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...

Sun, storms and a peach

Day 14

Not every day had to be about doing and seeing. We had enjoyed our time in Collioure two days previously, and decided a return trip for a day of lazing on the beach and swimming in the harbor was in order.

We plopped ourselves down on the beach on the opposite side of the Chateau Royal and spread out our blanket. One of the things I remember most clearly about our day, was a fog rolling in off the ocean. At first I thought it was clouds, and we were doomed to another day of rain, on what was supposed to be a sun filled day on the coast. The fog was eerie and beautiful, as the it billowed in, in waves, and enveloped the harbor. Though the temperature was near 90 that day, the mist cooled and cleared the air. I was fascinated, and jumped into the harbor to swim....the waters were still warm. I was enchanted as I watched the town disappear and reappear before my eyes.

Other memories, of an otherwise purposely uneventful afternoon...

Getting hungry and going to an artisanal bakery. I bought a slice of 'pissadaliere' type tart. Pissadaliere, could be compared to pizza, but with loads of onions and anchovies. I happen to love anchovies (though many, including my husband don't share my adoration). My little slice of heaven (tart) was topped with fresh tomatoes and the famous Collioure anchovies. I savoured my treat slowly, perched atop a stone wall, watching a group of older gentleman playing petanque.

A group of young schoolchildren, obedient and attentive, as their teacher gave them an art lesson steeped in the history of Collioure, as they sat in the cool shadows of the Chateau Royale.

The lovely colors of the buildings as we wandered the corridors of Collioure seeking a respite from the hot Mediterranean sun- made more vivid from the beautiful sunlight that glistened from above. Gorgeous bougainvillea blossoming and cascading down buildings. Hand painted plaques, quietly announcing a resident's aspiration or profession.

It was a wonderful slow day before we headed back to Villefranche and L'Ombre du Fort.

In the valley Tet, lies a another one of The Most Beautiful Villages de France (actually there are several, but this one consistently caught our attention), the village of Eus. It's one of those villages that climbs up and nestles in the side of a mountain...and I had to get a picture of it. Since my husband hadn't spent the day chauffeuring us about southern France, he was happy to oblige some off the beaten path (read- 'small roads') driving so that I could obtain my prize photograph.

Our meandering route took us along the edge of several peach orchards. Really, I wasn't looking for peaches, I was looking for the best photographic angle. But at one point, I thought a great view was possible and asked DH to stop the car. As I stepped out of the car, I swear I was intoxicated, inebriated - literally seduced by the perfume of the peaches that hung in the trees around me. Sweet honey nectar aromas enticed me like sirens- I confess I stole one juice heavy peach from a tree. And I held that fuzzy piece of delight to my nose until we arrived back at our B&B.

Pretty village pictures completed and DH's patience wearing thin, we continued back towards Villefranche. Our attention turned from villages and orchards towards the tumultuous skies ahead of us. It was a stunning scene, as clouds, rain and general torment swirled about, vying for dominance over the occasional ray of sunlight in the valley. I half expected the witches of Macbeth to appear or the Ride of the Valkyries to be heard suddenly throughout the valley.

Back at Villefranche, we played with the girls..teaching them all about the game of Duck Duck Goose. Whether or not this was a good thing, given the American reputation for cultural dominance and ignorance, can be debated at another time. The girls had a blast, changing the rules as they saw fit, and so did we.

The rain ended, the girls were put to bed and we headed out to the pool for another picnic dinner. We spread out a delicious French Catalan inspired meal that we had bought at the Super Marche outside Prades. Our meal consisted of escilivada (Catalan version of ratatouille), and salad with tuna and pimento (red peppers), fresh bread, young goat cheese, Catalan sausage, and cherries. We washed it all down with a delicious Dom Brial 2004 red, that was bursting with fruit and just a little hint of spice. And of course...the tastiest prize of all was my stolen peach...whose honeyed flesh fulfilled all the promises of its scent.

As the stars came out, we played out fantasies of having our own little slice of heaven somewhere here in France. Sometimes dreams can become reality, we told ourselves....and we went to bed that night holding tight to romantic hopes for the fulfillment of ours.

A Day in the Valley-slowing down

Day 13

We had done so much driving in the last few days, that we decided to keep our explorations a little closer to 'home' today. Taking advantage of the clear skies above, we began our day with a hike up to Fort Liberia. It was a moderately difficult climb, along a dirt road, the side of the train tracks and little foot path, that took us about twenty five minutes from the L'Ombre du Fort.

Fort Liberia is privately owned and maintained. No fancy audio guides here, but we were presented with a printed guide to the Fort, with explanations in both French and English.

The fort's construction was started by Vauban in 1697, to protect the exposed village of Villefranche. It was built in three sections, the highest of which faces north and resembles the bow of a ship. It's an extremely well thought out structure. Exploring the fort was far more interesting than I had expected. And from turrets and windows, we were able to partake of several stunning views of Mt Canigou and the valley.

The last section of the Fort we visited, etched the clearest impression in my mind. It was the Ladies' Prison where four ladies from the reign of Louis XVI had been imprisoned for plotting to poison members of the court. Two of them survived, one for an impressive 35 years and the other 44 years.

Entering the prison, I felt a swooping movement close to my head- and realized it was a bat. One or two bats, I can deal with. But then came another, and another....there must have been at least 40 bats nesting in the 'chimney' of the staircase. I pulled my jacket over my head, and bid a hasty retreat to the sunlight.

Having completed our tour of Fort Liberia (sans hair snarls or angry bat guano on our clothes), we decided to leave via its famous staircase of a 1000 steps descending from the Fort to Villefrance. What the true number of steps are, is debatable. Our Michelin guide states that there are 743, while I think Sharon told us it was 883. Exact numbers don't really matter, all one needs to know is that there are a lot of stairs to go down. And that the stairs descend though a tunnel. The day and the time we happened to be descending this stairwell, the lights weren't working, so we had close to zero visibility. If not for the earlier bat incident, I probably wouldn't have had any phobias- but now I was dealing with the double paranoia of not knowing where or on what my foot might land coupled with what nocturnal creature might swoop down and entangle themselves in my hair. And of course, I conjured up images of giant spiders and vengeful rats. Thank god, none of my twisted hallucinations made an appearance during our slow and deliberate descent.

Exiting the stairwell, we were almost blinded as our eyes adjusted to the crisp morning sunlight. From there, we traversed the tracks of Le Train Jaune and entered Villefranche. Early morning Villefranche was quiet and tranquil. And since we weren't in a panic over B&B reservations, we were able to enjoy the quaint architecture and the multitude of 'medieval' metal shop signs.

