It's A Small World, After All

After my hike last Sunday, I returned to my host, Francis's, house and met my new housemates and fellow students.  Bernadette Kelly is a former teacher from Wogga Wogga --is that a wonderful name or what --Australia.  She has done an enormous amount of travel and has spent time in France on sabbatical.  This was not her first time at a language school, though first here, so her French is significantly better.  Deborah Lyon is a real estate developer who lives in a small country town near London--and her French language skills are more similar to mine.  We all quickly became good buds.  It was a really much nicer experience to have other people in class, although I did enjoy my days having a teacher to myself.  But the best part was having 2 other people in the afternoon and evening to hang out with.

We arrived in class on Monday morning and met the 4th member of our class, John Steele.  John and wife Bonnie have a house in Menerbes and he has taken seversl classes when they have been here on their spring or fall visits.  Like every 1st day in class, we all introduced ourselves.  I began, in my best  French, by saying "j'habite a colorado".  John broke in to say he does too.  Startled into forgetting my French (not hard to do), I said "Where-I live in Durango".  His reply---"Telluride."  After much exclaiming, I asked if he were retired.  No, he says, I'm still practicing law.  Exclamations again--but I'm a retired lawyer,  I say.  So moving along, I continue and comment "je suis nee en Caroline du nord".  At which John comments, "so was I--in Hendersonville"  But he left at a young age and moved to Brooklyn, so we were able to stop the amazing string of coincidences.  But you have to wonder--what are the odds??  The world is truly so small.

A 4 person class is much different from a single person.  The conversations with Barbara became class exercises, more grammar, less free form, but with learning coming from the interactions among us.  It was clear that Bernadette had a much stronger grasp of the language, and, although she was working right along with us, she needed, and wanted, something more challenging.  Susan brought another teacher in and Bernadette worked on conversation with her after the second day.

We all still took our breaks together, with Barbara, at Bar Des Amis, next door.  Usually a coffee break, except when the red headed mademoiselle was the bar tender.  She was a source of much consternation.  There has never been a less service oriented person in the world.  Her primary occupation was doing crossword puzzles, making coffee was a sideline which she saw as a major inconvenience.  She did it badly and grudgingly.  When Thierry, the owner, was there, the coffee was excellent and he went over board to be friendly and helpful.  But mademoiselle couldn't be bothered.  One morning she refused to make the middle size coffees--there was only petit ou grand, although one could see all the moyen size cups on the shelf.  She just wasn't in a moyen kind of mood.  John made up for her, though, by supplying us with sacristain from the boulangerie across the street. Those pastries should be a controlled substance.

After class, the other two women and I explored.  One day we drove to Goult for lunch and spent the rest of the day wandering around.  This a village I had never visited before.  It is not touristy, but really lovely.  It is a hill town,with an old church, an old clock tower and chateau.  Although it had all the same stuff, it was different from every thing else.  I am always struck by how the towns have the same ingredients, but come out all different. Goult felt bourgoise, in a good way.  It was clean, the streets were swept, it was quiet, buildings were painted and well kempt  There was a feel of somebody taking care of things.  Here are a couple pictures.

     

A typical village house in Goult      

















The restaurant La Poste, where we
had lunch.






After class another day, Susan took us on a tour of towns east and north of St.Sat.  Check these out:

Sault, the village at the base of Mt. Ventoux.  It's always full of cyclists.  Left is a cafe beside the boules court. And a charcuterie, specializing in all things piggy.


















These two were taken in the teeny village of Brantes which clings to the side of a hill overlooking some of the most isolated country I've seen here.  It was a total Kodak moment.  Seems this little place is on the list of les plus beaux villages in France.  Who knew??

                                                                     

                                                                                 













And the last village---for today, anyway---Joucas.  Full of artists, but not so many tourists

Enough gorgeous, centuries old stone buildings for one day.  I'll save Rousillion for another time.

PS:  I JUST PREVIEWED THIS POST AND SAW THE PICTURES ARRANGED ALL SCREWY, BUT  I CAN'T SEEM TO MAKE THEM MOVE.  USE YOUR IMAGINATION TO MAKE IT ALL LOOK BEAUTIFUL.

On the trail

The blog has been lonely the last few days.  I've been neglecting it because of lots going on---but also I forgot its password and couldn't get into the poor baby to give it any words of encouragement. To catch up, I'll hurry through some things, but hit all the high spots.

