Photos- Montpellier 2007

Montpellier photos

Adios Spain, we're heading back to France

Hopefully the trip part of this blog will be finished before the next trip.....

We left Spain, bidding adios to our hosts Martha and Katie and headed back up to France. Since we would be taking the TGV back to Paris from the south, we had decided to spend the night in Montpellier. A second option would have been driving back to Avignon and heading north, but we wanted to see a city we hadn't visited before. So Montpellier it was.

Katie and Martha had warned us that driving in and out of Montpellier was a nightmare. Of course we heeded their advice, but we had no idea what we were in for. DH was prepared with all the necessary maps, carefully organized into the official "TRIP FOLDER", including detailed printouts from mappy.com. But as the old saying goes...the one about best laid plans of mice and men....

We spent over an hour and a half trying to navigate the streets of Montpellier, desperate to arrive at our hotel, maybe even get to sleep in the room we had already paid for and drop off the car before our train was to leave the next morning. I can't count the number of times we ran into dead ends, streets on the map disappeared from the reality of our fruitless navigation or one way streets forced us into a drive of slow and painful water-drip torture death where we would end up at our starting point over and over again.

Somehow, we managed to finally arrive at our hotel, the Hotel du Parc. The hotel was very pretty and our room was spacious and charming. After hauling our suitcases to our room, DH took off to return the rental car. Thankfully, the concierge gave him concise driving directions to the train station and advised him on which tram would bring him back to the hotel.

Travel busy-business over and done, it was time to explore Montpellier.

We left the hotel and began our explorations at the Place du Comedie. By now, it was 2pm on a Sunday afternoon, so even if we had wanted to go gangbusters, it just wasn't going to happen. We wandered through the pretty Jardin des Plantes. There was an odd art installation which we didn't find visually appealing. But once we realized that it was in honor of a wine rebellion that we had read about in Narbonne, we were amused and a wee proud of ourselves for being able to know about a little obscure (to us) piece of the history and culture of southern France.

It was a wandering kind of day. I think we pretty much covered most of central Montpellier. We took time to visit the Antigone district, which reminded us both of Battery Park City in NYC. Seen it, done it, next. Exploring historic Montpellier was enjoyable. Most shops and sites were closed, but the architecture, the pretty white buildings and white-washed cobblestone streets were pleasant. We seemed to keep meandering back to the same little square, where we took a time out at a cafe to soak it all in (and rest our weary legs...). Regathering our momentum over wine and little snacks, the atmosphere was nice and relaxed. Most of the patrons seemed to know each other and the waitstaff. Nearby, some preteen boys attempted to practice a bit of soccer greatness.

Next, we promenaded our way over to the Promenade du Peyroux. From a distance, it looked quite eloquent. Up close and personal, this seemed to be the rastafarian and bohemiam-stoner-student-trustafarian hang out section of Montpellier. Nothing wrong with that...I can appreciate an alternative view of life. It's just that there was so much trash and so many broken bottles strewn about. It seemed a shame in light of the beautiful monument and how beautiful park could be if it were kept cleaner. Peace out dude, but put your trash where it belongs.

We did alot more wandering, and eventually came to the dinner hour. We chose to eat at Bistrot Gourmand, which had the most interesting menu in our budget for the evening. I had some kind of salad with duck breast and DH also had a salad, based around goat cheese. Our meal was quite lovely and and we got to sit outside in a quite square under pretty lights.

Our vacation was drawing to an end. Each time we know we are about to leave southern France, we get a little sad. There's just something so magical about this region. Neither of us wanted to leave.

After dinner, we headed back to Hotel du Parc, and shared one last bottle of wine in the courtyard (hell, we had to, we couldn't take all of our travelling cave back to the US.) before falling into bed.

Spain part 2- photos

Cadaques and Girona

Destination- Cadaques

We decided to spend our day in the small fishing village of Cadaques.

It was an easy 45 minute drive from Jafre, pretty much a straight shot through wheat fields and small, dusty villages. Shortly before the outskirts of Roses, we encountered a hellacious traffic snarl, due to road construction, which slowed everything to an obstinate snail's pace.