Next on our agenda- thermal baths. There are many well known spas in the Pyrenees, Font Roumeau, Vernet Les Bains, etc. When I had mentioned to Sharon at breakfast that we were interested in visiting a spa, she recommended that we head to St. Thomas Les Bains. It was only twenty minutes away and in her opinion, a much prettier setting than the others.

We arrived at St. Thomas and paid our admission of 12 euros each, choosing access to both the sulphur baths and the hammam. After changing into our swimsuits, my husband was traumatized that they wouldn't allow him to enter the baths in his swim shorts. They gave him tight european-style swim trunks that sent his ego back to the days of pre-teen angst. Once I convinced him that the effect was more Johnny Weismuller than banana hammock, he relaxed.

The spa is nestled on the mountainside. The sulphur baths were located outside, and we could see signposts at the edge of the pine forest indicating GR hiking trails. The mountain air was chilly and it was starting to rain, but none of that mattered as we floated and 'swam', indulging ourselves of the warm healing waters and the beautiful scenery.

We spent nearly an hour relaxing in the baths before visiting the hammam, inside.

The hammam was fantastic. We went from one room to the next(each one progressively warmer...until you reached the hottest inner chamber, that drove the sweat from your body like an exorcism) and making good use of the brisk waters of the dunking pool (I call them by their Dutch name, dompbads) in between. After two passes through the hammam there was nary a toxin nor speck of dirt left in our bodies when we finally wrapped ourselves in blankets and lay down on chaises in the relaxation atria. We both swore we hadn't felt that clean and relaxed in eons. As the rain grew heavier and pounded the glass roof of the atria, we both quickly slipped in to post sauna bliss and promptly fell asleep. In the end, we had passed a blissful and regenerative three hours at the baths.

Since our good friend the rain had returned with such a vengeance, we decided our next stop would be Prades and an internet cafe.

At Prades, it took us about a half hour of wandering in the rain, to find internet access. The original cafe we had been told of was closed, and we eventually found a bookstore where we could log on and check-in with the outside world. Mission accomplished, we headed back to L'Ombre du Fort.

Back at L'Ombre, we passed the time playing with the girls before heading off to dinner in Villefranche. Sharon had recommended three different restaurants to us, and we eventually chose Le Relais. We practically had the restaurant (and the town for that matter) to ourselves. As we lazily walked back to L'Ombre du Fort after dinner, we were thankful for the gift of another wonderful day in La Belle France.

Photos - Pyrenees 2007

Pyrenees 2007

La Cote Vermeille: Beaches, pretty villages and a wine shack!

Day 12

Even though clouds hung ominously in the sky over our little corner of the Tet valley, the weather along the coast was promising sunshine, warm temperatures and gentle winds. Easy decision- we were heading to the nearest beach.

We drove straight to the coast from Villfranche and settled in at Argeles Plage. The beach was pretty, thanks to the splendid views of mountains along the coast. The town itself, was not so charming, as it is a huge resort area and caters to families vacationing there, but it was still the 'low season' so neither town nor beach were overrun with people.

The water was still a bit chilly for my taste, so we spent a quiet afternoon reading and soaking up rays. Thankfully, the wind was gentle, so we didn't have to eat sand all day, but enough to keep us from overheating. My husband has a much lower tolerance for lazing about in the sun, and probably would have pulled the plug sooner, but he hung in there since he had dropped off some laundry to be done in town.

We picked up his fresh smelling, still warm from the dryer and oh so neatly folded laundry at 330pm, and then decided to take the scenic drive along the coast. I swear I hadn't seen my husband this excited since we were travelling on the TGV- about the laundry, not the drive ahead of us.

The first stop on our drive was Collioure. A small port town, Collioure is known for its colorful architecture and charm that has drawn many artists to it over the years, most notably the Fauves.

The harbour was as beautiful and charming as promised. I could see why so many artists have been attracted to this town. It just begs to be drawn, painted or photographed. We wandered around the old quarter of Collioure and Plage Boramar, discovering visual delights at every turn.

I was envious of the bathers frolicking in the bay (I was on a mission at this point to swim in the Mediterranean), and had to test the waters myself, to see if they were any warmer than at Argeles. Aha! They were! So my husband indulged me while I took a quick swim. Immersing myself in the buoyant ocean water, I savoured every second as the wonderful salty waters enveloped my body. And besides, how cool is it to take a dip in waters bounded by a castle (Chateau Royale) on one side and a church (Eglise Notre Dame des Anges) dating back to the 1600s, that once served as a lighthouse, on the other?


Once I dried off, we decided to give Collioure a rest for awhile and continue our drive along the coast. As the road dipped and peaked along the coast, we were treated to stunning views of the Mediterranean intertwined with vineyards and charming villages. We passed though Port Vendres, a major fishing port, which I had read was a lovely place to explore. My husband however, took one look at it, and aside from allowing me a brief photo op in the port, declared his total disinterest in spending any time there. From Port Vendres, we continued on through Banyuls-Sur-Mer and finally to Cap Rederis.


A high rocky cliff, Cap Rederis juts out into the sea and offers magnificent views along the coast, to the north towards Perpignan and as far south as Cabo de Creus in Spain. With the help of a big stone table map, set towards the edge of the cliff, we oriented ourselves to points north and south. The colors of the mountains and the sea were stunning in the clear afternoon light. A boat passed below, and from high atop the cliff, its image was barely a tiny speck trailing white foam through the deep blue Mediterranean water.

In the parking area, was a little wooden shack which reminded me of a lemonade stand, where a very gregarious man beckoned (it was closer to harassment, with a good dose of humor thrown in) us over to taste his wines. As we conversed solely in French, he had me laughing at his garrulous compliments on my ability to speak french and his insistence that one should drink wine at all hours of the day, especially when on holiday. He was very proud that all the wines he offered were from his very own vineyard. Though my palate didn't fall in love with any of the wines we tasted (Banyuls can be reminiscent of sherry), I fall in love with anyone who thinks I speak fabulous french. So we obliged him and purchased one of his whites.

