Candide, indeed

OK, so Candide isn't set in France and I'm not rehearsing it in France.
But Voltaire was French, and even though the story starts in the imaginary land of Westphalia and continues all over a crazy unexplained world, as far as I am concerned, this still connects me to France.

I had no idea what Candide was about when I was invited to audition, all I knew was that the choreographer was near and dear to my heart, and I was elated at the prospect of working with her again.

When I got the official call that I was being offered Candide, I jumped around my apartment like a jackrabbit on crack. OMIGOD! I get to be on stage again! And in New York! At Lincoln Center! And I get to work with Patty Birch again!

Wow, what can I say. The rehearsal process is over and we've opened the show (if you're in NYC, you still have time to see it before we close on April 2oth...)

This has been such a wonderful experience. Our cast is so talented, as is the creative team and the often overlooked stage management and technical crew. And did I mention the 30 piece orchestra and the singing chorus? And the extremely talented actors and actresses who are our covers/understudies (who will sit patiently on beeper each night... waiting to be called in to perform a role that they have studied and rehearsed that may never be seen by the public) ?

The tech week at City Opera is different from the typical 'Broadway/regional theater' process, since we only get 3 1/2 hours on stage per day vs 10-12 hours that the theater community is used to. And we didn't hear the orchestra until the day before our final dress.

Hearing the orchestra for the first time was mesmerizing. The music that Leonard Bernstein composed for this show is so beautiful and in rehearsals we only had a pianist (who amazingly played the whole orchestra). I think I practically swooned in our first orchestra stage rehearsal from the shear beauty of it.

to be continued.....

Au revoir, France...and some good news for 2008

Ending a great trip is kind of like leaving your dearest love....the one who you know will always be there, but you never know when you will get to see them again.

And departure is pretty much uneventful, you get up, you get some breakfast, you go to the airport and then 'phhffft'......it all becomes just a beautiful memory.

But fate did put one pretty good dent in our departure day. As we were standing in line to check in, we were all ordered to leave the terminal because of a bomb scare. OK, typical NY'er (and from what I observed, probably typical Parisienne also), we were more annoyed than scared. Everyone took their sweet time exiting and vied to be closest to the original check-in line once the evacuation was over. Eventually, we were all deposited on the sidewalks outside and tried to get a handle on the situation.

Well, at least I got some entertainment during our wait. A few feet in front of us was a woman conversing with a sock puppet on her hand. Oh, this was a full-on conversation mind you. She even had the puppet talking into her cell phone and posing and taking pictures. I really wanted to get a photo of this little farce, but never did.

So this whole bomb scare was the result of a briefcase that had been left unattended. Hordes of policemen, security guards, bomb squads all descended upon the sad and lonely attache.

And then they blew it up.

A little piece of advice for you......don't forget your luggage a CDG.....you'll never see it again.

Somehow, we still managed to board the plane on time.

As I settled into my seat, I pulled out my little box from La Duree and bit into what was left of my chocolate and pistachio macarons from two days previous. My husband looked at me aghast and said "are you eating again?"

I replied, "No, I've been saving these last bites for just before we left Paris! I don't want our trip to end, and this is my way of tasting the last three weeks all over again."

************

We've been back from France for nearly 8 months now. A lot has happened, and we still don't have cemented plans for our return this year. We still hold on to our dreams of owning a little gite or B&B somewhere in the south. This is ten to fifteen years in the future, but it's fun to think about it now. We've stayed in touch with Marie and Jerome and are looking forward to seeing them again. We've attempted to make Cassoulet (well, DH tried this, on his own...and we're still looking to perfect the recipe). I've cooked dinners from my Provence cookbooks, trying to recapture the magic of it all.

The exchange rate has gotten worse and airfares have gotten out of control. So, as of today, we are hoping to return in September.

In the meantime, even though I can't physically go to France...in a way, I am visiting there in my imagination.

I am in rehearsals now for the New York City Opera's spring production of Candide!

Paris- part 2

Our last full day in Paris.

We started off the day with breakfast at the cafe around the corner. The outdoor market was in swing again today, and as luck would have it, there was even a vendor selling cheap suitcases. Oh God, had we become that kind of traveller?

Well, yes and no. We had tallied a good amount of wine to transport back to the US and were worried about packing it in our checked luggage. So the extra suitcase was our insurance in case anything might break en route...

