Thursday and Friday, April 24 and 25
You've heard of repositioning cruises. That's when cruise lines move their cruise ships to the next season's cruising location. Well, that's what we decided to do too--in our case, moving our car closer to the next stage of our trip.
On Saturday, we have to return our rental car to the Nice airport and get ourselves to Antibes, where we will begin a 2-week sojourn in a rented house in the old, pedestrian part of this seaside town. Being in the Minervois, we were about a 4-hour autoroute drive away from Nice. That sounded like a very harried Saturday sprint. Since we felt we'd pretty thoroughly explored the Languedoc, we decided to reposition ourselves to within 1 to 1-1/2 hours of Nice. We could get the bulk of the autoroute business over with and have a much less stressful shifting of travel gears.
That meant that Thursday was a less than stellar day, but we accomplished our goal. Whether it's because we simply have our French driving legs now or because we are not trying to do the task on little sleep and a long overseas flight, we essentially sailed through the autoroute routine.
We then climbed up into the Haut Var--the high hills behind the Mediterranean--to a little village that captivated us on a trip in 2000. It's always dangerous going back. You never know if it will still have that charming sparkle or if you'll wonder what you were thinking back then. We've had it work both ways. Fortunately, this was the good version: Tourtour truly is a delightful village. It calls itself "the village in the sky," because it is quite high in the hills and has views that go on forever. It struck us then and still does that this is a quintessential French village. It has a very nice square in the center, with plane trees providing shade. It has the requisite boules courts and a simple church just up the hill. There are a handful of shops, selling linens and pottery and lavender products. (We are in Provence now, after all.). There are several cafés with tables set up in the square. Not too small, not too big.
We have chosen to stay at the same auberge we stayed in 14 years ago. We're giving ourselves a little countryside time before transitioning into full-time town life in Antibes. We're about 3km outside the village, and we're on a big meadow with horses grazing and the clucking (and occasional crowing) of chickens in the background. A rushing stream is below the meadow. Very tranquil (except for the loudest set of frogs we've ever heard, come nighttime).
On Friday, we spent some time in Tourtour, of course. Then we took a loop drive to see a handful of "perched villages" in the area. They are all in a gorge area, and each is scenic in its own right. We stopped for lunch in the one that calls itself "eagle's nest"--Chateaudouble. We sat on a sun-dappled terrace under an umbrella of plane trees and ate our lunch with a view of a dramatic gorge right in front of us. Quite impressive indeed.
Now it's time to gather up the detritus of a 2-week car trip and get ready to move on. We have never stayed in one place for 2 weeks when traveling overseas. We have always felt we had to keep moving and discovering new things and places. This is a grand experiment: Will we like Antibes 2 week's worth? Will we like the feeling of staying in one place and not worry about all the unexplored villages, etc.? Will we enjoy being car-free?
Stay tuned!
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Friday, April 25, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
The End of Our Wine Touring--Minervois
Tuesday and Wednesday, April 22 and 23
Tuesday started out very wet. Even so, we walked all over our little town of Lagrasse and to the ancient abbey just across the river. It wasn't cold, but we were certainly drippy by the time we finished. A very interesting town, even in the rain.
We made it to the boulangerie about 11:50am--a very tricky time to go to a bakery. We wanted to pick up a couple sandwiches so we didn't have to worry about where we'd be during the lunchtime witching hour--noon to 2pm. We were just in time, because about 8 people came in right behind us. Everyone in France--or so it seems--has to stop into their local boulangerie before they close at noon to pick up their baguette for lunch. Madame made our sandwiches while everyone else waited their turn. That's just the way it's done in France. You are served one at a time and in order. If I had wanted to stay and chat with the proprietress, then so be it. Only when I was done would the next person be helped. Fortunately for the people behind us, we aren't very chatty in French and we'd figured out exact change. We paid quickly and moved on, leaving the townsfolk to their critical lunchtime mission.
We continued through the Corbieres hills, enjoying the views. Our destination Tuesday was the Minervois wine region, lying just to the north of Corbieres. This is the home of what is considered the highest quality wine in the Languedoc Roussillon. Our arrival in the Minervois marks the wrap up to our wine area touring. Mostly, we've just wanted to see what the region looks like and get a sense of its different districts. Buying is hard to do when you're traveling, which means we haven't really stopped to taste that often. Once we've interrupted someone's day and taken their time over the tasting, we always feel a bit compelled to buy some wine. But then what? We don't really want to carry it home, and we don't have that many occasions to consume it outside mealtimes, where wine comes from a wine list not from our personal collection. So we've mostly confined ourselves to enjoying locally produced wines at our meals in the different wine regions. On this trip, we've been in the l'Herault, Faugeres, Saint Chinian, Collioures and Banyuls-sur-Mer, Corbieres, and now Minervois. (Did I mention the Languedoc Roussillon is a big wine district?). And we've been enjoying wines from each of these regions. We have purchased only a few.
We had decided to spend a couple nights near La Liviniere, which our wine broker, Bryan, had mentioned as one of his favorite wine region in the Languedoc. As we drove through the village, I spotted a sign for Chateau Sainte-Eulalie. We had really enjoyed one of this producer's wines at a dinner one night in Carcassonne. So, on a whim, we drove outside the town, to the estate, and down a long drive. They were in the process of bottling, so we had to wait a bit. When the proprieter or winemaker--the man who appeared to be in charge--was able to break free, he led us through a tasting of half a dozen of his wines, any of which we'd be happy to have in our cellar. We had a nice visit and a nice tasting, and allowed one bottle to follow us.
Thursday was a day for a bit of a scenic tour. We knew we wanted to visit Minerve, the town that gives this area its name. Our hotel proprieter had enquired about our day's plans. When we mentioned Minerve, he quickly went to get us a local map and showed us the "bonne route" (the best way to go). Rather than the route that looked the most likely on my map, he sent us up into the hills and on a meander through a regional natural park. We drove on a ridge to Minerve, with beautiful views to the valley below. He had also pointed out a place to stop to view an unexpected gorge. There were horses in meadows and quite a few wildflowers. We also saw a couple birds that were new to us. (Our later perusal of a bird book told us they were "busard cendre," a type of buzzard that is very different from any we've seen. They were white, with black wingtips and looked like hawks in flight.
Minerve is situated spectacularly, set down below the countryside from which we approached it and surrounded on three sides by a gorge carved by two rivers. It is quite ancient (what isn't in this region?) and a real treat to walk through. When you first see it, it looks like such an unlikely place for a town to spring up. But I suppose it is both a strategic and more easily defended site.
To fit in seamlessly with our experience of visiting castles, we had to walk a steep pair of switchbacks to the village--in this case, down. The only difference this time was that this day's path had been paved at some point. Not to worry, though, Minerve's streets were cobbled.
We returned to our valley location, feeling quite fortunate to have seen such beautiful sights while in the Languedoc. Our time here is at an end, but we feel we got to sample much of what the area has to offer. The beauty took us by surprise, as did the depth of the history and the intensity of the connection to Spain. This time has been a real travel success. Now on to the next chapter of our adventure.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday started out very wet. Even so, we walked all over our little town of Lagrasse and to the ancient abbey just across the river. It wasn't cold, but we were certainly drippy by the time we finished. A very interesting town, even in the rain.
We made it to the boulangerie about 11:50am--a very tricky time to go to a bakery. We wanted to pick up a couple sandwiches so we didn't have to worry about where we'd be during the lunchtime witching hour--noon to 2pm. We were just in time, because about 8 people came in right behind us. Everyone in France--or so it seems--has to stop into their local boulangerie before they close at noon to pick up their baguette for lunch. Madame made our sandwiches while everyone else waited their turn. That's just the way it's done in France. You are served one at a time and in order. If I had wanted to stay and chat with the proprietress, then so be it. Only when I was done would the next person be helped. Fortunately for the people behind us, we aren't very chatty in French and we'd figured out exact change. We paid quickly and moved on, leaving the townsfolk to their critical lunchtime mission.
We continued through the Corbieres hills, enjoying the views. Our destination Tuesday was the Minervois wine region, lying just to the north of Corbieres. This is the home of what is considered the highest quality wine in the Languedoc Roussillon. Our arrival in the Minervois marks the wrap up to our wine area touring. Mostly, we've just wanted to see what the region looks like and get a sense of its different districts. Buying is hard to do when you're traveling, which means we haven't really stopped to taste that often. Once we've interrupted someone's day and taken their time over the tasting, we always feel a bit compelled to buy some wine. But then what? We don't really want to carry it home, and we don't have that many occasions to consume it outside mealtimes, where wine comes from a wine list not from our personal collection. So we've mostly confined ourselves to enjoying locally produced wines at our meals in the different wine regions. On this trip, we've been in the l'Herault, Faugeres, Saint Chinian, Collioures and Banyuls-sur-Mer, Corbieres, and now Minervois. (Did I mention the Languedoc Roussillon is a big wine district?). And we've been enjoying wines from each of these regions. We have purchased only a few.