We jumped back in the car to make the return drive to Collioure. From Cap Rederis, we had noticed several tiny coves with beaches dotting the coast. Since the theme of the day was beaches, we decided to stop wherever we spotted a good amount cars parked along the road, in hopes of discovering one of these hidden coves. We spotted a mass of cars just past Banyuls. We had romantic and idyllic notions of hiking down a rugged cliff side trail to the sea. Alas, the tiny beach we discovered was only 20 un-rugged meters from the road, behind a little bar/restaurant and not quite so idyllic as we had imagined. As long as we kept our focus out towards the ocean, we could continue to harbor our idealized notions. On the plus side, it was tranquil (save for the bad disco music emanating from the bar) and I was able to enjoy another dip in the ocean, before the sun dropped too low and the air temperature became too cool.

Back at Collioure, we enjoyed a simple dinner at Les Templiers, one of the many cafes overlooking the harbor. We both had salads, my husband a Chevre Chaud (warm goat cheese) and for me, a Salade Collioure- sort of a take-off on Salade Nicoise...laden with delicious anchovies from Collioure, instead of tuna. As the sun set, the town and the mountains were washed in beautiful dramatic pink and gold hues that matched the color of the earthy Langeudoc rose we drank with dinner. Afterwards, we took one more stroll the through streets, savouring every last moment of the day before heading 'home' to Villefranche.

As our little Renault climbed the road out of Collioure, we were treated to a dessert from nature-a gorgeous sherbet hued sunset blossoming and spreading throughout the sky, high above the towns along the coast, which were now a deep indigo with twinkling lights winking us a good night.

Carcassone to the Pyrennees

Day 11

Up early the next morning, we took some time to roam through Caracassone again. It was early enough to avoid the tourist bus onslaught, so we were able to enjoy the natural rhythms of the town. Shopkeepers opened up and tidied their storefronts. Neighbors bid one another good morning. Cats and dogs stretched their bodies into a lazy wakefulness. Parents walked their children to school. We discovered the school was right across the street from our B&B and had the pants charmed off us by the children in the schoolyard as they lined up to begin their day.

Watching people who I assumed to be locals (since they weren't carrying cameras and snapping a million pictures like I was), traversing the gated city entrance, I had to wonder how often they stopped to appreciate the history they walked through each day. Yes, there is an argument that Caracassone isn't authentic, because much of it has been reconstructed, but it's still an amazing site. It brought to mind a long ago conversation with a friend who had grown up in Europe when I expressed my awe of seeing a real castle for the first time. His response was something to the effect of "Oh, they're everywhere in France. You start to think to yourself, oh god, another castle?". It's sad how we become inured to our surroundings and forget to discover the wonder of it all.

Back at L'Echappee Belle, we said our goodbyes and settled our bill. We had a wonderful conversation with the owner. We told her of our dream to one day run our own B&B in France...(far, far in the future)...and she gave us some very practical and wonderful advice. And of course, during the conversation, I noticed a map of the wine regions in the Languedoc and the topic shifted to wine. When we told her that we were headed towards the Pyrenees, she mentioned that we should stop in the town of Limoux, to taste the 'original champagne' blanquette. Our curiosities piqued, we decided we had to make a stop and discover it for ourselves.

Limoux was a very pretty town, although when we arrived it was a quiet day. It could have been the impending rain or maybe just the day of the week we arrived. We took a brief tour, enjoying the architecture and the general 'feel' of the town. I would have been happy to stay a little longer and linger at a cafe, but DH was a man with a mission and we had a lot of ground to cover yet that day. So we packed ourselves back in the car and drove slightly out of town center where we finally managed to find a cave. We pulled up and dropped in for a tasting. We had to find out what this blanquette was all about.

I'm not a huge lover of champagne, so my palate may fall short of some one else who truly loves the bubbly. But we did a tasting which introduced us to a range of different blanquettes from one vintner. I found most of them to be too carbonated to my taste, almost with an alka-seltzer like aftertaste that left me wanting the 'real' champagne. But we did settle on a demi-sec that had nice depth to it and a young fruity blanquette that was wonderfully intriguing in taste. We added our conquests to our burgeoning collection of French wines and forged on.

Resuming our journey, we headed south on the D118, passing through Quillan and picking up D117 to the west. As the majestic pre-Pyrenees started to spring up around us, we both marvelled at the sheer scale of what we were experiencing. From D117, we took a detour to the Gorges de Galamus, which the Micheline map indicated as another green (scenic) road with some stunning belvederes.

There was a lookout point at the mouth of the Gorges, where we stopped to stretch our legs and drink in the lush green vistas of the mountains and the valley. Standing at the edge of the mountain, the wind cut strongly through the air, muffling any sound, and instilling the landscape with an incredible energy. Even though a handful of other travellers were there too, we almost had the feeling of having this wonderful world all to ourselves.

The drive through Galamus probably places second on our list of heart attack producing drives. It has to be one of the narrowest roads we have ever been on- with barely enough room for one car to scratch through. Since I wasn't the one driving the car, remarkably I felt pretty safe. As my husband aired his discontent, I took comfort from the stone walls lining the road and obscuring the depth of the gorges to our left, the close proximity of the mountains on the other side and extremely close to the car roof rocky overhangs. You see, it's all in the perspective.

Eventually, the road arrived at a plateau, and it was smooth sailing to Chateau de Peyerpetruse. Peyrepetruse is one of the 'five sons of Carcassone' , a group of Cathar castles that once guarded these valleys. Built upon strategically selected mountain ridges, these castles seem to organically blossom from their geographic standpoints. Approaching Peyrepetruse, my husband didn't believe me at first when I pointed out it's silhouette atop the mountain.

We arrived at Peyrepetruse, paid our admission and picked up the ever informative audioguides. It took us about two hours to fully explore the fortress ruins. Without our audioguides, we could have rushed through the fortress in less time, but the well narrated program helped us to slow down and really enjoy the history and the experience.

One could easily understand why they chose to build a fortress here. There were sweeping views across the valley floor, that would have given the sentries easy visibility of any invading forces. The nearest neighboring Cathar castle, Chateau de Queribus was also clearly visible in the distance.

Hiking through the castle grounds, each section rose a bit higher until your reached the highest point, the Chateau St. Georges. If I hadn't made my second fashion mistake of the trip, climbing and descending would have been much easier. But today, I decided to wear a skirt. On the valley floor, this wasn't issue. But scrambling around the top of Peyerpetruse it was, with a wind so strong, that I had to keep one hand on my skirt at all times to keep it from flying up into my face. At least I wore flat sandals. Going up wasn't too bad, but coming down was a slow and tortuous procedure. I do suffer from mild vertigo, and the strong wind was making it worse. I was extremely grateful for the rope guardrails you could clutch with ultimate fear as you made a slow descent.