But enough about the wine. We were still in Paris and I continue to fall deeper in love with this beautiful city each time we visit...and we didn't have much time left. Our favorite thing to do is just wander and experience, but we do try to do at least one 'cultural' thing each day. Today, we planned to visit the Musee de Picasso. We set off from the St Germain area towards the Musee, in the 3rd arrondissement. We eventually found the museum, bubbling with excitement in anticipation of experiencing this little treasure.....only to discover that it was closed on Tuesdays...and... it was a Tuesday. Yep. Got to do a little more planning and research for that next time in Paris. At least we weren't the only ones who didn't consult a guidebook. Two other couples arrived at the exact moment we did, and had the same reactions that we did. Merde! Zut alors! Eh, bien.


With open minds and open hearts, we continued our little stroll, trying to decide what our next option might be (as if the options in Paris might actually be limited, ha!). I would have been happy to wander all day. My husband is an eternal planner while I am happy to go with the flow. But somehow in France, my husband starts to relax and he can come over to the dark side of unplanned days.

As luck would have it, we stumbled across the Musee de Carnavalet. Our curiosities were peaked by posters for a photo exhibit, so we wandered inside.

Since there was no admission fee, this was a big hit with my DH, the self proclaimed 'cheap yankee'. The Carnavalet is a museum of the history of Paris and was a very pleasant surprise. My favorite room was the one dedicated to old shop signs, but a close second would be the gallery of impressionist to early 20th century paintings representing life in Paris.

After the Carnavalet, we continued our theme of wandering and with a brief respite to laze at Les Places des Vosges. Of course, I wanted to visit more shops. DH doesn't understand that even if I don't buy anything, that shopping is creative stimulation. I continued to find loads of creative stimulation and miraculously, my DH kindly indulged me.

Throughout the day, we exchanged phone messages with our friends we had met at Le Vallon in Provence, Marie and Jerome...setting up plans to meet for dinner that evening.

Plans were eventually settled to meet them at Cafe Metro, near the Bourse.

We had a lovely evening with Marie and Jerome. This is something I love about travel, that every once in a while, you meet people who become a part of your life. Good food (it was a fabulous meal, I can still taste the ravioli with truffles!) and good conversation with new friends...what else could we ask for???

I won't divulge our full conversation, in respect to their privacy, but something stuck with me when we started to discuss perceptions across the pond. I felt more akin to them than the pressures I felt from own culture. Could this be a sign of things to come?

Marie asked us if Americans perceived the French as lazy. Hmm. I had to admit that the American media does tend to portray them that way, but as far as we were concerned, the French have the right idea. In America (and especially in the career driven environs of NYC), I feel like our culture drives people to live to work- where as the French and the rest of Europe, in my small experience, generally hold to the ideal of working to live. Given the choice, I want the French option. I know these cultural norms are changing and unfortunately swinging towards the western values. Tres dommage.

When I returned the question, and asked about the perceptions of Americans in France I was not at all surprised by their answer. In general, they said the perception was not good. We all had a laugh, since we all knew that general perceptions are deceiving (no matter how true they can be), especially to those who have not travelled or experienced different cultures with an open mind.

It was bittersweet, bidding our new friends adieu. Not that we would never see or hear from them again, but that tonight was pretty much the end to our adventures in France for 2007.

Paris 2007

Paris photos, last two days 2007

Our last two days- in Paris

OK, it's been a really long time since our trip. My notes are sparse so I am trying to piece it all together.

It was pretty uneventful taking the TGV back up to Paris from Montpellier. On time, speedy and we had reservations at the same hotel in Paris.

Once we checked in to the hotel, it was off to see and experience more of Paris that we hadn't seen before. Well, maybe that's a little white lie. DH had actually acquiesed to my desire to SHOP in Paris this time. On our last trip, I had hoped to do a little shopping on our last day. Alas, we weren't thinking, and all the shops were closed when we arrived (tip for newbie travellers who like to shop- don't plan to shop on a Sunday in Europe) and hit me with a reality stick- last year we were even in Paris during the bi-annual soldes (sales). Lack of government sales and shitty dollar to the euro exchange rate be damned, I was still going shopping.