We had decided to spend a couple nights near La Liviniere, which our wine broker, Bryan, had mentioned as one of his favorite wine region in the Languedoc. As we drove through the village, I spotted a sign for Chateau Sainte-Eulalie. We had really enjoyed one of this producer's wines at a dinner one night in Carcassonne. So, on a whim, we drove outside the town, to the estate, and down a long drive. They were in the process of bottling, so we had to wait a bit. When the proprieter or winemaker--the man who appeared to be in charge--was able to break free, he led us through a tasting of half a dozen of his wines, any of which we'd be happy to have in our cellar. We had a nice visit and a nice tasting, and allowed one bottle to follow us.
Thursday was a day for a bit of a scenic tour. We knew we wanted to visit Minerve, the town that gives this area its name. Our hotel proprieter had enquired about our day's plans. When we mentioned Minerve, he quickly went to get us a local map and showed us the "bonne route" (the best way to go). Rather than the route that looked the most likely on my map, he sent us up into the hills and on a meander through a regional natural park. We drove on a ridge to Minerve, with beautiful views to the valley below. He had also pointed out a place to stop to view an unexpected gorge. There were horses in meadows and quite a few wildflowers. We also saw a couple birds that were new to us. (Our later perusal of a bird book told us they were "busard cendre," a type of buzzard that is very different from any we've seen. They were white, with black wingtips and looked like hawks in flight.
Minerve is situated spectacularly, set down below the countryside from which we approached it and surrounded on three sides by a gorge carved by two rivers. It is quite ancient (what isn't in this region?) and a real treat to walk through. When you first see it, it looks like such an unlikely place for a town to spring up. But I suppose it is both a strategic and more easily defended site.
To fit in seamlessly with our experience of visiting castles, we had to walk a steep pair of switchbacks to the village--in this case, down. The only difference this time was that this day's path had been paved at some point. Not to worry, though, Minerve's streets were cobbled.
We returned to our valley location, feeling quite fortunate to have seen such beautiful sights while in the Languedoc. Our time here is at an end, but we feel we got to sample much of what the area has to offer. The beauty took us by surprise, as did the depth of the history and the intensity of the connection to Spain. This time has been a real travel success. Now on to the next chapter of our adventure.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Back to the Hills
Monday, April 21
We left Collioure and the Mediterranean behind, and headed north toward the Corbieres hills, another wine region within the Languedoc Roussillon. It was a cloudy day. We had had rain on Sunday, and it was spitting on us periodically as we made our way.
I had planned a route that consisted of only "yellow roads" or (even smaller) "white roads." One of the segments of this route would take us near Queribus, one of the legendary Cathar sites. It is an old castle at the top of a steep snag of rock, with sheer drops of 700+ feet on all sides. (You'd think the Cathars would have been safe in such a remote and inhospitable place!) We knew we would not be scrabbling our way up to this castle. It is recommended only for those with a very good "head for heights." That would rule me out quite quickly. But we were hoping to get close enough to see it, because it is a strikingly situated castle. As we started on the route that would take us nearby, the top of the ridge of hills was completely socked in with clouds. We were disappointed, but quickly distracted by the very steep road and switchbacks in front of us. We went up and up and up. There was not much between us and the valley, which was getting increasingly far below us. It was a narrow road. We were lucky to have only a few interactions with other cars--and that, of course, was on a curve with us on the outside and our oncoming friend well over the center line (had there been one). Eeyikes, that was a bit of a gasp maker. Fortunately, Jerry is a very good--and calm and collected--driver.
Once we got to the pass and were at the foot of the vaunted Queribus, we pulled off for a look up. I looked more closely at the map I was working from. The wonderful IGN (Institut Geographique National) maps that we use in France are very detailed. We have used them for years. But I am a geographer by training, and any geographer worth her salt should have noted that this particular road went essentially up the face of a very rocky, very tall hill. Looking at the topographical markings after the fact, I was quite shame faced that I had not noticed this. Having survived this rather treacherous climb, I'm glad we did it. The scenery was spectacular (if you were brave enough to look) and it got us to Queribus. But, if I'd been paying attention, I probably would have picked a different route.
As a reward for our interesting climb, Queribus decided to make an appearance while we were below it. The clouds lifted a bit, and we got to see the castle in wisps of cloud. Then the clouds lifted fully enough that we got a very nice view. We drove on a ways, then pulled off to the side of the road to eat our boulangerie sandwiches (purchased before we left Collioure) with a pretty unrivaled view.
As a note: Queribus is cited as being the last stronghold of the Cathars. It left us wondering if every site claims to be "the last." But we can see that the date of the fall of Queribus was indeed some years later than the fall of Montsegur (see Cathars and Castles post). We assume the reference to the last at Montsegur must mean the last of the Cathars that had once been in residence at that site, not the last of all the Cathars.
We made our way further north, enjoying the beauty of (and the wide open, relatively unpopulated space of) the Corbieres hills. Lots of vineyards tucked in among the hills. Olive groves as well. We twisted our way through the hills, completely surprised by how pretty they are and how quiet and peaceful they are--in spite of their tortured history.
We stopped for the night in Lagrasse, a little town made up of narrow cobblestone streets. It is a medieval town (there seem to be a lot of them in these parts) and provided a very nice venue for a pre-dinner walk. It even includes an ancient abbey (founded in 799 AD), with 21 Benedictine monks in residence.
All in all, we had a pretty easy day, in touring terms. Easy, maybe, but it definitely had its high points in more than one sense of the expression.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
We left Collioure and the Mediterranean behind, and headed north toward the Corbieres hills, another wine region within the Languedoc Roussillon. It was a cloudy day. We had had rain on Sunday, and it was spitting on us periodically as we made our way.
I had planned a route that consisted of only "yellow roads" or (even smaller) "white roads." One of the segments of this route would take us near Queribus, one of the legendary Cathar sites. It is an old castle at the top of a steep snag of rock, with sheer drops of 700+ feet on all sides. (You'd think the Cathars would have been safe in such a remote and inhospitable place!) We knew we would not be scrabbling our way up to this castle. It is recommended only for those with a very good "head for heights." That would rule me out quite quickly. But we were hoping to get close enough to see it, because it is a strikingly situated castle. As we started on the route that would take us nearby, the top of the ridge of hills was completely socked in with clouds. We were disappointed, but quickly distracted by the very steep road and switchbacks in front of us. We went up and up and up. There was not much between us and the valley, which was getting increasingly far below us. It was a narrow road. We were lucky to have only a few interactions with other cars--and that, of course, was on a curve with us on the outside and our oncoming friend well over the center line (had there been one). Eeyikes, that was a bit of a gasp maker. Fortunately, Jerry is a very good--and calm and collected--driver.
Once we got to the pass and were at the foot of the vaunted Queribus, we pulled off for a look up. I looked more closely at the map I was working from. The wonderful IGN (Institut Geographique National) maps that we use in France are very detailed. We have used them for years. But I am a geographer by training, and any geographer worth her salt should have noted that this particular road went essentially up the face of a very rocky, very tall hill. Looking at the topographical markings after the fact, I was quite shame faced that I had not noticed this. Having survived this rather treacherous climb, I'm glad we did it. The scenery was spectacular (if you were brave enough to look) and it got us to Queribus. But, if I'd been paying attention, I probably would have picked a different route.
As a reward for our interesting climb, Queribus decided to make an appearance while we were below it. The clouds lifted a bit, and we got to see the castle in wisps of cloud. Then the clouds lifted fully enough that we got a very nice view. We drove on a ways, then pulled off to the side of the road to eat our boulangerie sandwiches (purchased before we left Collioure) with a pretty unrivaled view.
As a note: Queribus is cited as being the last stronghold of the Cathars. It left us wondering if every site claims to be "the last." But we can see that the date of the fall of Queribus was indeed some years later than the fall of Montsegur (see Cathars and Castles post). We assume the reference to the last at Montsegur must mean the last of the Cathars that had once been in residence at that site, not the last of all the Cathars.
We made our way further north, enjoying the beauty of (and the wide open, relatively unpopulated space of) the Corbieres hills. Lots of vineyards tucked in among the hills. Olive groves as well. We twisted our way through the hills, completely surprised by how pretty they are and how quiet and peaceful they are--in spite of their tortured history.
We stopped for the night in Lagrasse, a little town made up of narrow cobblestone streets. It is a medieval town (there seem to be a lot of them in these parts) and provided a very nice venue for a pre-dinner walk. It even includes an ancient abbey (founded in 799 AD), with 21 Benedictine monks in residence.
All in all, we had a pretty easy day, in touring terms. Easy, maybe, but it definitely had its high points in more than one sense of the expression.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Music and Dancing in the Streets
Let's just say Easter (Paques) is different here. Or maybe I should say that it is very different for us to be here at Easter. We've seen many things that seem to be universal--Easter bunnies (lapins de Paques), Easter eggs (oeufs de Paques), and Easter egg hunts (chasse des oeufs). Our hotel had large chocolate bunnies displayed in the lobby Easter morning and small rabbit-shaped chocolate candies available on Easter Sunday and Easter Monday (a big deal holiday in France and Spain). But we've also seen a number of things completely outside our Easter experience.
While we had been concerned that the whole of France might be shut down on Easter Sunday and Monday, we need not have worried. Collioure, where we have spent the holiday weekend, held its regular Sunday morning market. That was our first sign. Life was moving ahead in full gear everywhere we went.
