The mishaps that made our Nimes trip so memorable

What made our week in Nîmes so memorable

Mishap number one: The missing tickets

Our first evening couldn't have started much better.

It was one of those warm southern French evenings where everyone seems to be outside. We'd heard the afternoon sound checks, the cafés around the Arena were buzzing and we were about to see Vanessa Paradis perform in one of the most extraordinary concert venues in France.

I'd booked us a table at Pizza Cozy just a few steps from the entrance so we could eat, relax and wander in.

Then I asked Antonie to bring up the tickets.

Nothing.

"No problem," I thought. "They'll be on my phone."

Nothing there either.

Meanwhile everyone else already had their tickets ready.

Antonie disappeared back to the apartment in thirty-degree heat to search on his iPad while I abandoned my pizza and headed for the box office.

They couldn't find them either. We tried every name I could think of before I finally admitted defeat and bought another set.

Problem solved.

Or so I thought.

Halfway back to the restaurant my phone rang.

"I've found them."

Wonderful.

Except now I had to explain that everything wasn't solved after all and negotiate a refund on the tickets I'd bought only minutes earlier.

Thankfully they took pity on me.

By now it sounded as though Vanessa Paradis had already started.

I tried not to rush.

That might sound odd, but have you ever climbed around a two-thousand-year-old Roman amphitheatre?

Health and safety wasn't high on the Roman agenda.

At one point I found myself on all fours in a chiffon dress trying to scramble over a Roman wall while everyone else politely followed behind.

Eventually we found our seats.

The lights dimmed.

Vanessa walked onto the stage.

And suddenly none of the ticket drama mattered any more.

Mishap number two: The disappearing bus

The following morning we headed to Uzès for its famous Saturday market.

This is one of my favourite days of the trip. The market fills the whole town, the café terraces spill into the streets and it feels as though you've wandered into another century.

One thing I love about our immersions is that we travel as French people do.

We catch buses.

We walk. We queue.

We become part of everyday life instead of watching it from behind a coach window.

The market had closed the town centre, so the bus dropped us just outside the walls. No problem. I confidently led everyone to my favourite boulangerie before checking the return bus times.

Just in case.

I looked once.

Then again.

The last bus back to Nîmes left at 1.30.

Our wine tasting was booked for 2 o'clock.

Ruth spotted my face immediately.

"So... are we walking back to Nîmes?" she laughed.

For a brief moment I wondered how expensive a taxi might be.

Then I remembered.

I'd already booked one to take us the short journey from Uzès to the vineyard and collect us afterwards.

One phone call.

"I have a little favour to ask..."

Instead of taking us back to Uzès afterwards, would he take us all the way back to Nîmes?

"Pas de problème."

Problem solved.

As it turned out, the change made the day even better. We enjoyed our dégustation and then spent the journey back chatting in French with our driver, learning more about the villages we were passing through than we'd ever have discovered on the bus.

Another little problem had turned into another lovely memory.

Mishap number three: The missing phone

By Sunday I probably should have expected something else.

We met at Les Halles de Nîmes, one of the world's great food markets. I suggested that instead of everyone eating separately that evening, we should shop together and cook at the apartment.

Ruth was dispatched to buy the cheese.

Viv found the bread and tarte aux pommes.

Someone else chose the olives.

After coffee on the terrace and a cheeky mouthful of fougasse scented with orange blossom, we headed back to the apartment to drop everything off before visiting Pont du Gard.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"Oh mince..."

My phone had disappeared.

Everyone joined the search.

Someone rang it.

Nothing.

I stripped the bed.

Opened drawers.

Checked the bathroom.

Still nothing.

Our taxi was due and my French friends were waiting to meet us at Pont du Gard.

I borrowed someone's phone to ring the taxi, but there was no way of contacting my friends.

Oddly enough, I wasn't too worried.

After years of spending time in France, I knew exactly how they'd react.

They wouldn't panic.

They'd simply assume we'd arrive when we arrived.

Sure enough, within minutes of reaching Pont du Gard, there they were.

Smiles.

Kisses on both cheeks.

Not a hint that anything had gone wrong.

By now I'd almost accepted that my phone had gone.

I even asked who fancied coming with me to the gendarmerie afterwards to report it missing.

Ruth was the first to volunteer.

She seemed genuinely excited by the prospect.

Back at the apartment that evening I decided to have one last look.

This time I lifted the one pillow I hadn't checked.

There it was.

I'd spent an entire day without my phone.

And do you know what?

It wasn't a catastrophe.

If anything, I'd paid more attention to the people around me because I wasn't looking at a screen.

As we sat around the table that evening enjoying everything we'd bought together at Les Halles, nobody was talking about Roman history or famous landmarks.

We were laughing about missing tickets.

Missing buses.

Missing phones.

And then Ruth said it.

"I was actually disappointed we didn't end up in the gendarmerie."

I think that's why this trip will stay with me for such a long time.

You can plan the itinerary.

You can choose the restaurants.

You can book the visits.

But it's often the unexpected moments that become the stories you remember long after you've unpacked your suitcase.

Thank you to everyone who took part this year. You;ve made some wonderful memories!