Back at the car, my husband pulled out the TRIP FOLDER - an amazing work of organization that my husband compiles for every trip we take. It contains everything- from flight info, to train tickets, to emergency contacts, B&B reservation confirmations and even detailed maps printed out from Michelin.com of how to get to our B&Bs once we arrive in each city. He flipped through the folder looking for the info on our next B&B just outside of Villefranche de Conflent. Well, we had the detailed map- but it wasn't so detailed, and we had no printout of the email with our reservation confirmations- that would have included the name of the B&B (which neither of us could remember) and the relevant contact info.

No problem, we figured when we got to Villefranche, that it wouldn't be a large town and we would be able to sort things out in good time. If not, then we would be able to solve our problem at the tourist office or find an internet cafe and locate the information we needed in our email.

When we finally arrived at Villefranche, we were shit out of luck, as the wonderful expression goes. We followed what we thought was the correct road, just past the fortified old city and found NO signs of any B&Bs. So we parked and entered the village. Villefranche itself is only two long streets, and after circling them three times, we finally found the tourist office- which was now closed for the evening. I then asked someone where the nearest internet cafe might be, and was told that maybe there was one in Prades, which was twenty minutes away by car. And we still couldn't remember the name of the B&B. We were both tired and getting hungry at this point, so we weren't exactly a picture of marital bliss.

As we started to backtrack to Prades, my husband decided to take one more quick turn off the highway- one that we had missed before. There we spotted some signs, including one for a B&B, L'Ombre d'Or. Hallelujah! This was the name that we were trying to remember!

We pulled up to the house and were greeted by the owners Barry and Sharon and their two adorable daughters. They immediately made us feel welcome as they oriented us to the house and the grounds. And we laughed, as they apologized for the weather. We joked that it had been following us throughout France, almost like a curse. But we didn't care, we were in France and we were on vacation. A little wind and rain wasn't going to ruin it for us.

We had bought supplies for a picnic dinner earlier, and I asked Sharon if it was OK to picnic out by the pool. She said it was no problem, and if it got too cold or started to rain, we were more than welcome to use the dining room. She even set out plates and cutlery in the kitchen for us.

After we settled in to our room, we grabbed our dinner and two bottles of wine from our overflowing collection, and headed out to the pool. The air was a bit chilly, but the view was fantastic. We were surrounded by mountains. I knew that one of them was Mt Canigou, but since clouds obscured the tops of the peaks, I couldn't be sure of which one. The Tet river bounded the grounds on one side and on the other, was the depot for Le Train Jaune.

As we feasted on cheese, bread, tapenade, octopus salad, ratatouille and pate, the rain began to fall. My husband managed to find an umbrella for the table, allowing us to remain and enjoy our meal en plein air. After we were sufficiently stuffed, we cleaned up and put everything back in it's place.

We ended the evening on the private terrace outside our room, sipping wine and watching the mists of clouds burn and rise off the mountain side.

Photos- Caracassone 2007

Caracassone

Some beach, some boars and Carcassone

Day 10

We were off and headed towards Caracassone for a night. Having read that Caracassone can be overrun by tourists during the day, we seized the opportunity to take as much time as possible getting there.

Desperate for some beach time, we first set our sights on Narbonne Plage.

When we arrived at Narbonne Plage, the tramontane was still kicking up it's chilly heels, so we decided to venture to Gruissan. Gruissan was part of the setting for the 80's art house french film Betty Blue. Both my husband and I remembered the film from our college days, and thought it might be fun to visit and find the stilt house(s) featured in the film. We explored the old part of town on foot, and found many stilt houses, but none resembled what my husband remembered from the film. To be honest, I didn't remember that particular detail- my memories were of the dark and depressing tone of the film. We later found out that a hurricane had devastated many of the homes near the beach some years ago and decided that was why we couldn't find our pop culture icon.

We continued a little further to St Pierre sur Mer. Yet another market enticed us from our trusty rental car. My score of the day was a Laguiole cork pull. I had been eyeing them throughout our trip, and decided to plunk down the 25 euros one vendor was asking. Ignoring the dollar to euro conversion rate, I convinced myself it was still a good deal -even if it might be a fake.

Remember how I said we were desperate for a little beach action? We may have been in France, the love of our lives and filled with wonderful culture to see, but we were on vacation and we both needed some time to just chill. We plunked ourselves down on the beach and spread out our blanket. The old adage "only mad dogs and English men" came to mind, as we weathered the constant onslaught of sand kicked up in our face by the wind. The wind was both a blessing and a curse. It kept the air temperature pleasant enough for my husband, but the chill temps made me timid about fully immersing myself in the ocean. At least my feet got a little taste of the beautiful Mediterranean water.

We endured about two hours of the sand pelting across us,before my husband declared 'enough' and demanded that we get back in the car and forge on.


Next stop- the Abbaye du Fontfroide. The grounds of the Abbaye were beautiful- cypress trees and multitudes of oleander in bloom. The smell of the oleander was intoxicating. We attempted a hike up the mountain to the cross on the peak. OK, big mistake on my part. Not the hike, but what I was wearing. Not intending to make a hike up a rocky hillside, I was wearing 3 inch high wedge sandals. As we made our slow ascent, I cursed myself but tried not to make a big deal out of my self-inflicted handicap. About 3/4 of the way up, a loud grunting sound caused my husband to nearly knock me over as he did a quick backtrack. Two wild boar had just attempted to run across the path, one made it and one was on the other side. They continued to grunt and threaten from opposite sides of the pathway. Having no idea how to deal with wild boar, but knowing that they can be pretty nasty, we bid a hasty retreat back down the hillside. I quickly took my shoes off and opted to walk barefoot on the rocky path, rather than risk breaking an ankle if we had to make a quick run or climb a tree to avoid some sharp and painful tusks up our 'arses'.

Our legs were still at about the consistency of jello when we finally made it back to the cloisters. We're not complete idiot city folk- I was first warned about wild boar while trekking through the jungles of Indonesia and have fought off dominant male monkeys in same said jungles and DH (dear husband) has dealt with bears stealing his food supplies in Yosemite. But we still needed a little calming down, so decided that a wine tasting before leaving the Abbaye grounds would be our best option. During our tasting, we learned that the wild boar were a big problem at the Abbaye, destroying many vines, but still never learned how to fend them off should we ever encounter the same situation again. The wines were delightful, and we bought two white and one red.