As opposed to what we would have done if in our own home territory--church and a family dinner--we headed about 25km west to the little town of Ceret. We knew we wanted to visit their Musee de l'Art Modern while in the area and had checked to see that it would be open on Easter Sunday. Some of the big name artists, like Picasso, Matisse, and Chagall, spent time in and painted both Collioure and Ceret, and the museum is mentioned positively in various guidebooks for the area.
We found a large public parking area just outside Ceret's "centre ville." As we headed toward the museum, we heard some music playing. We increased our pace and walked into the main square to find a band playing and several groups dancing the sardana. I had read that this was an area in which one might see the sardana, and Ceret has an annual sardana festival in July. Still, I wasn't expecting to bump into it. This was just one of those serendipitous moments one hopes for when traveling. These were "regular" people dancing. No one in costumes, just whoever wanted to join in. With each song, groups spontaneously formed and grew. The dancers hold hands and form a circle. They don't move in a circular fashion, but mostly perform the steps in place. At certain points in the music, the dancing becomes more vigorous, the steps are much higher, and the group raises its joined hands.
The band had 11 musicians, playing 10 wind instruments plus a double bass and a tambori (a very small drum worn on the wrist of the piccolo player). We did a little research and learned that the band we were hearing (Les Casanoves) was a cobla, which is a band specifically for sardanes. They are one of only 130 such groups that exist in France and Spain. While we recognized some of the instruments (the bass, 2 trumpets, 2 French horns, the piccolo, and a trombone), we had never seen the tambori or the 4 oboe-like instruments they played. They have an unusual shape and very different sound. It was so fun to see and hear something unique to this area.
We watched the dancers until the band stopped, and then walked to the museum. It is a small museum, but with a very nice collection that includes a handful of Picasso paintings and a very large assembly of his ceramics. There is a large group of Matisse pen and ink drawings, a number of which had been created for the museum specifically. And there is one very large Chagall that is rather stunning.
After soaking up the artwork, we had a salad at one of the cafés on the square and then walked around Ceret. It is an attractive town and a nice size (i.e., small) for exploring.
We headed back to Collioure, which we wanted to sample a bit more, hopefully a little less peopled than it had been on Friday evening. There were still lots of folks in town, but it felt less frenetic. It's a hilly village with lots of steep streets and stairways. The houses and shops are painted many colors, making it quite picturesque.
We had an aperitif at a cafe on the quay and then made our way back to our hotel. Just as we got to the entrance to the little alley that takes us to our hotel, we found the way blocked by a group of people in traditional costume who were singing. They sang a couple songs, shaking small cloth squares of red and yellow stripes which represent the Catalan flag. They then trooped into a little cafe. Bet it was lively in there!
We felt so fortunate to have happened onto these two spontaneous outbursts of song and dance. Though not in our usual Easter repertoire, singing and dancing in the streets seems to be very much in the spirit of the day.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
While we had been concerned that the whole of France might be shut down on Easter Sunday and Monday, we need not have worried. Collioure, where we have spent the holiday weekend, held its regular Sunday morning market. That was our first sign. Life was moving ahead in full gear everywhere we went.
As opposed to what we would have done if in our own home territory--church and a family dinner--we headed about 25km west to the little town of Ceret. We knew we wanted to visit their Musee de l'Art Modern while in the area and had checked to see that it would be open on Easter Sunday. Some of the big name artists, like Picasso, Matisse, and Chagall, spent time in and painted both Collioure and Ceret, and the museum is mentioned positively in various guidebooks for the area.
We found a large public parking area just outside Ceret's "centre ville." As we headed toward the museum, we heard some music playing. We increased our pace and walked into the main square to find a band playing and several groups dancing the sardana. I had read that this was an area in which one might see the sardana, and Ceret has an annual sardana festival in July. Still, I wasn't expecting to bump into it. This was just one of those serendipitous moments one hopes for when traveling. These were "regular" people dancing. No one in costumes, just whoever wanted to join in. With each song, groups spontaneously formed and grew. The dancers hold hands and form a circle. They don't move in a circular fashion, but mostly perform the steps in place. At certain points in the music, the dancing becomes more vigorous, the steps are much higher, and the group raises its joined hands.
The band had 11 musicians, playing 10 wind instruments plus a double bass and a tambori (a very small drum worn on the wrist of the piccolo player). We did a little research and learned that the band we were hearing (Les Casanoves) was a cobla, which is a band specifically for sardanes. They are one of only 130 such groups that exist in France and Spain. While we recognized some of the instruments (the bass, 2 trumpets, 2 French horns, the piccolo, and a trombone), we had never seen the tambori or the 4 oboe-like instruments they played. They have an unusual shape and very different sound. It was so fun to see and hear something unique to this area.
We watched the dancers until the band stopped, and then walked to the museum. It is a small museum, but with a very nice collection that includes a handful of Picasso paintings and a very large assembly of his ceramics. There is a large group of Matisse pen and ink drawings, a number of which had been created for the museum specifically. And there is one very large Chagall that is rather stunning.
After soaking up the artwork, we had a salad at one of the cafés on the square and then walked around Ceret. It is an attractive town and a nice size (i.e., small) for exploring.
We headed back to Collioure, which we wanted to sample a bit more, hopefully a little less peopled than it had been on Friday evening. There were still lots of folks in town, but it felt less frenetic. It's a hilly village with lots of steep streets and stairways. The houses and shops are painted many colors, making it quite picturesque.
We had an aperitif at a cafe on the quay and then made our way back to our hotel. Just as we got to the entrance to the little alley that takes us to our hotel, we found the way blocked by a group of people in traditional costume who were singing. They sang a couple songs, shaking small cloth squares of red and yellow stripes which represent the Catalan flag. They then trooped into a little cafe. Bet it was lively in there!
We felt so fortunate to have happened onto these two spontaneous outbursts of song and dance. Though not in our usual Easter repertoire, singing and dancing in the streets seems to be very much in the spirit of the day.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Twists and Turns
Saturday, April 19
This is the day we set aside for driving down the coast to Spain (about 30km south). This route is known as the Corniche of the Cote Vermeille. Think Highway 1 in California, but with craggy headlands and steep, terraced hillsides of rocky vineyards and olive groves.
It was a beautiful day in which to experience this spectacular coastline. The sea was two tones of turquoise and blue. It was a very windy day, so there were lots of whitecaps. The vistas seemed endless--and so did the twisty, curvy, narrow highway. There were almost no turnouts on the highway, and the few there were would have been crazy for us to attempt since they were all on the other side of the road and always on curves. Not being able to stop was very disturbing to me. I know I'm supposed to be "in the moment," but it was killing me to not be able to capture the beauty I was seeing. My camera fingers were practically twitching.
We crossed into Spain in the hopes of seeing a wine region Jerry had read about in one of his wine publications--the Emporda region of northern Spain. (Barcelona is less than an hour south.) We certainly saw vineyards, but apparently the primary area of production and tasting facilities is inland about 30-40km. We hated to give up the beautiful sea views and opted to stick with the coastline.
Surprisingly, we found that we felt disoriented in Spain. This was probably for a number of reasons, but was certainly influenced by the fact that neither of us speak more than a few standard Spanish words or phrases and the fact that we had no road map. We drove through Llanca, one of the few towns shown in the wine article, and headed for Cadaques, another mentioned town. But we found ourselves driving 30km through a wild, vertiginous piece of country, taking our twisty, curvy driving experience to a new level, so to speak. Then when we got to within a couple miles of our destination, we found ourselves in a traffic jam with no way out. There were police directing traffic and there was no parking to be had, with miles more of cars behind us wanting in. We never paused, but headed back up the hill and found a shorter route back north to Llanca. It was a spectacular ride the whole way, but perhaps we should stick to our France knitting. We felt almost like we were arriving home when we crossed back into Franca (Spanish spelling).
On our way back north, and now in comfortable France, we stopped in the pretty little town of Banyuls-sur-Mer, for a chance to stretch our legs. We found a very nice waterfront restaurant that had a wine cave and tasting room attached. We hoped they might sell us some water and a snack, lunch having gotten lost in our uncharted wandering, but the restaurant was not in the snack business. They were in that French restaurant dead zone--too late for lunch and hours before dinner will be served. We settled for tasting some local Collioure and Banyuls wines, enjoyed strolling on their quay, and then pointed ourselves "home" to Collioure.
The weather was changing on our northward route. Clouds started to appear. All along, the forecast has been for rain on Easter, and it started to seem more possible. We were thankful that we took this scenic drive on such a pretty day.
It was a challenging drive--Jerry probably earned a sore clutch leg and shifting arm, and I've been known to be a bit of a white-knuckled passenger in such situations. And it was exacerbated by the heavy holiday traffic, the crazy, suicidal motorcyclists, and the legion of cyclists sharing the narrow, twisting road. But this Corniche road was, without a doubt, the most spectacular coastal drive we've ever seen.
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This is the day we set aside for driving down the coast to Spain (about 30km south). This route is known as the Corniche of the Cote Vermeille. Think Highway 1 in California, but with craggy headlands and steep, terraced hillsides of rocky vineyards and olive groves.
It was a beautiful day in which to experience this spectacular coastline. The sea was two tones of turquoise and blue. It was a very windy day, so there were lots of whitecaps. The vistas seemed endless--and so did the twisty, curvy, narrow highway. There were almost no turnouts on the highway, and the few there were would have been crazy for us to attempt since they were all on the other side of the road and always on curves. Not being able to stop was very disturbing to me. I know I'm supposed to be "in the moment," but it was killing me to not be able to capture the beauty I was seeing. My camera fingers were practically twitching.