Going way back, Sunday was quite an interesting day, in a very good way.  My rendez-vous with the Randonneurs was set for 8:30  behind the pharmacie.  I packed  an apple, some cheese & toast (the closest thing I could find to crackers  at the super marche in Apt) and a Luna bar into my back pack, put on my hiking gear and took off for the meeting place. Walking down the street, I saw a guy dressed in hiking gear, wearing a pack and carrying walking poles going the same way.  I asked if he were going on the hike, he said yes, I told him I was, too, that I was a visitor and did not speak very good French. So he said let's talk in English then.  Turns out he's a Belgian staying in St. Sat for a while who speaks English well, has spent time in the US and really likes Bryce and Arches Parks.  When we got to the parking lot, he introduced me to several people--I even got to do the 3-pecks-on-the-cheek greeting thing--and helped me find someone to ride with.  I would have been lost without him.

We drove about 30 km. to the village of Simiane la Rodonde and started walking from the lot at the base of the village up to the church and round wall at the top of the village.  The village is lovely, and pretty steep, probably the steepest bit of the day. From there we soon picked up the GR 4 trail.  France has a system of trails, called Grand Randonnee, covering the whole country.  Several go through this area, which is actually fairly rugged for  France.  This part of the GR4 was not so much.  There was some walking on pavement, a lot on small dirt roads, a lot near cultivated fields of lavender with quite a lot of farmhouses around.  The route followed GR4 for probably 8 or 9 miles, making its was through some forest to a ridge line.  At the top there were lavender fields as far one could see.  The lavender has all been cut--harvest is in early July--but there were enough stray stems left that I have a nice little bunch of lavender flowers drying on the mantle. At the top, there was also a lavender distillery in a small building.  This place would work almost around the clock for the few weeks of harvest, then shut down for the rest of the year.

So far during the walk I had heard a couple gun shots, and had seen some dogs on  the loose.  Coming out of the woods into the fields at one point we encountered a lone hunter with his dog.  This is the sanglier season for hunters in the Vaucluse, and Sunday seems to be a popular day.  I have heard there is a movement to outlaw hunting on Sunday in order to make it safer for families to go for walks and enjoy the outdoors on that day.  But then, everyone also says these wild boars are a menace and need to be hunted.  I was told there are sanglier which come into gardens in St Sat. at night and root all through them.

Soon after passing the distillery we left the GR4 and turned back toward Simiane. Just at noon, there was a car parked along the small dirt road where we walked.  Lunch was called, and we all stopped in the woods, where Michel, the husband of Monique, the hike leader, met us.  He had brought cold apple cider for all. We sat down and got out lunchches.  I soon finished my apple and cheese and started looking around to see when someone would leave.  There was still a lot of laughing and talking, cider being drunk and no sign of leaving.  A couple of guys passed around some digestif--I turned down what sounded like a pretty good homemade herbal liqeuer--and a few seemed to be napping.  This was not the kind of hiking lunch stop I was used to.  About 1 1/4 hours after stopping we gathered ourselves and got back on the trail---a tres French experience.
 
I was struck, though, at how much the day felt like being back with SO in Durango.  The most striking difference--apart from lunch--was the numbers.  This group has 150 members, and 36 of them showed up for this hike.  This an average number, some are bigger.

About 16 km., and 7 hours after starting, we got back to the cars at Simiane.
It had been a long hot day, but one I enjoyed and needed.  The exercise was way overdue.

When I got back to the house, my new classmates for the coming week had arrived.  More to come on that.

Around Town

My holiday is over--no more skipping class. Wednesday morning I met Barbara, my professeur de langue.  She is a French native who has lived in Great Britain, a young mother of two, and very patient with my slow, halting speech. She, on the other hand, is tres vite to my ears, running every word together to make one giant flood of sound.  There have been struggles, but she then sees the totally blank look on my face and slows down so I have a chance to catch up with her.  We finished the day today with l'adjectif possessif et le pronom possessif--what a rousing way to end the first week.

I decided to take a break from grammar this afternoon and walk around town taking pictures to put together a little scrap book look at my village. My photography skills are't great, but I hope you'll enjoy.                                                                                                                        
This is where I'm staying for the first 2 weeks, chez M. Jullien.  I love this front door.  I have a key that looks like it opens a dungeon, it goes into the lock and is carefully turned to the just right spot, then I throw my left hip against the door and push.  It sounds like the house is exploding, and the door cracks open enough for me to grab the big, heavy knob in the middle of it and push my way in.  It took a while for me to get that rhythm, but now I just love it.

Above the "modern" village are the ruins of a fortified village, dominated by a donjon and chapel consecrated in 1056. There has been some reconstruction of the chapel and it can actually be used now.