The slow down occurred at the least appealing part of the drive, in the midst of strip malls and mucho ugly commercial development. There was one humorous moment, though... as traffic lurched along and we passed one of those kiddie play parks that probably would involve putt-putt golf if it were in the US of A. It was populated with a multitude of giant clown heads, and I had a sudden epiphany as to why so many people develop an ungodly fear of clowns in their childhood(let alone adulthood). Despite the dark and unintended humor of the clown heads, our patience was wearing thin, when we finally came to the end of the construction zone, traffic cleared up, and we were rewarded with scenic vistas as the road wove it's way up and through the coastal mountains and on towards Cadaques.

Since we had just passed Roses, I couldn't resist the opportunity to bust my DH's chops and try to convince him that we had dinner reservations that night at Ferran Adria's restaurant, Il Bulli which is located in Roses. He was blissfully ignorant of Il Bulli's significance in the cult world of gourmets and foodies. I explained to him that Adria was the chef who first championed 'molecular gastronomy', reducing food down to foams and unlikely concoctions... that it takes six months to get reservations if you are lucky...Moi, I've yet to taste Senor Adria's cuisine, or experience a meal from any chef who follows in his footsteps, so I have no relevant culinary opinions. For die hard foodies, it's supposedly the experience of a lifetime. When I revealed how much a dinner at Il Bulli would cost us (about 200EU/pp...over 300USD/pp with the current horrid exchange rate), I had a good laugh as DH screamed and protested that I was an evil liar. I took great delight in admitting that yes, I was truly an evil liar.

We passed through the mountains and began the winding descent down the one road that takes you to Cadaques. The road travels through the Parc National de Cap de Creus. The terrain is beautiful and rugged. It is covered with deep pine green brush, olive trees, ochre-colored sandy rock. And today, it was gorgeously framed today by a bright blue sky that enhanced the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean.

Cadaques was even prettier than we expected. The bright white buildings were like freshly washed linen set out to dry on a warm summer day. There was a small artisan's market set up. It was delightful to see a market devoted entirely to local culture, in contrast to the usual weekly markets we love to visit. A smith forged iron tools. Several women sat around a table, tatting beautiful lace by hand. A group of musicians played music and there were of course, many stalls devoted to food that looked simply scrumptious. My biggest regret of the day (aside from not getting a photograph of the evil giant clown heads), was that I didn't by a Caganer from the vendor who was selling them.

Caganers are figurines of 'people' taking a crap. Yes, pooing. They are placed the in a discreet corner of nativity scenes at Christmas and are (according to my guidebook) a "very sacred tradition for the Catalans" and "pure fun". I had my choice of crapping angels, firemen, policemen, nuns, etc. But I hemmed and hawed, thinking it would be easy to find a little crapper in another town. I was wrong. Oh well, our Christmas will be shit free for yet another year.

After browsing the market, we settled down on the beach for yet another rather blissfully uneventful day of swimming, reading and sunning.

Nearby Cadaques in Portlligat, is the house that Dali lived and worked in from 1930 to 1982. Reservations are needed if you are planning to visit. We opted not to visit this time...but have heard it's a fascinating experience. Also nearby is Pubol Castle, the castle Dali bought for his girlfriend Gala. Since our afternoon was dedicated to pure decadent nothingness, we decided to save Pubol Castle for another visit too.

As we were leaving town, DH spotted a store with wine casks in the window. Like a big game hunter, looking for the next exotic kill, he begged to go in. They had casks of sangria, and he snared his next trophy...his nalgene bottle filled with sangria.

We drove back to Las Nenas, freshened up and then set out to Girona for the evening.

Girona has a lot of history and and a wonderful energy. In hindsight, I wish we would have had more time to experience it all. We arrived at about 6pm, and spent the the first hour exploring and walking around. From our short visit, I got very positive impressions.

We wandered through the old Jewish ghetto. I was floored by how narrow the streets were. I found it ironic, that a ghetto cleared out by a catholic regime, is now a chic and desirable place to live. We wound our way through the old passageways, and eventually 'stumbled' upon the majestic cathedral of Girona.

When I say, 'stumbled', I'm actually being quite literal. In the square below the cathedral, I was trying to maneuver myself to get the best possible photographic angle. I was more focused on getting the shot than paying attention to my surroundings, and up ended myself over one of the cement pylons which protect the buildings from any vehicular traffic. It was downright embarrassing (and literally made me nauseous from impact), and knocked the wind out of me.

