and go with the flow . ■
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