Finally, we arrived at Caracassone. Since we had reserved a room for the night in the old walled city, we were able to park in the 'special' lot. From the parking lot, it was an easy five minute walk to our B&B,
L'Echappee Belle. The B&B was very pleasant, our room bright and airy and bonus for my husband, an Irish host. We deposited our bags in our room and set off to explore Carcassone without the throngs of crowds.

Carcassone in the evening was a lovely experience. We noticed the evidence of the multitude of shitty souvenir shops, but it had little effect on our impressions. At night, the streets were calm. You could savor the architecture and the slower paced european lifestyle. No one was in a rush, this is how life should be. The most interesting part of Caracassone is supposedly the old ramparts, only accessible by tour, but we missed out on that. Still, we thouroughly enjoyed our time. Before dinner, we explored the town and the public part of the ramparts, it was everything you might have expected from your preconceived notions of a fortified city.

For dinner, we settled upon a restaurant in one of the town squares. There were several restos, full of people, but none stood out. I don't remember how we chose our the resto for our dinner, but it was fine. I ordered duck and my husband ordered Cassoulet. DH faired much better than I, since he didn't have to declare his preference for the pink in his meat. I, stupidly being used to the American idea of overcooked meat, told the waiter I wanted my meat pink, i.e. medium rare. When my duck arrived, it was barely cooked..having forgotten the french word for medium rare "cuit" and barely edible. I was too embarrassed to send it back to be cooked a few more minutes. Must study more french before next trip!

After dinner, we grabbed one of the many bottles of wine we were now transporting across southern France and headed back to the ramparts. There, we enjoyed a wonderful evening, observing (and obsessively photographing) the ever changing mood of the beautifully lit ramparts as the sky deepened.

And eventually, the rain began again and we took our cue to go to bed.

Pictures - Languedoc 2007

Bezier, Pezenas and Narbonne

Pezenas and Narbonne

Day 9

Determined to spend as little time at our gite as possible, we set off immediately after breakfast for Pezenas and the weekly market. It seemed that we were becoming connoisseurs (or gourmands, depending on your point of view) of weekly village markets on this trip.

The market, with all the usual suspects, was in full swing when we arrived. Cheeses, produce, sausages, pastries and breads, olive oils and the best flower displays I had seen. I fell in love with the way bouquets were wrapped up- cellophane and butcher's paper tied with colorful ribbon, creating little freestanding vases. And for the first time in my life, I discovered the beauty of a blooming artichoke.

A well preserved medieval village, Pezenas was a joy to stroll through- the narrow cobble-stone streets, beautiful open squares, grayish-white stone buildings with their pastel colored shutters that shone so beautifully in the crisp sunlight. As we wandered down one of the streets, I spotted a bakery with Pezenas' specialty, clive pies in the window. Ever the intrepid gourmand- I had to try one. Hmmm-OK, it was tasty- but not really my cup of tea. A little too treacly.

We also noticed posters all over town announcing the "Reconstruction of Moliere". No festival activities seemed to be taking place as we continued exploring Pezenas and so we decided to bail and head to Narbonne.

Narbonne was majestic in relation to Pezenas' medieval charm. The crown jewels of Narbonne are the Palais des Archeveques and the Cathedral St. Just. Both structures are a jumble of architectural styles, as different sections were built over the span of several centuries.

Tucked away on the second floor of the Palais, we happened upon the Museum of Art and History. The fierce wind rattled against the windows as we explored the galleries. Though many fine paintings graced the walls, I was fascinated by the faience (earthenware pottery) room and the large gallery hall with pharmacist's jars on display.

The massive Cathedral St. Just pretty much floored me. Both inside and out, the architecture was astounding. It is the largest cathedral in France, according to one source I checked, but I could be wrong. I was entranced by the soaring height of the nave, the beautiful chandeliers, the rhythms created by the columns and windows. As you entered, there was a wall of marble 'merci' plaques, framing the patron saint of the cathedral. At the rear, behind the altar in the Lady's Chapel, was a beautiful white stone altarpiece from the 14th century that had been painstakingly restored to most of it's former glory. And of course, I had to snap photos of the bishops' sarcophagi (is that a word?) since religious effigies scare the beejeezus out of me.

Stuffed with enough art and historical culture for awhile, we deposited ourselves at a cafe for our sometime customary wine and cheese break. A debate ensued regarding where to spend our evening. My vote rang for Narbonne, but my husband convinced me to return to Pezenas, for the Moliere Festival.

We arrived back in Pezenas just as the festivities began. My initial fear that things would be too crowded immediately dissolved as we stumbled upon our first group of revelers. The mood in town was infectious! As we hurried through the streets, I felt like a kid at Christmas...when even though the last present you had unwrapped was great, you couldn't wait to tear open the next one to see what treasures awaited you.

There seemed to be about ten different groups, ranging from groups of tribal musicians to actors putting on plays to jugglers and even a roaming troupe of guardsman. Behind the main square, they had recreated a slice of medieval Pezenas, where the town fool pontificated and the actors horsed around. Near the Jewish ghetto, was another recreation of medieval life, where they had set up a pub and even had livestock and an old smith.

In the main square, as I was taking pictures of the guardsman- they decided to turn the tables on me. One grabbed my camera, while the oldest, most haggard looking and silliest grabbed me for our own photo shoot. What I couldn't see, was a third guard sticking his sword through my new friend's legs and making it rise up every time the guard kissed me. All in good fun. I laughed when my husband told me about the little joke.

We were both getting really hungry, but didn't want to miss out on any of the action. So I quickly ran to the emptiest looking restaurant in the square (for once, we could have cared less how good the food might be) to see if they had a table available for dinner. Luck was on our side again! We scored a table with a perfect view of the entertainment. And luckily, our food was pretty good too. I ordered grilled calamares and my husband had some kind of meat stew. As the festivities continued on, we were impressed by the level of acting from the troupe that staged a short play, including their sword stage-fighting abilities. And every time the fool passed through the square, we laughed as he set off 'bombs' that made everyone in the restaurant around us jump in their seats.

Eventually, the troupes took leave for their own dinner, and the square was taken over by children and adults who heartily indulged in a huge hay fight, desiccating the bundles stacked everywhere.

After dinner, we grabbed some gelato and reworked our way through the town, enjoying the infectious joy of the revelers in the warm glow of the evening light.

As we fell into bed that night, we both remarked at what a wonderful and unexpected day we had enjoyed.

On the road again...

Day 8

After the deluge of the previous day, we were elated to find a mostly sun-filled sky in the morning. It was time to leave Mas Lou Albeihs.