When my coordination and alertness gets that bad, I know it's time to sit down and have meal. So we immediately set out to find a place for dinner. I was in Spain, so I was determined to have some authentic tapas.

After a little meandering, we found a tapas bar/restaurant that looked cozy and inviting. We both ordered a glass of wine and then filled a plate with tapas from their selection- potatoes bravas, lots of anchovy pintxos for me, bread topped with tuna, serrano ham. I had fun sampling all the little dishes, but DH wanted more of a meal.

The waiter showed us to table in the quiet and secluded alleyway behind the restaurant. We enjoyed a wonderful meal. I had a grilled shrimp and avocado drizzled with a reduction of balsamic vinegar and my husband a goat cheese salad. We ordered a Catalan rose that went perfectly with the meal. Simple dishes, well presented and tastier than I would have expected.

After dinner, we enjoyed a stroll down Las Ramblas and along the canals to see the famous colored houses before heading back to Las Nenas. Back 'home', we ended our evening in the garden again, gazing up at the stars and enjoying a nightcap of the sangria as we nibbled at the leftover dessert from the previous evening. A sweet ending to another sweet and lovely day.

Spain- part 1

Spain - part one

Dali and Dinner

Day 15 continued...



No, that's not a baguette on the mannequin's head.

We crossed into Spain for a whirlwind 48 hours, or two days if you will. My nose had been buried in my mini guide book on Catalonia for the last few days. There was so much to do and see in the region. Unfortunately, we had to be picky -and choose.


Our hallway neighbor in NYC, who I will refer to as BK, had been lucky to spend some time in Spain over the last year. He'd even managed to be paid for his travels, directing concerts of Broadway stars in Barcelona (who knew the Spaniards loved Broadway? Apparently, they do.). During pre-trip hallway conversations, we discovered he would be in Spain again, and at the same time as we would. Half-laid plans were hatched to try and meet up while across the Atlantic. BK also shared with me his experiences of Spain along the Costa Brava...and the one that stood out was the Teatre-Museu Dali in Figueres. "It's a trip", were pretty much his somewhat exact words.

Figueres was on our way to Jafre. It was an easy decision to stop and see the famous Dali Museum. As promised, it was a trip. I've always held a subtle affection for Salvador (even if I dismissed him during my college years, since every dorm wall seemed to be graced with a poster of his melting clocks.). But here, I got to see the true twisted genius of the man. I would have liked to knock back a couple of whiskies with him (I don't even drink whiskey) and have an intense evening long conversation, trying to suss out his uncensored answers.

Exploring Le Teatre, I almost did. Every inch of this museum is thought out, with irony and wit apparent in every view- the fact that "theater" is part of the name is quite appropriate. When we visited, unfortunately, we seemed to share the museum with hordes of annoying people who elbowed me at every chance (after visiting La Teatre, frankly, I think Senor Dali would have found this extremely amusing), but it was still worth every second. I like the way Dali thumbed his nose at convention and found his own voice without maliciously hurting the innocent. It's as if he could see the depravity in each human soul alongside the humanity and cajole the viewer into seeing both sides at once. I could write a thousand of words to describe his art and my reactions to it, but pictures and seeing it in person will let you find a better interpretation, your own.

After visiting the museum, we surpassed exploring any more of Figueres since we had a cooking class scheduled at our B&B and didn't want to be late.


As we continued our drive to Las Nenas, we witnessed a disturbing sight. Alongside the rural back roads, we saw several prostitutes lounging in chairs at the edges of the fields, waiting for their next customer. Since their skin was so deeply tan, we assumed they were of Spanish descent, but later learned they were eastern European girls who didn't have the means to leave Spain or find lawful employment. Their only option for survival was selling themselves by the side of the road. It was just so bizarre. Their laid-back demeanor coupled with the rural setting made it look like they could have been selling lemonade rather than sex.



.....

We finally located Las Nenas in one of the tiniest villages we have encountered yet. As we knocked upon the gate, Katie's sweet voice welcomed us in. She was tending to the garden and awaiting our arrival. We were early, and the only guests that evening aside from a birding couple from San Fran. We were the only ones signed up for the cooking class, and had a good amount of time before it began. Katie said it was a quick twenty minutes to the beach, so after hauling our suitcases to our room and presenting her with the prized Ceret cherries, we sped away for yet another chance to soak up the Mediterranean. I managed one quick dip in the ocean. The water was warm but the wind was kicking up it's heels and I didn't want to catch a chill and come home from our trip with a cold.