We crossed into Spain in the hopes of seeing a wine region Jerry had read about in one of his wine publications--the Emporda region of northern Spain. (Barcelona is less than an hour south.) We certainly saw vineyards, but apparently the primary area of production and tasting facilities is inland about 30-40km. We hated to give up the beautiful sea views and opted to stick with the coastline.
Surprisingly, we found that we felt disoriented in Spain. This was probably for a number of reasons, but was certainly influenced by the fact that neither of us speak more than a few standard Spanish words or phrases and the fact that we had no road map. We drove through Llanca, one of the few towns shown in the wine article, and headed for Cadaques, another mentioned town. But we found ourselves driving 30km through a wild, vertiginous piece of country, taking our twisty, curvy driving experience to a new level, so to speak. Then when we got to within a couple miles of our destination, we found ourselves in a traffic jam with no way out. There were police directing traffic and there was no parking to be had, with miles more of cars behind us wanting in. We never paused, but headed back up the hill and found a shorter route back north to Llanca. It was a spectacular ride the whole way, but perhaps we should stick to our France knitting. We felt almost like we were arriving home when we crossed back into Franca (Spanish spelling).
On our way back north, and now in comfortable France, we stopped in the pretty little town of Banyuls-sur-Mer, for a chance to stretch our legs. We found a very nice waterfront restaurant that had a wine cave and tasting room attached. We hoped they might sell us some water and a snack, lunch having gotten lost in our uncharted wandering, but the restaurant was not in the snack business. They were in that French restaurant dead zone--too late for lunch and hours before dinner will be served. We settled for tasting some local Collioure and Banyuls wines, enjoyed strolling on their quay, and then pointed ourselves "home" to Collioure.
The weather was changing on our northward route. Clouds started to appear. All along, the forecast has been for rain on Easter, and it started to seem more possible. We were thankful that we took this scenic drive on such a pretty day.
It was a challenging drive--Jerry probably earned a sore clutch leg and shifting arm, and I've been known to be a bit of a white-knuckled passenger in such situations. And it was exacerbated by the heavy holiday traffic, the crazy, suicidal motorcyclists, and the legion of cyclists sharing the narrow, twisting road. But this Corniche road was, without a doubt, the most spectacular coastal drive we've ever seen.
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A Catalan Good Friday
Friday, April 18
One of the primary reasons for staying in Collioure on Easter weekend was because it is one of three towns/cities in this Catalan region of France that have Spanish processions on Good Friday. There formerly was an independent Catalonia, part of which is now in Spain and part, in France. The ties in the region are still incredibly strong. There are references to Catalonia this and Catalan that everywhere you look. Many names of things sound more Spanish than French, and all of the town names are given in both French and Catalan. It is unlike any other region of France.
We made a point of arriving in the town reasonably early, since we didn't know when the procession would occur. When we got within a mile or so of the town, we could see cars parked along the road, up and down the hilly entry route. Every parking lot was "complet." There were people everywhere. We figured out quite quickly that we were not the only ones to think this might be an interesting thing to witness.
After settling into our hotel, we went into the old center of the town and walked down the narrow cobbled streets, teeming with people. There are lots of little boutiques and galleries, but also lots of touristy shops selling knickknacks, bikinis, sunglasses, espadrilles, ice cream, and pop. It was rather strange to be in such a tourist throng, while at the same time we were seeing religious window and balcony displays (branches and wreaths, statues of Mary, candles, and pictures of Jesus) and sacred music was being broadcast via speakers throughout the town. It was a confused and unsettling mix of cultures.
We had learned that the procession would be at 9pm. Restaurants were opening early so people could eat and still be done in time to watch the procession. This is quite a concession in France. The notion of eating dinner at 6pm or 7pm is a pretty wild idea. We stepped into a small cafe and had their Catalan menu--pan tomate (something we've been seeing everywhere in the Languedoc, which is bread covered with a paste made of cooked tomatoes and lots of garlic), fresh local anchovies, roasted red peppers, and Manchego cheese, followed by seafood, with local rose to wash it down.
We headed out to the broad street that runs from the church to the town center. People had staked out low walls on which to sit. We found a doorway of a closed shop in which to stand. Our spot turned out to be a perfect front row seat. We were only about a block from the church, which was within sight. We were able to see the procession coming toward us, and we were right at the point at which the procession turned a corner to process through the streets of the old town in a circuit that took them back to the church.
The event started with the priest telling a story. Then the torches were lit, drums set a cadence, and the Procession de la Sanchi began. This is a tradition of the Brotherhood of the Holy Blood. They are garbed in black robes and conical hoods with eye slits--rather disturbing to American eyes. Some were similarly garbed in red. Some were barefoot. They had tall sticks with which they kept the cadence. Some were walking individually, carrying torches. Most were in groups of four, carrying platforms with depictions of Christ's last days. Other platforms held statues of Mary or saints. There was a segment of the procession that was priests and altar boys in white. The final platforms were Jesus on the cross and Jesus in the tomb. Then there were women and girls with black lace over their heads. Once the procession had passed, viewers fell into line and became a part of the procession. We did the same. After about 4 or 5 blocks, we peeled off and moved to a large square where we were able to see a portion of the procession pass by again.
This was a truly exceptional opportunity. While this form of religious observance seems very foreign to us--in both senses of the term--we are so glad we were able to see it and be a part of it. Good Friday is a somber and dark occasion, and this procession seemed to fit that bill quite well.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
One of the primary reasons for staying in Collioure on Easter weekend was because it is one of three towns/cities in this Catalan region of France that have Spanish processions on Good Friday. There formerly was an independent Catalonia, part of which is now in Spain and part, in France. The ties in the region are still incredibly strong. There are references to Catalonia this and Catalan that everywhere you look. Many names of things sound more Spanish than French, and all of the town names are given in both French and Catalan. It is unlike any other region of France.
We made a point of arriving in the town reasonably early, since we didn't know when the procession would occur. When we got within a mile or so of the town, we could see cars parked along the road, up and down the hilly entry route. Every parking lot was "complet." There were people everywhere. We figured out quite quickly that we were not the only ones to think this might be an interesting thing to witness.
After settling into our hotel, we went into the old center of the town and walked down the narrow cobbled streets, teeming with people. There are lots of little boutiques and galleries, but also lots of touristy shops selling knickknacks, bikinis, sunglasses, espadrilles, ice cream, and pop. It was rather strange to be in such a tourist throng, while at the same time we were seeing religious window and balcony displays (branches and wreaths, statues of Mary, candles, and pictures of Jesus) and sacred music was being broadcast via speakers throughout the town. It was a confused and unsettling mix of cultures.
We had learned that the procession would be at 9pm. Restaurants were opening early so people could eat and still be done in time to watch the procession. This is quite a concession in France. The notion of eating dinner at 6pm or 7pm is a pretty wild idea. We stepped into a small cafe and had their Catalan menu--pan tomate (something we've been seeing everywhere in the Languedoc, which is bread covered with a paste made of cooked tomatoes and lots of garlic), fresh local anchovies, roasted red peppers, and Manchego cheese, followed by seafood, with local rose to wash it down.
We headed out to the broad street that runs from the church to the town center. People had staked out low walls on which to sit. We found a doorway of a closed shop in which to stand. Our spot turned out to be a perfect front row seat. We were only about a block from the church, which was within sight. We were able to see the procession coming toward us, and we were right at the point at which the procession turned a corner to process through the streets of the old town in a circuit that took them back to the church.
The event started with the priest telling a story. Then the torches were lit, drums set a cadence, and the Procession de la Sanchi began. This is a tradition of the Brotherhood of the Holy Blood. They are garbed in black robes and conical hoods with eye slits--rather disturbing to American eyes. Some were similarly garbed in red. Some were barefoot. They had tall sticks with which they kept the cadence. Some were walking individually, carrying torches. Most were in groups of four, carrying platforms with depictions of Christ's last days. Other platforms held statues of Mary or saints. There was a segment of the procession that was priests and altar boys in white. The final platforms were Jesus on the cross and Jesus in the tomb. Then there were women and girls with black lace over their heads. Once the procession had passed, viewers fell into line and became a part of the procession. We did the same. After about 4 or 5 blocks, we peeled off and moved to a large square where we were able to see a portion of the procession pass by again.
This was a truly exceptional opportunity. While this form of religious observance seems very foreign to us--in both senses of the term--we are so glad we were able to see it and be a part of it. Good Friday is a somber and dark occasion, and this procession seemed to fit that bill quite well.
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Cathars and Castles
Thursday and Friday, April 17 and 18
After our mini-adventure on the Canal du Midi, we stopped Wednesday in the little town of Mirepoix. It had sounded pleasant to me as I perused one guidebook or the other during our planning phase. It looked like a good jumping-off point for several possible excursions, so we opted to stay for 2 nights.
Mirepoix turned out to be a interesting town in its own right. It is not a tourist Mecca and has all the usual work-a-day edges to it. But its town square is something to behold. It is completely rimmed with medieval arcades. Huge ancient timbers hold up multi-colored, half-timbered buildings. In one section of the arcades, the ends of the timbers are carved with faces and animals. They are very weathered and worn--you would be too if you were 700 years old!--and quite intriguing.
