We finally got within a stone's throw of the Mediterranean. Well, that's assuming you can throw a stone six kilometres, but the 13th Century town of Aigues-Mortes is as close as we can get by boat at the moment.

The canal does continue on to a place called Grau du Roi, a nice fishing port, where theoretically you could carry on out into the Med and head for Spain, Italy or Greece. But apparently you're only allowed to go to Grau du Roi by boat if you are "going to sea", since there aren't many places in port for pleasure boats. And since the Med is currently quite choppy with strong winds we certainly don't intend to go sur la mer anyway.

Despite a name that seems to suggest illness and death, Aigues-Mortes simply means "dead water" and reflects the close proximity of extensive marshes and ponds, a signature of the Camargue, along with wild horses, bulls and cowboys. We rode past some of these wetlands on the bikes the other day on the way to Grau du Roi to see the Med, and saw a few of the local pink flamingoes, the stupid ones who had decided for some reason not to go to Africa for the winter. Silly them. They stood forlornly on one leg in the shallow water with their heads tucked under their wings trying to keep warm in the biting blast of a strong chill wind off the Med. We knew how they felt, but it's tricky tucking your head under your arm while riding.

However, the ride to Grau du Roi ("Pond of the King") was invigorating, as was our very brief visit to the beach so we could take a photo to prove we'd reached the Med, which looked like NZ's Cook Strait on a bad day. No bronzed bodies, no beach umbrellas, no Germans claiming the loungers... just desolate wind-whipped sand, and fierce white-capped breakers. We must come back in warmer weather.

The fishing port was nice and colourful though, despite most of the shops and businesses being closed for winter, but to escape the chill Liz suggested we find a cafe or restaurant for lunch. Down a side alley she discovered La Creperie du Gard du Roi - the Creperie of the Pond of the King - which looked like it needed our business; there was nobody else there.

As it turned out this was to our advantage as we had the tiny cosy place to ourselves for the entire lunch, and the full attention of the two slightly flamboyant owners. We perused the menu of the creperie of the pond of the king, and Liz decided to go for the "galette" - the basis of which we weren't sure since it translates as "biscuit", but, what the heck - and I elected the mussels and chips - moules et frites - with curry sauce. Nom nom.

While we waited, the large widescreen TV high on the wall behind the counter was on for our entertainment, but for once it wasn't one showing France being beaten by some other rugby team, or any other sport for that matter. No. Instead, something far more useful, and in fact riveting: a home video made by the owners of the creperie of the pond of the king.

Creperie Productions presented a silent yet thoughtful video that showed initially nice pictures of Grau du Roi in warm sunshine, fishing boats arriving, the swing bridge swinging, and - disturbingly - shots of the exterior tables of the restaurant itself with absolutely no customers. But then, the money shots. Suddenly, the camera is on a tripod in the kitchen, and we are treated to a step-by-step sequence showing how the chef (we could tell it was the same guy who served us by the tattoos on his arm) prepared a galette. Which isn't a biscuit; it's some savoury crepe mixture spread onto a hotplate, formed into a square, folded over in each corner, with two eggs broken onto it and ham and cheese added (or any combination of all sorts of accompaniments). It cooks on the hotplate (during this the chef/cameraman nipped round the back of the camera and zoomed in once or twice, just so we knew it was ham, eggs and cheese cooking) and, once browned, is plated up.

This was excellent, and when Liz's galette arrived it was more or less the same as the one in the movie. But the best thing of all is we now know how to make a galette ourselves, having had a free cooking lesson.

The moules et frites were lovely too, as was the demi-pichet de rose, and during the meal we were able to watch a video of chef cooking a crepe, with Nutella (obvious product-placement), icing sugar, cream and ice cream.

So when he came to ask if we would like dessert I had to tell him in my best broken French that having watched him prepare a Nutella crepe on the screen I would just have to have one. So I ordered a Crepe Nutella from the chef of the kitchen of the creperie of the pond of the king, while the wife of me resisted, somehow.

The only way I could feel good about gorging myself at lunch was knowing that we would have to ride the bikes back to Aigues-Mortes, and therefore burn off a few calories, which is what we did. The flamingoes still had their heads tucked in, and it was still blowing. Which is a shame, as the on-board heating on our boat - which has worked wonderfully well till now - has failed.

We now have dead heat in Dead Water.