Even though I have an extreme aversion to large department stores, we ended up at Les Galleries Lafayette (Macy's in NYC gives me hives). I've never done research on shopping or anything else for that matter regarding Paris (except for hotels and restos) before our trips, so I had no idea where to begin looking for interesting boutiques/shops. And, dear reader, my husband has an extreme aversion to shopping. So a one stop smorgasbord was deemed to be the best solution.

Now, when in France- I pretty much want to buy everything. OK, my consumptionist side is revealing itself. But hey, I only get to visit here once a year...and there's a bit of the safari mentality cursing through my veins. No I don't have a budget to buy everything, or even several things. But this girl is a girl and she likes to be a girl. And the French like to make a girl feel like a girl.

My husband lasted about 15 minutes in the store (a record for him) before he announced that he was going to visit the Paris Opera while I shopped. He had worked there years ago, while on tour in Europe. While it was tempting to join him...I decided it would be better to remain at Les Galleries- ogling one pretty frock and the next and the next and the next. I eventually found a sundress that satiated my ooh-la-la french envy, plunked down the CC and did the virtual ostrich head in the sand thing regarding the actual price in dollars vs euros.

On to the next item on my agenda. It was time to head to La Duree for macarons. If you've been oh so patiently following this blog from the beginning, you will remember I was on a bit of a macaron treasure hunt- courtesy of moi and my friend Cynthia's sometime obsession with them. DH kindly escorted me to the La Duree on the Champs d'Elysee. Once I entered the golden gates, he noticed the glazed look in my eye and promptly said, "Take your time, I'll be waiting for you across the street in the pub.". Ooh! The choices, beckoning and calling my name. All those pretty little pastries, so lovingly coaxed into being, dressed in their finest to beguile a sucker like me.

There were too many choices in front of me. If I were lucky enough to live in Paris, I would probably have insisted on returning at least once a week, to sample the divine pastries available for the choosing. But, the macaron mission kept me on task. I selected a dozen minis to take back to NYC for Cynthia (and moi) to taste test. Chocolate, Violet, Lemon, Strawberry, Mocha, Pistachio,...ooh lah lah. For myself, I selected two full sized macarons, to be consumed in France. I chose a chocolate and a pistachio. After choosing my treasures, I patiently waited in line, while the shopgirls prettily boxed them, I paid my tab and then joined my husband across the street.

Too shy to break into them right in the store, this was the moment I had been waiting for- were they worth it? Well, honies, let's just say that the first bite was all of heaven and the best part of hell combined. If my husband had asked me to choose between him and the macaraons at that point, it would have been a hard decision. Yes Virginia, La Duree macarons are worth every cent you spend and each inch you travel to taste them.

Having fed the girl kitty, it was my turn to be the big man. DH suggested we go to La Defense and see the Eiffel tower from a new view. A quick hop and stop on the Metro and we were there. Neither of us was awed by La Defense. We were both amused/intrigued by the gypsies trolling for scams. The view of the Eiffel tower was lovely. And then we were done. I'm sure we're missing some huge significance here, but these were our impressions.

It was getting to be that time of day, so dinner options were discussed. I was all in favor of a nice dinner at a local bistro of cafe, but my husband was heavily leaning towards a picnic. Since the saintly spousal points were leaning towards my husband, we both agreed to assemble a picnic.

We amassed at bevy of food from the tiny grocer around the corner from the hotel Studia. And of course, I needed a little more sustenance (some calamare some gigantes), so supplemented from a Greek vendor in the neighborhood. Grabbed a bottle of wine and headed down to the Seine, right in the shadows of Notre Dame.

I've wanted to picnic on the Seine since I lived in Europe over ten years ago. Never got around to it, tonight was the night.

We spread out the blanket, laid out our meal and uncorked the wine. There were several other couples partaking in the same lovely experience. As the tourist boats sped by, it was fun to be toasted by the people on the boats and even more fun to pretend that we were 'real Parisiennes', raising our glasses and wishing a bon soir in return. But eventually, the way we started our trip, was the way our trip would draw to and end. Ah yes, as Fanny Brice sang in Funny Girl, it started to "Rain on our Parade". We huddled underneath the bridge with about a six other couples, as the rain came down and we waited to make our hasty retreat back to Hotel Studia.

One more day, and then we would have to leave our dear France.

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.

---


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