We had been worried that everything would be closed up on Easter weekend all over France. Not to worry. When we arrived in Mirepoix, everywhere were signs promoting their annual jazz festival, which takes place on the Saturday to Monday Easter 3-day weekend. We saw pictures that show they fill the central square with big tables, and they have an impressive list of performers and concerts. We were leaving the day before this all would happen, which is probably why we were able to walk into a hotel and get a room. It also probably explains why it was the last room available. People were arriving in town, and it was clear it was going to be hopping.
We are in Cathar country now. We have left the vineyards behind and instead are seeing signs pointing to towers and castles and museums.
One of the excursions I was hoping to make while we were in this this area was a visit to Montsegur. It was the site of one of the last chapters of the Albigensian Crusade--the church's war against the "heretical" Cathars.
We drove south and found ourselves passing through beautiful, lush green farmland with lovely rolling hills and drop-dead views of the snow-covered Pyrenees, not all that far south of us. We turned off and started winding our way up into the hills to get to Montsegur.
We stopped at the tiny hanging village of Montsegur before heading up to the castle. We walked through the village and down a couple lanes and stumbled on a blackboard listing a menu for lunch. It was an exquisitely pretty day and we were in no hurry, so we decided to make a lunch stop. We wandered down a path to a little terrace at the far edge of the town. We sat under a very fragrant lilac in full bloom and had a view of the fabled castle at the very top of a major hunk of rock in one direction and a lovely view of a high rocky cliff with orchards and a garden in the other direction. Our proprietress/chef was very friendly and served us some very tasty food. She made at least three trips from her kitchen out to her garden to get fresh herbs and pretty, edible flowers to adorn our dishes. It was pure bliss. We could never ask for a prettier setting--beautiful views, fragrant lilac, active birdsong, and yummy rustic country food. A lovely, most likely never-to-be-repeated experience.
We headed up the steep track to Chateau Montsegur. An impressive sight, to be sure. But an oh so sad tale. The last 200 Cathars were holed up here in 1243-44, under siege and surrounded by 10,000 Crusaders. They eventually walked down the hill, surrendered, and walked onto a pyre where they were burned alive.
We next stopped in the bustling town of Foix, which is dominated by a 3-towered castle. We found parking in the main square area and started walking up and up and up--first through a residential/commercial area and then on steep cobblestoned switchbacks that made sure you were glad when you made it to the top. I was glad I'd worn my sturdiest shoes, because those cobblestones can be challenging. No Cathars here, but lots of history. The foundation was laid in 1000 AD.
On Friday, we left Mirepoix and headed to the Mediterranean coast, just north of the Spanish border. We were still in the heart of Cathar territory on the bulk of our day's route. We stopped at Chateau Puivert to see one more castle before leaving this area in our rear view mirror. We drove up a track that we initially passed by because we could not believe it could be our entrance. It was a once-paved goat track that our little rental Opel seemed to take reasonably in stride. After lurching our way to a parking lot, we started the steep path up to the castle. Once at the top, we got to visit a pretty original (i.e., pretty rugged) castle and to enjoy views to a strikingly beautiful valley.
Deciding we'd had enough climbing and castles to hold us for awhile, we beetled off to the southeast and the next leg of our journey--palm trees and Mediterranean beach towns and, of course, another wine area.
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After our mini-adventure on the Canal du Midi, we stopped Wednesday in the little town of Mirepoix. It had sounded pleasant to me as I perused one guidebook or the other during our planning phase. It looked like a good jumping-off point for several possible excursions, so we opted to stay for 2 nights.
Mirepoix turned out to be a interesting town in its own right. It is not a tourist Mecca and has all the usual work-a-day edges to it. But its town square is something to behold. It is completely rimmed with medieval arcades. Huge ancient timbers hold up multi-colored, half-timbered buildings. In one section of the arcades, the ends of the timbers are carved with faces and animals. They are very weathered and worn--you would be too if you were 700 years old!--and quite intriguing.
We had been worried that everything would be closed up on Easter weekend all over France. Not to worry. When we arrived in Mirepoix, everywhere were signs promoting their annual jazz festival, which takes place on the Saturday to Monday Easter 3-day weekend. We saw pictures that show they fill the central square with big tables, and they have an impressive list of performers and concerts. We were leaving the day before this all would happen, which is probably why we were able to walk into a hotel and get a room. It also probably explains why it was the last room available. People were arriving in town, and it was clear it was going to be hopping.
We are in Cathar country now. We have left the vineyards behind and instead are seeing signs pointing to towers and castles and museums.
One of the excursions I was hoping to make while we were in this this area was a visit to Montsegur. It was the site of one of the last chapters of the Albigensian Crusade--the church's war against the "heretical" Cathars.
We drove south and found ourselves passing through beautiful, lush green farmland with lovely rolling hills and drop-dead views of the snow-covered Pyrenees, not all that far south of us. We turned off and started winding our way up into the hills to get to Montsegur.
We stopped at the tiny hanging village of Montsegur before heading up to the castle. We walked through the village and down a couple lanes and stumbled on a blackboard listing a menu for lunch. It was an exquisitely pretty day and we were in no hurry, so we decided to make a lunch stop. We wandered down a path to a little terrace at the far edge of the town. We sat under a very fragrant lilac in full bloom and had a view of the fabled castle at the very top of a major hunk of rock in one direction and a lovely view of a high rocky cliff with orchards and a garden in the other direction. Our proprietress/chef was very friendly and served us some very tasty food. She made at least three trips from her kitchen out to her garden to get fresh herbs and pretty, edible flowers to adorn our dishes. It was pure bliss. We could never ask for a prettier setting--beautiful views, fragrant lilac, active birdsong, and yummy rustic country food. A lovely, most likely never-to-be-repeated experience.
We headed up the steep track to Chateau Montsegur. An impressive sight, to be sure. But an oh so sad tale. The last 200 Cathars were holed up here in 1243-44, under siege and surrounded by 10,000 Crusaders. They eventually walked down the hill, surrendered, and walked onto a pyre where they were burned alive.
We next stopped in the bustling town of Foix, which is dominated by a 3-towered castle. We found parking in the main square area and started walking up and up and up--first through a residential/commercial area and then on steep cobblestoned switchbacks that made sure you were glad when you made it to the top. I was glad I'd worn my sturdiest shoes, because those cobblestones can be challenging. No Cathars here, but lots of history. The foundation was laid in 1000 AD.
On Friday, we left Mirepoix and headed to the Mediterranean coast, just north of the Spanish border. We were still in the heart of Cathar territory on the bulk of our day's route. We stopped at Chateau Puivert to see one more castle before leaving this area in our rear view mirror. We drove up a track that we initially passed by because we could not believe it could be our entrance. It was a once-paved goat track that our little rental Opel seemed to take reasonably in stride. After lurching our way to a parking lot, we started the steep path up to the castle. Once at the top, we got to visit a pretty original (i.e., pretty rugged) castle and to enjoy views to a strikingly beautiful valley.
Deciding we'd had enough climbing and castles to hold us for awhile, we beetled off to the southeast and the next leg of our journey--palm trees and Mediterranean beach towns and, of course, another wine area.
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Friday, April 18, 2014
Detour
Wednesday, April 16
Sometimes, taking a detour can be a very good thing.
A couple times, along our route these past couple days, we've gotten glimpses of the Canal du Midi. Of course, we've often heard of it, and, I think we may even have run across it on other trips. But we are in the heart of Canal du Midi country, and we have been seeing references to it, signs about it, and multiple options for experiencing it.
Jerry started doing some reading and exploring about the Canal and determined that Castelnaudary was a good place for us to be able to walk along the Canal and maybe even take a boat trip on it.
So, even though we were planning to head southwest this morning, we instead set a northwest course from Carcassonne to Castelnaudary. We got there about lunchtime, so of course everything was closed including the Tourist Information office. Still, we found the Grand Bassin (a large "bay", with several arms of the Canal that spin off from there). Then we located a nice, scenic arm of the Canal and pulled off so we could wander along its banks.
We decided we had to at least try to find the boat--the Saint Roch--that makes 1- and 2-hour Canal excursions. We tried simply driving along the Canal from the main square, and there the Saint Roch sat. There was no one around except a man sitting on the deck. There didn't appear to be a ticket booth or anything of that ilk. We had to make a full circuit of the town to find some parking, but we finally landed a coveted spot and walked to the boat. I asked the fellow if the boat was "going" today, and he said yes if he had a minimum of 10 people. That sounded a little less than hopeful since there was absolutely no one around and we were only a half hour before the stated trip time on the boat's sign. The man said he thought he had 7 or 8 people lined up. We would make 10, so he encouraged us to come back in 20 minutes.
Sure enough, when we returned at 2:20pm, a family of 4 showed up. Then several others joined them and 2 more after that--a big family group. We boarded and the boat pushed off, except for the bow which was the last thing to be untethered. Here came a family of 3, who managed to talk their way onto the boat. They jumped onto the bow, and off we went.
First, we made a circuit of the Bassin. Then we took the canal northwest toward Toulouse. It looks just like we imagined, though perhaps smaller. It is peaceful and shaded. There is a path along one side, and people were walking their dogs or cycling. Occasionally, a small car would come hurtling down the road too. Yikes!