....

Cooking class.

Our teacher and chef this evening was Katie's partner, Martha Cronk. In setting up the class via emails, when she asked our preferences, I went for the "do as the Romans do" approach and requested a Spanish menu, either Catalan or Basque. Martha chose a Catalan menu for us . I appreciate that she chose dishes that we could easily replicate at home (we've already made one of them twice).

We began with an intro to knife skills. I learned pretty quickly that my knife skills were a little lacking and was highly upset that my husbands' surpassed mine. I may have stumbled a bit, but the chopping hints I learned have stayed with me long beyond our class (Martha, I listened and learned!) .

As we prepared each dish, Martha told us about the ingredients, variations and their relation to Catalonia and substitutions we could use back in the States.

Martha did a lot more of the prep work than we did...she's a good ole' perfectionist and I can relate to her approach (just try getting in my tiny excuse for a kitchen when I am preparing a meal). Even when she took over and rescued us from moments of ineptitude, it was never rude. It got our meal on the table sooner, and her cooking tips still stay with me long after our vacation ended.


Our menu- don't remember the Catalan names for the life of me....

Toasted bread with tomato and garlic

Salad mixta

Squid (pulpo) two ways. One version with Catalan chile powder- unique to this region of Spain. The other emphasizing olive oil and chili flakes. Both were easy and simple to make. The Catalan version was smokier and more succulent than the other.

Stuffed peppers with Tuna Salad

Main course was Rabbit with Ratatouille. Martha assured us there was really no difference between the French and Spanish versions of ratatouille. The rabbit was fantastic, and she suggested when recreating this dish back in the states (where rabbit is hard to come by, and much more expensive) to substitute chicken and place a piece of bacon on top during the oven cooking. Good tip- this is the dish we've recreated and it's so easy and delicious!

Dessert- our prized cherries from Ceret and apricots macerated in Muscat wine.

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After assembling most of the dinner and setting the rabbit and ratatouille in the oven to finish cooking, we joined Martha in the garden to relax. Our first crush is France, and we told Martha of our love of France and desire to live there one day. She had apprenticed in a French kitchen and due to her experiences there, didn't share our adoration. She and Katie had found their Shangri-la in Spain. She regaled us with many stories about their new life in Spain. They love the boisterous spirit of the Spaniards and find the French too reserved. We found it ironic, since our experiences in France have been so wonderful, and we have always found the people to be welcoming.

After we enjoyed the fruits of our labor, Martha bid us a good night and headed home (she and Katie live in a house in a neighboring village). Our stomachs were so stuffed with good food, that DH and I decided (needed to) take a nighttime stroll down the road that lead past the village. We meandered down a dirt road lined with wheat fields. The fields etched a deep purple silhouette against the deep azure star studded night sky. Even though we could see the bright lights of what appeared to be a grainary or a small factory in the distance, it was wonderfully quite as a soft breeze gently caressed us.

We ended the evening in the garden with some guilt free midnight snacking-- a nightcap of our cask wine from Ceret (pretty damn good!) and some more of the maceracted fruit from dinner.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to Spain we go...

Day 15

Sometimes people's dreams do come true, and then unfortunately, sometimes they don't work out quite the way they had hoped. Sharon and Barry had opened L'Ombre du Fort two years ago, with dreams similar to ours. We learned during our visit that due to a number of reasons, this was to be their last season. They had sold the B&B and were returning to Ireland. It's a loss to us and to future travellers. I know we would have made a return visit.

It was time to shove off. We said our good-byes to Sharon and sincerely wished her and her family all the best. We had really enjoyed the Pyrenees and looked forward to returning to the region again. But onward ho! We were headed to Spain for two nights. Being so close to the Spanish border, we (well, I) thought it would be interesting to get a taste of Catalunya from the Spanish side...and see if we would find ardor outside of la belle France.