As we packed up the car again and said our goodbyes, I considered ditching the majority of my clothing in order to fit the kittens and Bibou in my suitcase. Decided that trying to get the animals through customs probably wouldn't work and hence, ditched the idea.

We headed west, taking the same drive we had attempted yesterday. What a difference a day makes! Driving through the Causse Mejean was simply stunning. A causse is a limestone plateau, and Mejean has the highest altitude of all the plateaus in the Cevennes. Due to the high altitude, it can be quite hot and arid in the summer months. However, thanks our loyal companions- the rain and the tramontane (the langeudoc mistral), the air was refreshing and cool. The verdant landscape shimmered in the morning sun. The pine forests and wildflowers (clover, oleander, lavender and poppies) carpeting the landscape filled the mountain air with an incredible sweet perfume.

Meyrueis, another picturesque village nestled in the mountains, was our pit stop for lunch. From there, we continued through the Gorges de la Jonte. As we drove through the narrow canyon, we marvelled at the views towering above- limestone cliffs, rocky outcroppings and the 'castle of the vultures', where we viewed hordes of vultures circling high in the sky. At Peyreleau, the Gorges de la Jonte and the Gorges du Tarn converged, and we were treated to yet more stunning views in all directions.

The next milestone on our journey was Millau- to view and drive across the famous bridge. Officially opened to traffic in December of 2004, it is the tallest vehicular bridge in the world. It was built to ease traffic congestion (pre-bridge, there were huge traffic jams in Millau due to travellers from the north heading towards the Mediterranean). I was awed at how it merged with the natural environment. The bridge was a beautiful work of art, dancing across the landscape. The graceful linear architecture evoked the image a majestic sailboat, sailing across valley. DH marvelled at the engineering.

I spend alot of time on the Fodor's and Slow Travel message boards researching our trips. It was on the Fodor's boards, that I had read several postings from people who were terrified at the thought of driving over this bridge. So, I was curious to see what our reaction would be.

To my surprise, the drive over wasn't frightening at all. After the roads we'd been on, it would have taken alot to more to make us nervous. The traffic lanes were wide. The road felt solid. The clear guardrails that lined the side of the bridge were high enough to give a sense of security and still offer spectacular views of the valley as we drove across.

Bridge experience completed, we hopped on the autoroute towards our next stop- Roujan.

Roujan was a last minute addition to our trip, due to a lapse on our part, that resulted in our only having reservations for two nights at Lou Albeihs instead of four. Our gite was at the edge of the village and run by a very sweet old lady whom my DH immediately nicknamed "Madame Bouquet"- a reference to the character of Mrs. Bucket on the British TV show "Keeping Up Appearances". The nickname was earned because of her high-pitched sing-song way of speaking- not the humorous misguided snobbery of the sitcom character.

We hauled our bags up the stairs to our room and thought we might spend a relaxing evening, having a picnic out by the pool in the tiny yard. Alas, Mme Bouquet seemed to think the Gites de France were policing her every move. As I tried to let myself through the gate into pool area, she hurried out of the house. Like an over protective doting great aunt (the one you loved but dreaded), she kneaded her hands, as she explained to me that 'the rules' said she couldn't allow guests into the pool area if the pool wasn't 'open'. OK, it was time to ditch that idea.

We explored the entirety of Roujan on foot in about ten minutes...and decided it was a one horse village a little lacking in charm. So out came the map and the guidebook. Beziers was only twenty minutes away and it had a large park. So we grabbed our picnic supplies and hopped back in the car.

In Beziers, we headed straight to the pretty park, Plateau des Poetes. There, we spread out our blanket, laid out our meal, uncorked a bottle of wine, and spent a lovely evening just being.

Pictures from the Cevennes 2007

Cevennes 2007

Here comes the rain, again

Day 7

In the Bible, it says that on the seventh day, God rested. On our trip, he changed his mind and decided to recreate the story of Noah's ark. We had high hopes of a different history when we awoke that morning. Clouds gathered ominously around the mountain peaks, but a few patches of sunshine offered a glimmer of hope.

Our original plan had been to spend the day kayaking through the Gorges du Tarn. Due to a my husband's ski injury three months prior and more importantly, the chilly and formidable weather conditions, we begrudgingly knew that adventure would have to be saved for another trip. Holding on to our glimmer of hope, we decided to take a scenic drive through the Causse Mejean, ending at Mt Agouil and possibly fitting in a light hike somewhere along the way.

We set off towards the Causse Mejean. Driving along the D13, clouds hugged the mountainside, obscuring views of the valleys, their cottony, soft appearance lending a false sense of comfort as we motored along the road. As we passed through the tiny hamlet of Barres des Cevennes, it started to rain heavily. A little rain couldn't stop us, though our hopes were now dimming to a tiny flicker. We continued to forge on. A few kilometers south of Hospitalet we met our match. Instead of marvelling at the spectacular views marked on our Michelin map #339, we found ourselves completely enveloped by clouds. We couldn't even make out the trees on the side of the road. Visibility was zip, zero, zilch. Mother nature had won the battle on this one.

Deterred but not defeated, we changed direction and headed to Florac.

When we arrived in Florac, classified as one of The Most Beautiful Villages de France it the start of the lunch hour, and so most of the shops in town were closed or about to close. We stumbled upon the last vestiges of the weekly market, as waterlogged vendors disassembled their stalls. Chilled and waterlogged ourselves, we decided that something warm to eat might be a good idea. So we took our cues from the vendors and got a table in the nearest cafe. We had some kind savory crepes (there's a specific name for them, but it's not in my notes and I can't remember it for the life of me) which sufficiently warmed our stomachs before making a second attempt at exploring the town.

We lasted about twenty minutes in the rain. Finally admitting defeat, we headed back to Mas Lou Albeihs, for an afternoon of reading and napping.

That evening, we again convened in the dining room for apertifs. But tonight, we all huddled around the fireplace, letting the toasty warm fire dry out our chilled and soggy bones as the kittens and Mignon snuggled in our laps. As we sipped rose and nibbled fresh hummus, Barbra from Switzerlad uttered the best quote of the day- "The only problem with today was that it rained. Once. ALL DAY LONG."

Dinner was scrumptious as usual. Our starter was a salad of melon, tomato, olives, mozzarella and chives, dressed in oil and vinegar and garnished with fresh mint.

The main course was a simple meat sauce, poured over tri-color pasta that had been boiled and then sauteed. We were also served a tomato and a zucchini, both baked and stuffed with the sauce. When I asked what the meat was,I was told it came from a small deer, native to the region. Whatever it was, it tasted damn good.