 

All these additional shots are just places I thought looked cool, and representative, as I walked around this afternoon.  There are both of the boulangeries (one of which has a charming statue of a pony in front of it), another bar, a medieval building once attached to the earlier fortifications and now renovated with apartments, and just general stuff.  It's St. Saturnin, in the Luberon, on a Friday afternoon in September.

                                                                         
 

Bon weekend a tous

A VERY CIVILIZED HIKE

At 9:15 this morning I was meeting Susan to go with her hiking friends for a marche a pied.  The morning began with le petite dejuner with M Francis Jullien and his other guests.  Over cafe, croissants,  confiture et fruits, the discussion turned to baking.  As a young person, Francis had lived with his aunt and uncle in Cavaillon and worked with them in their bakery.  He was describing the work of the boulanger, how the different breads were made what sorts of flour were used---intriguing stuff for me. He had also worked as a patissier, and had pictures of some incredible cakes he had made, decorated with pate choux decorations.  I got so involved, I almost forgot about my hike and had to be reminded at 9:10 to get moving.

I got myself quickly out the door and down to the grocer's where I met Susan for the drive through Apt and south to the hameau of Severgues.  The wind was blowing like mad and Susan says it seems like a combo of the mistral and the tremontane, because the sky was full of clouds and the mistral always brings absolutely clear skies.  Our hike started through woods and in shade, so whatever the wind was, it was quite chill.  There were 18 in the group, mostly Brits, one Canadian and one French couple.  More of an intro to the ex-pat community than French immersion, but yet another new experience for me.

We walked out of Severgues for a couple km then back, on a track through wild herbs, ---mint, thyme, and summer savory.  The smell was like walking through a sachet. Back at the cars, we took a turn up the hill to walk to our lunch target, the chevre farm.
                                     

                                                                                             




The early part of the hike, through the herb garden.










                                                               

             
                 The petite eglise of the hameau,                

                with a schedule of masses that
                looks like there is a traveling
                priest who makes his way here
                about once a month.






                                                                       


After about a kilometre of going uphill, we saw  the lunch destination, Le Castelas, a most unusual inn, restaurant and farm in the Luberon hills.

        Although there were sturdy tables for  sitting outside, the wind made this an inside kind of day.   We sat down to a table with  water and vin rose. Imediately, platters of paper thin slices of jambon---that looked and tasted like the salt cured "country ham" of the South, or maybe prosciutto---appeared. Next came lovely baguettes, roasted pimentos and an aubergine tapenade.  I made a complete pig of myself, thinking what a nice lunch this was.  Those platters were taken away, presumably for the cheese course.  But then a platter with pasta and pork roast appeared, of which I could only take a few bites.  That disappeared, and my expected cheese course did come in, with peaches, pears and grapes. There were several soft fromages chevre, a hard cheese I didn't know, and a small cup of thick lavendar honey.  The hard cheese with honey was heaven.

                                                               
Over coffee, the dogs began to get restless, so we moved out for the walk back down the hill.

Looking back at le Caselas from the road.










A lovely day, lovely people (and dogs) and a lovely walk.

BACK TO SCHOOL

The first day of school has always been stressful, hasn't it?  It doesn't get mush easier as you age.  It just happens that I'm the only student this week---which is good because I will have one on one instruction, but bad because there will be no one else to give me a break from being always on.

My instructor today was an excellent teacher named Giovanni---yes, an Italian teaching me French, who was born in London so he's British, who has spent enough time in Ireland to also be an Irish national and who now lives in France.  And he has an immense knowledge of language not just to speak it but to understand the "why" of the words and the construction.  For example, there is a little accent mark in
French, called a circumflex, which has never seemed to me to have any purpose at all.  It is only used above "o's", has no impact on pronunciation and just seemed to sit there meaninglessly.  But Giovanni explained it all.  Every time you see an "o circumflex", you know there was once an "s" that followed that letter, but is no longer there.  For example, the french word hopital (imagine the little house top circumflex above the o) means hospital, and was spelled that way at one time.  This sorta makes me a linguistic nerd, I guess, but I think that is tres cool.

Normally the students all go to the home of the school  director, Susan Bento, for lunch, but with only me as the student body, Susan and I had a wonderful lunch at the local Hotel (used to be spelled hostel) Saint Hubert---greens with a perfect viniagrette, a tiny glass of gazpacho, slices of melon from Cavaillon, une petite portion de chevre, olive tapenade, aubergine tapenade and wonderful crusty bread.  Every taste was fresh, balanced, the essence of that food, and just enough of each to give one the pleasure of the thing without overwhelming.  Later this afternoon she took me on a walking tour of the town---from the 11th century chateau, church and city walls, past the moulin (grain mill) used in the 16th century, through the garrigue (scrubby vegetation) on the hill above town with its marvelous and absolutely unique herbal smell and by the medieval village houses still in use for 21st century residences.