As we drove out of the valley and headed south on A9, for the first time we were able to view the entire summit of Mount Canigou. We marvelled at the massive peak, as it sat majestically in the distance, so beautifully framed against the cerulean blue sky. And then we continued on, for we had one more stop to make in France before crossing the border....Ceret. Our hosts in Spain had mentioned that we should pick up some of the famous Ceret cherries as we made our way to their B&B from the Pyrenees, and we couldn't disappoint them.

Ceret is the last exit on the A9 autoroute in France before crossing the border into Spain. It's yet another charming little town in France that has had its share of famous artists in residence- including Chaim Soutine, Picasso and Juan Gris. There is a renowned museum of modern art in Ceret that we didn't visit, but for enthusiasts, it's supposedly a must see.

It was a lazy and tranquil Friday morning, as shopkeepers and townspeople unhurriedly went about their business. Strolling down the Avenue d'Espangne, we relished in the pleasant shade offered by the plane trees lining this wide boulevard at the foot of the fortified city. It was nice not to feel rushed even though our visit would be short. After a cup of coffee at a cafe, we enjoyed another picturesque stroll through the old city, with it's stone gray whitewashed buildings and narrow cobble-stone streets.

But, our real mission here was the cherries. I thought it would be easy, since they were in season, to find a little shopkeeper selling them. Come on now, cherries must be pouring out of chimneys this time of year, no? As we wandered through town, I was disappointed that we were finding ourselves in yet another S.O.L. position. After wandering for nearly twenty minutes, my husband spied a wooden sign advertising cherries for sale. He tore down the street (it was nearly 1pm, lunch closing time for many stores) in hopes of procuring the precious cherries. The cherry vendor was in an old building with the wooden doors that latch when closed. Inside, there were massive tables laden with nothing but cherries for sale- three different varieties. The dark purple cherries were the sweetest and melted in your mouth like candy made from spring water. The red were also sweet, but with a bit of a tart edge(but not as tart as the Michigan cherries I grew up with). And the pale yellowish red ones had the most delicate taste, I wanted them to taste like cherry flavored custard, but alas, it was not to be. Preferring the deeper flavors, we chose a half kilo each of the dark purple and the red semi-tart. Whew. Mission accomplished.

En route back to the old part of town and our car, we passed by a wine shop for the Vigneron Dom Brial. Since we had enjoyed the wine we had with our picnic the night before (and a thankful nod to Sharon for first telling us about the wonderful Dom Brial wines), I wanted to see if we could pick up another bottle or two.

Inside the store, we happily discovered the wine we were looking for, and the helpful salesperson also pointed us to a limited edition 2001 red of which there we only two bottles left (and thanks to us, now there was only one!). And, an even bigger bonus- they carried one of my favorite French wines from the Languedoc region that I had been hoping to come across- Domaine La Fage. The La Fage white wine is a really wonderful white, with a little effervescence- like a Spanish Rueda, with good fruit/floral nose and enough grit to balance out the 'sweet'. Everyone I have introduced this wine to has fallen in love with it. I wanted to do a taste test, to see if there would be a difference between the imported bottles to the US and what I could get in France. Unfortunately, they were out of the white. But, they had a rose from Domaine La Fage that was a 2004 Silver Medal winner. And at only 4.90eu, it was an easy decision to add it to our well travelled collection of french wines.

As I was settling the bill, my husband noticed wine casks lining the wall behind the cash register- in other words- the fill'er up style of wine. He became very excited and begged me to ask the sales staff if it would be possible to fill up his own bottle and if there was a minimum amount that you had to purchase. Yes! And there was no minimum. But it became very comical (and apparent that my french was OK but a far cry from fluent), as I continued to translate and try to explain my husband's excitement and desire to fill an empty container with wine. They eventually understood, and even went so far as to offer up an empty Evian bottle for my husband to use. It was amusing to see my husband so excited, as he tanked up the recycled Evian bottle with red table wine. This moment had been two trips in the making, and to see that giddy, boyish grin on his face again, well, I don't know if you could put a price on it. In fact, he was so proud of being able to do this, he set up a little photo op before we left town with his conquests.

As we drove out of town, my roving eye spotted a banner hung on the side of a bridge, announcing the Festival Del Toros. On the bridge, perched above the banner was a giant dancing bull- cha-cha-chaing, with huge huevos del toros hanging between his legs. We were highly amused. It was an omen of sly humor to come...

Day 15 to be continued...