Conversation eventually shifted to politics, a vacation first for us- the election of Sarkozy and the war in Iraq. It was enlightening for all of us, I think, to hear each other's views- views that didn't necessarily reflect what is often reported in the mainstream media. I for one, gained a better understanding of the french and their hopes for the future of their country. And when we explained to them how we and many of our friends disagreed with the Bush government's handling of Iraq, though we supported our troops who were putting their lives on the line- they were both shocked (that we would dissent) and relieved (that we did dissent).

At Lou Albeihs, conversation is primarily in French. Personally we love it, since it increases our vocabulary and comprehension exponentially. Still, I was surprised at my ability to express my views on such a subject, without resorting to English. My husband's comprehension had improved so much that he was able to follow the conversation, though he had to respond in English. Noticing his improvement,Julien and Clothilde teased him that next year, it was time to get past his timidity and speak French. Only French!

As the evening drew on, dessert was served- strawberry/rhubarb/honey tartes. Still warm, the blend of sweet and tart was a perfect end note to our meal.

Another wonderful evening drew to a close, and we bid each other good night. DH and I, of course, had to finish ours with another kitten rendezvous in our room. When we eventually crawled into bed, we fell asleep....to the sound of....the falling rain.

To the Cevennes, away we go!

Day 6....

We had a leisurely breakfast, settled our bill, and took another round of photos of Le Vallon. Fred joked with us to please leave some wine in France when we mentioned our plans to stop in Chateneauf des Papes on our eternal search to find a cave that ships to the US. We laughed and agreed to leave enough behind for everyone else. Then we bid our gracious hosts adieu, until next year.


Our stop at Chateneauf was brief. We searched in vain for the cave we visited last year...where we both remembered being told shipping to the US was possible. Or maybe that memory was a dream, sprung from hope, who knows. We just wanted to bring home a bit of France with us, so that over the year, we could open a bottle on special occasions and be transported back to this enchanting place. And with the new flight security regulations banning liquids in carry-on, we were nervous about packing bottles in our checked luggage. Eventually, we wandered into another little cave, where the very funny and charming salesman lead us through a brief degustation of Chateneauf wines. Even though he valiantly tried to sell us a case, proclaiming "everyday is a special occasion, especially when on vacation!", we only opted for two beautiful floral whites (hard to come by in the US, as white only makes up 4% of the Chateneauf output) and one 'big' red that would reach it's full potential in a few years.

Treasures secured, more than enough wine left in France for the French and other wine loving tourists, we hopped back into the car and headed west towards the Cevennes. We decided to drive straight through, bypassing Pont du Gard and pretty Uzes, since we had visited both before, in hopes of discovering another little gem along the way. We finally stopped at a roadside aeire on the N106, somewhere near La Grande Combe, to stretch our legs and enjoy a little picnic lunch. Even though we were bounded by beautiful mountains on either side, being by the highway wasn't the most idyllic spot. Still, it was fun to have cyclists and truckers alike wish us a 'bon repast' as they passed us by. Towards the end of our petit dejeuner, we noticed that an impeccably dressed old man and his dog had come down to watch us through the wire fence that lined the wooded property above us. Every time we looked his way, a big smile would spread across his face and would give us little a wave, as if to say, 'Your enjoyment of your meal is my pleasure too". As we got back in the car, he bid us adieu and un bon journee and we bid him un bon sejours.

So close, yet still another hour to our destination. Last year, I think my husband and I had nearly 10,000 heart attacks combined driving to Mas De Lou Albeihs. I remember seeing hundreds of wooden silhouettes lining the highway, marking places where motorists had met their untimely deaths. Maybe my imagination was in overdrive last year (in response to warnings about the dangerous roads), since we only managed to spot a few this time.

We turned off the highway and up into the mountains.

This was the part that produced the most heart attacks last year, since we took the tiny D13 road that my husband thought would be a 'fun' shortcut. Just picture a mountain road, with no guardrails, wide enough for one car to drive along, intermittently unpredictable cars and trucks coming from the other direction, and lots of blind curves. Needless to say, I had no trouble convincing DH to try another road this time. So we opted for the D984, at Col de Jacreste for our ascent. Soooo much better! Or maybe we'd both been inured after last year's adventure. I was even able to enjoy looking out over the valley without envisioning being blindsided by another car and tumbling to an untimely demise on the valley floor.

When we finally arrived at Mas de Lou Albeihs, Julien greeted us warmly and we spent the next few minutes catching up. I wanted to say hello to his wife, Clothilde. Julien told us she was in Ales with their son, to see Spiderman 3 and would return a little later. Next, I asked about their dog...who had been our most excellent companion on last year's hike. With a mischievous smile, Julien held a finger in the air, quipped 'un moment' and then clapped his hands as he called out "Bibou, bibou, bibou". And quelle suprise....from the house, came running a baby lamb! His little tail was swishing a mile a minute as I clapped my hands and giggled with glee.

OK...I'm a geek and I'm in heaven. I have a friend who makes a yearly pilgrimage to hug a baby lamb each spring. As Bibou nuzzled up to me and licked my face, I completely understood my friend's lamb hugging obsession. Everyone should hug a baby lamb! Julien allowed me to feed Bibou his bottle of milk, which Bibou promptly sucked down in one minute and quickly followed with three more. Bibou's mother had rejected him, and now he was being raised by Julien and Clothilde. Even though Bibou was a mouton (male sheep), which are raised for their meat, Julien assured me that Bibou would not be some one's future dinner. They were going to raise and keep him for educational purposes. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was giddy and delirious with baby lamb love, when Julien led us around the corner of the house for yet another surprise. On an old wooden bench under the kitchen window, was their cat (who I nicknamed Mignon) sleeping with her three eight week old baby kittens. Heaven just got better! Here we were, in these beautiful mountains, at this great gite, surrounded by baby animals...and we're in France. We spent the rest of afternoon studying some french, soaking up the views, and of course...playing with the kittens.

Chlothilde and her son returned from Ales. We watched with amusement as her son bounced about the side of the mountain, still brimming with excitement from the movie.

At 730pm, we all gathered for apertifs of Lychee vodka and saucissons sec in the dining room before dinner, since the evening air was too chilly to sit outside. We were joined by two other couples, one from Switzerland and the other from England, both named Barbara and Michael.