On our return leg, we were cruising past a school and sport field, just a ways up a slope. Suddenly, a yellow soccer ball came splashing into the canal. Our captain moved our barge closer to the ball. His wife tried to push it toward several teenage boys that were looking sadly at the ball. That didn't do the trick, so we edged closer to the ball again. After a couple more tries, the captain laid on the bow and scooped it up. He gave it to one of the young men on our tour and got a bit closer to the bank. The fellow tossed it hard. It made it to the edge of the canal, and we chugged back toward town. Just a little slice of life along the Canal du Midi.
Hanging on our wall at home is an old French etching of a canal, with trees rimming its edge and a path running alongside. It is already a favorite of ours, but it will mean even more to us now.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sometimes, taking a detour can be a very good thing.
A couple times, along our route these past couple days, we've gotten glimpses of the Canal du Midi. Of course, we've often heard of it, and, I think we may even have run across it on other trips. But we are in the heart of Canal du Midi country, and we have been seeing references to it, signs about it, and multiple options for experiencing it.
Jerry started doing some reading and exploring about the Canal and determined that Castelnaudary was a good place for us to be able to walk along the Canal and maybe even take a boat trip on it.
So, even though we were planning to head southwest this morning, we instead set a northwest course from Carcassonne to Castelnaudary. We got there about lunchtime, so of course everything was closed including the Tourist Information office. Still, we found the Grand Bassin (a large "bay", with several arms of the Canal that spin off from there). Then we located a nice, scenic arm of the Canal and pulled off so we could wander along its banks.
We decided we had to at least try to find the boat--the Saint Roch--that makes 1- and 2-hour Canal excursions. We tried simply driving along the Canal from the main square, and there the Saint Roch sat. There was no one around except a man sitting on the deck. There didn't appear to be a ticket booth or anything of that ilk. We had to make a full circuit of the town to find some parking, but we finally landed a coveted spot and walked to the boat. I asked the fellow if the boat was "going" today, and he said yes if he had a minimum of 10 people. That sounded a little less than hopeful since there was absolutely no one around and we were only a half hour before the stated trip time on the boat's sign. The man said he thought he had 7 or 8 people lined up. We would make 10, so he encouraged us to come back in 20 minutes.
Sure enough, when we returned at 2:20pm, a family of 4 showed up. Then several others joined them and 2 more after that--a big family group. We boarded and the boat pushed off, except for the bow which was the last thing to be untethered. Here came a family of 3, who managed to talk their way onto the boat. They jumped onto the bow, and off we went.
First, we made a circuit of the Bassin. Then we took the canal northwest toward Toulouse. It looks just like we imagined, though perhaps smaller. It is peaceful and shaded. There is a path along one side, and people were walking their dogs or cycling. Occasionally, a small car would come hurtling down the road too. Yikes!
On our return leg, we were cruising past a school and sport field, just a ways up a slope. Suddenly, a yellow soccer ball came splashing into the canal. Our captain moved our barge closer to the ball. His wife tried to push it toward several teenage boys that were looking sadly at the ball. That didn't do the trick, so we edged closer to the ball again. After a couple more tries, the captain laid on the bow and scooped it up. He gave it to one of the young men on our tour and got a bit closer to the bank. The fellow tossed it hard. It made it to the edge of the canal, and we chugged back toward town. Just a little slice of life along the Canal du Midi.
Hanging on our wall at home is an old French etching of a canal, with trees rimming its edge and a path running alongside. It is already a favorite of ours, but it will mean even more to us now.
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Tuesday, April 15, 2014
The Days of Wine and History
Monday, April 14
Monday meant it was time to move on. We aimed the car northwest. We wanted to visit the little wine-producing area of Faugeres. Quite tiny, and nothing open. Quel surprise!
From there, we were focused on getting to Saint Chinian, a well-thought-of appellation. They have a slogan that refers to the 20 villages of growers, and it sounded big enough we thought there might be some hope that the local coop would be open for tasting.
The unexpected treat was that this was some of the prettiest countryside we've driven through. We once again took tiny back roads that wound through the hills. We started seeing villages whose names we recognized from bottles of wine we've had over the years. There were big, sweeping hills of vineyards, and there were vineyards tucked into little pockets of flat land in between steep hillsides. There were "hanging" vineyards high above us. We even saw a small vineyard being "weeded" by a herd of cows. Haven't seen that before. It was a beautiful day, and we had the road essentially to ourselves. What a treat indeed.
We had a leisurely lunch in a cafe in the town of Saint Chinian (of course, with a demi pichet of Saint Chinian wine). Afterwards, we drove to a viewpoint high above the town and enjoyed the pretty views of the town and the surrounding countryside. Then we located and visited the local coop. We hit pay dirt this time! It was open and tasting was being offered. We tasted a white, a pair of roses, and two reds. The lady pouring was very friendly and, between her English and our French, we were able to learn about the wines and the grapes included in each.
Having finally checked off the wine tasting box, we headed the car toward Carcassonne, our home for the next two nights. The scenery soon became less interesting, though we did get some nice sightings of the Canal du Midi. Traffic started picking up since we were arriving during rush hour. In spite of the winding streets and all the traffic (where did all of these people come from??), we found our way to our hotel.
After shaking off the road dust, we headed up the hill to La Cite, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It's always a bit of a rush when you find yourself face to face with a site/monument you've seen pictures of for many years, if not your whole life. Carcassonne is one of those kinds of places. The Romans built the first walls in the 300's, but the 1100's were its high point. The town inside the walls is mostly medieval in style, with timbered buildings. It has 52 towers and is covered with arrow slits. Rick Steves calls Carcassonne "Europe's ultimate walled fortress city." You have to keep reminding yourself that this is the real deal.
We arrived in late afternoon light. Every direction you looked, there was a golden glow. Spectacular time of day to see it. We stayed inside La Cite until well after dark, then walked a portion of the ramparts with the wonderful night lighting that France does so well with its monuments.
I'll admit it's a bit daunting to see this hunk of history with its narrow, cobblestoned streets filled not just with beaucoup tourists but also with shops selling every manner of toy swords and knight figures and pizza and incredible quantities of ice cream and candies. There are also hotels, a school, dozens of restaurants and more shops than one could count. I expected a monument--museum–like--not the hurry-gurdy atmosphere. Still, if one focuses real hard on the old stones and conical towers and ramparts, you get the essence of what it was.
To be clear that I'm not suggesting I am historically pure, I will confess that we own the European board game of Carcassonne. We haven't played it in some time, but I can't wait to pull it out and see if it doesn't feel just a tad different now that we've seen the real thing.
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Monday meant it was time to move on. We aimed the car northwest. We wanted to visit the little wine-producing area of Faugeres. Quite tiny, and nothing open. Quel surprise!
From there, we were focused on getting to Saint Chinian, a well-thought-of appellation. They have a slogan that refers to the 20 villages of growers, and it sounded big enough we thought there might be some hope that the local coop would be open for tasting.
The unexpected treat was that this was some of the prettiest countryside we've driven through. We once again took tiny back roads that wound through the hills. We started seeing villages whose names we recognized from bottles of wine we've had over the years. There were big, sweeping hills of vineyards, and there were vineyards tucked into little pockets of flat land in between steep hillsides. There were "hanging" vineyards high above us. We even saw a small vineyard being "weeded" by a herd of cows. Haven't seen that before. It was a beautiful day, and we had the road essentially to ourselves. What a treat indeed.
We had a leisurely lunch in a cafe in the town of Saint Chinian (of course, with a demi pichet of Saint Chinian wine). Afterwards, we drove to a viewpoint high above the town and enjoyed the pretty views of the town and the surrounding countryside. Then we located and visited the local coop. We hit pay dirt this time! It was open and tasting was being offered. We tasted a white, a pair of roses, and two reds. The lady pouring was very friendly and, between her English and our French, we were able to learn about the wines and the grapes included in each.
Having finally checked off the wine tasting box, we headed the car toward Carcassonne, our home for the next two nights. The scenery soon became less interesting, though we did get some nice sightings of the Canal du Midi. Traffic started picking up since we were arriving during rush hour. In spite of the winding streets and all the traffic (where did all of these people come from??), we found our way to our hotel.
After shaking off the road dust, we headed up the hill to La Cite, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It's always a bit of a rush when you find yourself face to face with a site/monument you've seen pictures of for many years, if not your whole life. Carcassonne is one of those kinds of places. The Romans built the first walls in the 300's, but the 1100's were its high point. The town inside the walls is mostly medieval in style, with timbered buildings. It has 52 towers and is covered with arrow slits. Rick Steves calls Carcassonne "Europe's ultimate walled fortress city." You have to keep reminding yourself that this is the real deal.
We arrived in late afternoon light. Every direction you looked, there was a golden glow. Spectacular time of day to see it. We stayed inside La Cite until well after dark, then walked a portion of the ramparts with the wonderful night lighting that France does so well with its monuments.
I'll admit it's a bit daunting to see this hunk of history with its narrow, cobblestoned streets filled not just with beaucoup tourists but also with shops selling every manner of toy swords and knight figures and pizza and incredible quantities of ice cream and candies. There are also hotels, a school, dozens of restaurants and more shops than one could count. I expected a monument--museum–like--not the hurry-gurdy atmosphere. Still, if one focuses real hard on the old stones and conical towers and ramparts, you get the essence of what it was.
