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The bells in four of Martel's seven towers are just as out of synchronisation as they were in summertime when they chime at seven seventy-seven and eight eighty-eight this morning.
The sun is out but it's only 3 degrees, rising to 10 by the time we head into town. It's every bit as attractive as our last visit, but completely deserted; no terrace tables and parasols, no postcard stands, no hubble-bubble of tourists.
The ancient stonework glows in the sun without the harsh summer shadows and little gardens around the cafes are still lush. One has vines of passion fruit with orange bulbs dangling.
We amble around taking in new details we missed among the crowds, with Nick and Grete enjoying their first visit to this charming little place. The streets and squares are deserted except for an hydraulic platform with men utting up Christmas lights For lunch we find a simple friendly little cafe and have sandwiches and chips. After lunch we meander through he still deserted streets and out to the railway station, but although the website said a diesel train runs on Tuesdays in November nothing is open apart from the workshop where we see the locomotive we rode with in summer undergoing maintenance work.
From the aire we drive up to the supermarket for a few goodies and to use the laundromat before returning to settle in for the evening.
Grete does a 'fat-boy' [full English breakfast] for dinner, complete with the first picking from Nick W's mobile mushroom planter bought last week.
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