Meals at Lou Albeihs are something we look forward to with heartfelt anticipation. For one, they are just damn delicious. Not in a haute cuisine kind of way way, but more like home cooking with a twist. Nothing pretentious, but everything so creative and full of wonderful flavors- and always paying hommage to the terroir of the Cevennes. And of course, we also look forward to an evening of conversation with our hosts and the other guests.

Our dinner began with individual mustard quiches, which arrived at the table fresh from the oven. The contrast of the grain and spice of the mustard against the creaminess of the eggs was a tasty surprise.

For our main course, we were served sanglier (wild boar) meatballs in a tomato sauce with a wild green that was similar to spinach- but with more of a peppery bite. It was accompanied by a puree of potatoes and chestnuts and a salad. Who would have thought the addition of chestnut puree to mashed potatoes would create such a rich and satisfying dish? And the meatballs were so full of flavor and lean, wonderfully complimented by the tomato sauce.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, as we talked about our backgrounds, travels to different countries, and our shared love of France. Second helpings were eaten and red wine flowed freely. And finally, came dessert- a creamy chocolate pudding flavored with fresh orange peel. As we scraped our bowls clean of every last delicious drop of pudding, we all paid our compliments to the chef of the evening, Julien, for another wonderfully orchestrated meal before trundling off to bed.

Well, most went to bed. I confess DH and I stayed up for another hour or so...playing with the kittens, of course!

Vaison La Romaine and Mt Ventoux

We decided to visit the weekly market of Vaison La Romaine. We had visited Vaison on both of our previous trips. One of our highlights from last year's, was a glorious and raucous celebration in Vaison's town square after France's beat Portugal during the World Cup finals.

We had a mission to find ingredients for that night's dinner. We wanted something a little more substantial than our usual bread, cheese and tomato picnics since we had a fantastic kitchen to make use of back at Le Vallon. Everything looked so good, I felt like the proverbial kid in a candy store...I wanted it all!

Wandering through the market...I excitedly discovered a vendor selling fresh artisanal nougat and calissons. Be still my heart! We were introduced to both of these Provencal delights on our HM (Michelle would serve little treats each morning at breakfast) and immediately fell in love with them. There were four different slabs...huge slabs (slabs big enough to pave a sidewalk, if you lived in OZ) of nougat to choose from. After tasting the samples, I asked a for a small piece of Lavender Honey nougat and a large piece of Orange Peel Nougat. I completed my purchase with a bag of calissons. And yes Virginia, there is a difference in the taste! (I am saving the last bit of orange peel nougat until I finish writing about this trip...mmm, incentive!)

Eventually, I amassed the supplies needed for the evening's dinner while my husband patiently followed me on my hunt.

We packed up the car and left Vaison with the intention of visiting the villages of Sault and Caromb. As we drove east from Les Dentelles, I spotted the summit of Mt. Ventoux completely free of clouds. Carpe Diem! Last minute change of plans, and we decided to go for the summit, before Mother Nature changed her mind.


As we started the ascent, we oohed and ahhed over the increasingly beautiful vistas. Below us lay a patchwork quilt of mountains, towns and fields of Provence. My heart skipped another beat, as my love for this region grew even stronger. The weather would have been warm that day, if not for the chill winds of the mistral that continued to blow. We marvelled at cyclists we passed who were making this same ascent via their own will power. And we were doubly humbled that the majority of them seemed to be quite a few years older than us. In NYC, I commute by bicycle most of the time, but the thought of trying to reach the summit of this mountain by pedal power truly astounded me. I looked at my husband like he had two heads when he suggested we might do the ascent by bike in the future.

As we neared the summit, a true suprise was waiting. Almost 200m from the summit of 2909 meters, the verdant greens of spring and summer were suddenly enveloped in frost and snow...and in two days it would be June! At the summit, the wind was so strong that it shook our car like a baby's ratlle. We parked and stepped out to admire the view. A dutch couple travelling by motorcycle kindly took our obligatory "we were here" photo. The chilly air was refreshing, for the brief five or ten minutes we lasted outside the car. I was awed by icicles on the road sign that had been rendered completely vertical by the strong winds.

Heavy clouds started to roll in, and I reminded my husband if we didn't move quickly, we would have absolutely no visibility driving down.

A hasty retreat from the summit, and we drove down Mt Ventoux. On our way back to Le Vallon, we made a detour and stopped at Gigondas and Vacqueras with two intentions. I wanted a photo of what I call "the Hollywood sign" that has amused me to no end on our previous visits and the hope of finding a cave that would ship a case of wine back to the US. We visited a few caves, and none would ship to the US. Oh well...we decided to do a degustation and buy a few bottles at a cave in Vacqueyras.


As I was paying for the wines, my husband eyed the huge casks from which you could fill your own bottles. This has been an ongoing obsession with DH since last year's trip...the novelty of filling his own bottle. So he mustered his courage, got out his nalgene bottle and tried to ask in his very limited but improving french if he could tank up (I was so proud of him for trying to speak French!). It tugged at my heartstrings to see the disappointment on his face when he was told that a minimum of five litres was required to fill up your own.

Back at the apartment, we both packed and readied our bags for the next morning's departure. And then I prepared dinner. I wouldn't say it was a major culinary adventure, but rather a simple experience. In my dreams, I want to be the kind of cook who can whip up a spectacular meal from nothing, without a cookbook to help me...I am a good cook, but there are times when the results just don't match what I envisioned. I prepared a salad, boiled the potatos and tried an experiment with the white asparagus, cooking it in butter, olive oil and white wine. The duck and rabbit we bought at the market were already prepared and packaged in these wonderful sacs with instructions for reheating. Hands down, they were the stars of our dinner. The duck had been prepared with olives and thyme. The rabbit was prepared in the Provencal style with olive oil, garlic, tomatoes, and thyme. Both were moist, succulent and exquisitely perfumed with herbs. For our wine, we opened one of the bottles we bought at the cave, a 2004 Gigondas Domaine Varenne Vieux Fut...it was a perfect food and wine match. Well, except for the asparagus...someday I'll figure out a fabulous way to prepare it.

After dinner, as the sunset, we took a walk along the Canal du Carpentras and through the fields and orchards near le Vallon. The countryside started to resemble a Millet painting, as the sunset bathed it in beautiful golden hues. We came across a cherry orchard and my husband mischeviously grabbed a handful from one of the trees. We savored the last moments of the day and the sweet cherries as we made our way home, and looked forward to next year's visit to Le Vallon and the two weeks that still lay ahead of us. Next stop, the Cevennes!