To be clear that I'm not suggesting I am historically pure, I will confess that we own the European board game of Carcassonne. We haven't played it in some time, but I can't wait to pull it out and see if it doesn't feel just a tad different now that we've seen the real thing.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
We Went Down to the Sea
Palm Sunday, April 13
We had decided to visit the Mediterranean coastline today, but first we set out for the town and the church. We thought 10am might be a good time to see if there would be a Palm Sunday procession. We were walking up the street to the church when the bells started ringing. We noticed that there were a couple of women walking behind us who were quite purposeful in their strides and who were each carrying a handful of branches--not palms, but branches of some sort. (I finally figured out that the people were carrying olive branches. Per our Google search about this, we learned people in non-palm areas use whatever might be local, and that it is called Branch Sunday in many places.)
More and more people arrived, all carrying branches. Eventually, we had quite a crowd. There was a service being held inside the church, but the doors were open. About 10:20am, someone came out and erected a microphone and set up a table with a bowl of water and a branch stretched across the bowl. At 10:30am, the priest and his Bible-carrying acolyte came out to the steps. A couple of women said some words, with mentions of "le semaine sombre" (somber week) and "le passion et la croix" (the passion and the cross). One woman led the crowd in the singing of Hosannas while they raised their branches. Eventually, the priest read some text and said some words and raised a branch, which the crowd then did too. After about 15-20 minutes, the crowd processed into the church, many of them dipping their branches into the vessel of water as they went.
We were glad that we'd decided to go to the church. It was very interesting to see the French--or at least, Pezenas--version of our Palm Sunday tradition. I was only able to catch bits and pieces of the French spoken, but fortunately we know the story, so were able to follow along and understand generally what we were seeing.
Still taking guidance from our reading of Virgile's Vineyard, we drove south to visit several spots in the coastal portion of this area. Our first point of interest was the small town of Pinet, where we hoped to taste Picpoul de Pinet, a crisp white wine of the area. Alas, we were foiled again. The Pinet cooperative was not open yet in April. (As is quite standard in the Languedoc, the farmers belong to a cooperative, which actually makes the wine. The farmers bring their production of grapes, but the coop owns all the equipment and storage facilities for the wine. The coop makes the wine--blended from all the producers of the appellation--and markets and sells it too. The farmers are just that--farmers of grapes. There are more and more growers who are choosing to follow the model of being their own winemakers. They can bring their own taste and sensibility to the wines. They can choose what to grow and blend, though there are still rules about what they're allowed to call the wines given the grapes and combinations chosen. Until more recently, this has been a pretty daring choice. It is thumbing one's nose at tradition--and France is big on tradition.)
Our next stop was Marseillan, a port town on the Bassin de Thau, which is a large lagoon separated from the Mediterranean by a very narrow strip of land. The Bassin is known for its oyster aquaculture and has what must be acres of platforms from which the seedlings are suspended. We wanted to visit the tasting room of Noilly Prat, the famous maker of vermouth. Yet again, we were thwarted in our efforts--this time because it was a Sunday in April.
Marseillan turned out to be a very attractive little port, with sailboats and motorcraft and quayside benches and cafés. We chose a little cafe and, in defiance of our morning's tasting defeats, we had an aperitif of Noilly Prat Ambre (something we've never seen stateside) and a demi-pichet (or half liter) of Picpoul de Pinet with our lunch.
After lunch, we strolled around the quay, enjoying the fabulous weather we're having. We then took a loop drive around the Bassin to Sete, a large, super-touristy town. From here, you can take ferries to Morocco, Ibiza, and a number of other exotic-sounding ports. Being a beautiful Sunday, everybody and their brothers were out and about on the streets of Sete. We drove the scenic corniche out of town and down the long strip of barrier land between the Mediterranean Sea and the large Bassin. There were myriad beaches, with huge parking lots, and many of them very full. With temps in the upper 80's, everyone wanted to be on the beach or overlooking the sea.
It is quite incredible--and enjoyable--to have such pretty weather. We've had to keep pinching ourselves that it can be so warm and balmy in mid-April. Everything here is in bloom and full leaf. There are lilacs, and iris, and lots of lush stands of wisteria. We have been eating both lunch and dinner outside, taking afternoon naps in the sun (well, once anyway). Quite blissful. We've got lush green hills, beautiful blooming flowers and trees, charming, historic towns, the sea and vineyards. Remind us why this is somewhere we're just visiting for a short while?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
We had decided to visit the Mediterranean coastline today, but first we set out for the town and the church. We thought 10am might be a good time to see if there would be a Palm Sunday procession. We were walking up the street to the church when the bells started ringing. We noticed that there were a couple of women walking behind us who were quite purposeful in their strides and who were each carrying a handful of branches--not palms, but branches of some sort. (I finally figured out that the people were carrying olive branches. Per our Google search about this, we learned people in non-palm areas use whatever might be local, and that it is called Branch Sunday in many places.)
More and more people arrived, all carrying branches. Eventually, we had quite a crowd. There was a service being held inside the church, but the doors were open. About 10:20am, someone came out and erected a microphone and set up a table with a bowl of water and a branch stretched across the bowl. At 10:30am, the priest and his Bible-carrying acolyte came out to the steps. A couple of women said some words, with mentions of "le semaine sombre" (somber week) and "le passion et la croix" (the passion and the cross). One woman led the crowd in the singing of Hosannas while they raised their branches. Eventually, the priest read some text and said some words and raised a branch, which the crowd then did too. After about 15-20 minutes, the crowd processed into the church, many of them dipping their branches into the vessel of water as they went.
We were glad that we'd decided to go to the church. It was very interesting to see the French--or at least, Pezenas--version of our Palm Sunday tradition. I was only able to catch bits and pieces of the French spoken, but fortunately we know the story, so were able to follow along and understand generally what we were seeing.
Still taking guidance from our reading of Virgile's Vineyard, we drove south to visit several spots in the coastal portion of this area. Our first point of interest was the small town of Pinet, where we hoped to taste Picpoul de Pinet, a crisp white wine of the area. Alas, we were foiled again. The Pinet cooperative was not open yet in April. (As is quite standard in the Languedoc, the farmers belong to a cooperative, which actually makes the wine. The farmers bring their production of grapes, but the coop owns all the equipment and storage facilities for the wine. The coop makes the wine--blended from all the producers of the appellation--and markets and sells it too. The farmers are just that--farmers of grapes. There are more and more growers who are choosing to follow the model of being their own winemakers. They can bring their own taste and sensibility to the wines. They can choose what to grow and blend, though there are still rules about what they're allowed to call the wines given the grapes and combinations chosen. Until more recently, this has been a pretty daring choice. It is thumbing one's nose at tradition--and France is big on tradition.)
Our next stop was Marseillan, a port town on the Bassin de Thau, which is a large lagoon separated from the Mediterranean by a very narrow strip of land. The Bassin is known for its oyster aquaculture and has what must be acres of platforms from which the seedlings are suspended. We wanted to visit the tasting room of Noilly Prat, the famous maker of vermouth. Yet again, we were thwarted in our efforts--this time because it was a Sunday in April.
Marseillan turned out to be a very attractive little port, with sailboats and motorcraft and quayside benches and cafés. We chose a little cafe and, in defiance of our morning's tasting defeats, we had an aperitif of Noilly Prat Ambre (something we've never seen stateside) and a demi-pichet (or half liter) of Picpoul de Pinet with our lunch.
After lunch, we strolled around the quay, enjoying the fabulous weather we're having. We then took a loop drive around the Bassin to Sete, a large, super-touristy town. From here, you can take ferries to Morocco, Ibiza, and a number of other exotic-sounding ports. Being a beautiful Sunday, everybody and their brothers were out and about on the streets of Sete. We drove the scenic corniche out of town and down the long strip of barrier land between the Mediterranean Sea and the large Bassin. There were myriad beaches, with huge parking lots, and many of them very full. With temps in the upper 80's, everyone wanted to be on the beach or overlooking the sea.
It is quite incredible--and enjoyable--to have such pretty weather. We've had to keep pinching ourselves that it can be so warm and balmy in mid-April. Everything here is in bloom and full leaf. There are lilacs, and iris, and lots of lush stands of wisteria. We have been eating both lunch and dinner outside, taking afternoon naps in the sun (well, once anyway). Quite blissful. We've got lush green hills, beautiful blooming flowers and trees, charming, historic towns, the sea and vineyards. Remind us why this is somewhere we're just visiting for a short while?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, April 14, 2014
Virgile's Vineyard
Saturday, April 12. (Friends: Still testing. Trying to post with only pictures from one camera. That didn't work either. Hope you enjoy the story sans photos.)
Jerry and I both read the title book--Virgile's Vineyard, a memoir by Patrick Moon--about 8-10 years ago. I had always said that, if we were ever to go to the Languedoc, we would have to use this book as a reference point on the area's history and towns, etc. With that in mind, I reread it immediately before our trip. When Jerry picked Pezenas as the place where we would shed our jet lag and get our French "legs" and I discovered it was within a half hour's drive, I knew I wanted to spend one of our days here visiting the environs of the author and his friend Virgile Joly, the winemaker.
We started our morning with a walk into Pezenas to visit its Saturday "grand marche." It had less emphasis on food than we expect to see in a French market. There were lots of purses, lacy tops, slippers, gadgets, linens, soap, and jewelry peppered amidst the local asparagus and radishes and olives.
It was a fun and busy scene, but we decided it was time to hit the road to see the wine country of the Haut Languedoc.
We took tiny back roads as we headed north. We kept seeing allees of plane trees--one of our favorite things in France and yet another reminder that we're really here.
This area is more scenic than we were expecting. There are hills and high, rocky outcroppings. And there is a lot of open, uncultivated land. But rest assured that there are lots and lots of vineyards--some filled with gnarly old vines, some with tender new ones. The Haut Languedoc is clearly part of the bigger Languedoc-Roussillon wine region--which is the largest producer of French wines--so vineyards there must be.
We wound our way through villages and vineyards and made sure to visit Saint Saturnin, which is frequently mentioned in the book. We had no interest in being groupies, but it was hard not to get a bit of a kick out of seeing a few signs for Virgile's cave. We allowed ourselves the silly pleasure of having lunch at Le Pressoir, the favorite hangout of Patrick and Virgile. (Virgile's cave was not open, a problem we've encountered several times already, since we are visiting before "the season," which apparently begins in May.)
We drove through Montpeyroux, a well-known wine region, and up the Gorges de l'Herault. We ended our day of touring by visiting the Abbaye de Valmagne. It's unusual to find such an intact abbey. Many were used as rock quarries after the Revolution. This particular abbey was sold to someone who turned it into a wine estate and used the apse of the sanctuary to hold huge wooden barrels for fermentation. How wonderfully fitting to see this piece of history saved by wine.
Our day felt like a perfect blend of touring pleasures--walking to town and the market, seeing pretty scenery, traveling back roads, and getting some doses of history along the way. Just to end it on the right note, with our dinner we had a bottle of Virgile Joly 2010 Saturne, a very nice, earthy red that had the nose of the garrigue (or dry, scrubby area) surrounding the vines.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Jerry and I both read the title book--Virgile's Vineyard, a memoir by Patrick Moon--about 8-10 years ago. I had always said that, if we were ever to go to the Languedoc, we would have to use this book as a reference point on the area's history and towns, etc. With that in mind, I reread it immediately before our trip. When Jerry picked Pezenas as the place where we would shed our jet lag and get our French "legs" and I discovered it was within a half hour's drive, I knew I wanted to spend one of our days here visiting the environs of the author and his friend Virgile Joly, the winemaker.
We started our morning with a walk into Pezenas to visit its Saturday "grand marche." It had less emphasis on food than we expect to see in a French market. There were lots of purses, lacy tops, slippers, gadgets, linens, soap, and jewelry peppered amidst the local asparagus and radishes and olives.
It was a fun and busy scene, but we decided it was time to hit the road to see the wine country of the Haut Languedoc.
We took tiny back roads as we headed north. We kept seeing allees of plane trees--one of our favorite things in France and yet another reminder that we're really here.
This area is more scenic than we were expecting. There are hills and high, rocky outcroppings. And there is a lot of open, uncultivated land. But rest assured that there are lots and lots of vineyards--some filled with gnarly old vines, some with tender new ones. The Haut Languedoc is clearly part of the bigger Languedoc-Roussillon wine region--which is the largest producer of French wines--so vineyards there must be.
We wound our way through villages and vineyards and made sure to visit Saint Saturnin, which is frequently mentioned in the book. We had no interest in being groupies, but it was hard not to get a bit of a kick out of seeing a few signs for Virgile's cave. We allowed ourselves the silly pleasure of having lunch at Le Pressoir, the favorite hangout of Patrick and Virgile. (Virgile's cave was not open, a problem we've encountered several times already, since we are visiting before "the season," which apparently begins in May.)
We drove through Montpeyroux, a well-known wine region, and up the Gorges de l'Herault. We ended our day of touring by visiting the Abbaye de Valmagne. It's unusual to find such an intact abbey. Many were used as rock quarries after the Revolution. This particular abbey was sold to someone who turned it into a wine estate and used the apse of the sanctuary to hold huge wooden barrels for fermentation. How wonderfully fitting to see this piece of history saved by wine.
Our day felt like a perfect blend of touring pleasures--walking to town and the market, seeing pretty scenery, traveling back roads, and getting some doses of history along the way. Just to end it on the right note, with our dinner we had a bottle of Virgile Joly 2010 Saturne, a very nice, earthy red that had the nose of the garrigue (or dry, scrubby area) surrounding the vines.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
We're Not in Kansas Anymore, Toto
Friday, April 11, 2014 (Friends: I have not been able to get my blog to post. I am trying it without photos to see if that is the problem.)
We had a pretty uneventful trip from Portland to Amsterdam. We had been nervous about our relatively short connection time at Schiphol Airport, but it proved to be a needless concern. We were very efficiently whisked through security and passport control and were on our way to a different concourse. We arrived at our gate with about 10 minutes to spare before boarding. Whew!
We then flew south to Nice. We picked up our car and jumped onto the autoroute. The sad thing about the big "A" roads (besides the pesky tolls) is that you could be absolutely anywhere. It's just a big (not so) freeway, with cars buzzing all around you. But it was the appropriate choice for this leg of the trip. We had about 4 hours of driving ahead of us, even at A road speeds.
Our destination--Pezenas--required a bit more driver and navigator attention than was perhaps desirable, given our generally rummy condition, but we got to our hotel without incident. We were about 35 Euros lighter in our wallets, and our nerves were a tad frayed from our multiple confrontations with the pay stations. There really should have been a big sign on our car that warned other drivers away from following us into the pay lanes. We had hoped our new credit cards with embedded chips would do the trick for paying the tolls. Alas, it was not to be, though we tried valiantly. (We had been warned that this nifty new option for toll payments did not work in the south of France, but were still hopeful until a fairly agonizing first toll booth.) In the absence of that option, we just had to make sure we had lots of coin and paper Euro options for feeding the greedy machines.
The hassles of the road behind us, we found our hotel and thankfully checked in. Even though it was only 5pm, I was ready to call it a day. But after shaking off a little road dust, Jerry suggested a walk through our town of Pezenas. It was a "just right" idea. Such a historic and architecturally interesting town. Cobblestones, narrow streets, marvelous old doors--and every manner of ironwork on the balconies. Pezenas is very proud of its Moliere connection. Moliere lived and wrote here in the 1650's (!). You see reference to him here and there throughout the town.
After wandering and oohing and ahing until the appropriate dinner hour--8pm--we picked a charming little restaurant and sank into our chairs. We were served a whole fish of some sort. Our serving person boned it at our table--and a very impressive amount of bones it was. This was served with mussels and two grilled, local squid, which are about six times bigger than anything we would think to call squid at home. Being the south of France, our fish came with a yummy ratatouille.
We have not seen this region of France before. Though not far from Provence, the Haut Languedoc has a personality all its own. The A road may have felt like anywhere, but now we know we're not home anymore.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
We had a pretty uneventful trip from Portland to Amsterdam. We had been nervous about our relatively short connection time at Schiphol Airport, but it proved to be a needless concern. We were very efficiently whisked through security and passport control and were on our way to a different concourse. We arrived at our gate with about 10 minutes to spare before boarding. Whew!
We then flew south to Nice. We picked up our car and jumped onto the autoroute. The sad thing about the big "A" roads (besides the pesky tolls) is that you could be absolutely anywhere. It's just a big (not so) freeway, with cars buzzing all around you. But it was the appropriate choice for this leg of the trip. We had about 4 hours of driving ahead of us, even at A road speeds.
Our destination--Pezenas--required a bit more driver and navigator attention than was perhaps desirable, given our generally rummy condition, but we got to our hotel without incident. We were about 35 Euros lighter in our wallets, and our nerves were a tad frayed from our multiple confrontations with the pay stations. There really should have been a big sign on our car that warned other drivers away from following us into the pay lanes. We had hoped our new credit cards with embedded chips would do the trick for paying the tolls. Alas, it was not to be, though we tried valiantly. (We had been warned that this nifty new option for toll payments did not work in the south of France, but were still hopeful until a fairly agonizing first toll booth.) In the absence of that option, we just had to make sure we had lots of coin and paper Euro options for feeding the greedy machines.
The hassles of the road behind us, we found our hotel and thankfully checked in. Even though it was only 5pm, I was ready to call it a day. But after shaking off a little road dust, Jerry suggested a walk through our town of Pezenas. It was a "just right" idea. Such a historic and architecturally interesting town. Cobblestones, narrow streets, marvelous old doors--and every manner of ironwork on the balconies. Pezenas is very proud of its Moliere connection. Moliere lived and wrote here in the 1650's (!). You see reference to him here and there throughout the town.
After wandering and oohing and ahing until the appropriate dinner hour--8pm--we picked a charming little restaurant and sank into our chairs. We were served a whole fish of some sort. Our serving person boned it at our table--and a very impressive amount of bones it was. This was served with mussels and two grilled, local squid, which are about six times bigger than anything we would think to call squid at home. Being the south of France, our fish came with a yummy ratatouille.
We have not seen this region of France before. Though not far from Provence, the Haut Languedoc has a personality all its own. The A road may have felt like anywhere, but now we know we're not home anymore.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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