Tomorrow I'll get another benefit of being the only student, I get to skip class and take a hike.  I had asked Susan months ago about hiking and she told me of her friend who has a weekly group.  Tomorrow we are joining the group to hike toward the town of Buoux to a chevre farm for lunch.  So I'm playing hooky with the principal, but she told me I could make up the class later.

I have another hiking experience booked for Sunday with the Association de Randonnee Pedestre Saturninoise, the hiking club.  I had discovered this group on the St. Saturnin official web site that listed all the local clubs.  Walking around town on Saturday, I saw a flyer posted for an open house on Sunday of all the Associations.  I went by there and "talked" to their president (somehow in 2 languages we made ourselves understood).  This is a super organized group with planned hikes for every other Sunday through the year.  Next Sunday, I'm meeting them at 8:30 in the parking lot behind the pharmacy to drive to the trailhead at Simiane la Rotonde.  From my conversation, I wasn't sure if this hike was six kilometres or seize (6 or 16), but I was sent a hike map for seize km., (environ 6 heures de marche), a cumulative altitude change of 640 m, with some rocky descents.  Hope hiking in the San Juans has me prepared for this.

Sorry no pictures today, bit I'll try to do better.

In St. Saturnin----Finally

The travel gods were angry on Thursday.  They teased me with an easy flight from Durango to Denver, then slapped me with a flight delay that got me to DC 15 minutes after my Paris flight left---au revoir.  Initially I was told there was nothing to do but wait a day and get the same flight, making me spend a night at Dulles airport.  Finally one agent offered a late flight to Frankfurt, transferring to a flight that would put me in Paris late afternoon---I chose to overnight at CDG instead of Dulles. The gods must have decided they had messed with me enough, because I got a seat on the Frankfurt flight, which was totally booked, that happily was beside 2 "no show" seats.  I had 3 seats, the entire section, for myself.  I lay flat down, took a wonder pill, and slept across the Atlantic.

Once in Paris, I had to reorganize all my careful planning,starting with a new train ticket for the next morning, then a place to sleep for that night, then the car pick up in Avignon and notifying all the people who were expecting me to be in St. Sat that day.  The hotel I chose was an Ibis, which I knew was a well regarded lower cost chain.  This one was quite an experience---it was an Ibis Budget---completely no frills and not attempting to be anything else.  But it was all I needed.  There was a bed, comfortable, and a bathroom, clean.  It was small, utilitarian, like being in a neat and clean dorm room.  See what I mean:

When I walked down the stairs at the Avignon TGV station, there was a nice young man representing Renault, holding a big sign with my name on it.  After all the chaos of the previous 2 days, that was somehow immensely comforting---my life was getting back on track.   David, the Renault guy, took me to his office, aka, the convenience store, explained the car, especially the GPS, had me sign a paper, fill her up, then sent me on my way with a brand new tiny Renault Clio. Despite my fears of the straght shift, Clio and had a lovely trip through the heart of the Luberon to St. Sat.

I found my home for the next 2 weeks without any problem, settled quickly and took a walk around the village.  It is lovely, typically full of stone buildings with tile roofs, narrow streets running up and down a hillside, with a ruined chateau above it all.  M. Jullien's house is 3 restored stories with a fourth above.  I'm in a large room with (non-working) fireplace, ensuite bath,  at least 5 ft. tall windows with heavy wood shutters---exactly what you expect from the real estate pictures of the classic Provencal village home.

This is the exterior of the house, the one with the blue shutters, on the Rue de la Republique.  My bedroom windows are the 2 on the left of the 3d story.

This lovely old church sits at the top of the street,
about  a half block away, and has lovely old
church bells that ring every hour.

The bottom of "my street", with the boulangerie/patisserie on the right side, the Bar Mes Amis on the left, the ochre colored front 2 doors up from the bar is my school.







I've just heard the lovely old church bells chime the half hour, meaning it's now 11:30, so I should be in bed.  Tomorrow is the first day of school---what shall I wear???

It's now D-Day (departure) minus 2, and counting.  The bags are out and ready for filling, I've checked all my tickets, itineraries, devices and chargers (even us old Luddites must now have devices before doing anything) and am on track to leave Durango at 7:30 Thursday morning.  Arrival in Paris is 7:00 Friday morning, then the train gets to Avignon at 14:30. ( I'm trying to get my head used to the 24 hour clock.)  If all works well, I should be met there by someone from Renault who will have my car.  I have leased a small Renault Clio with straight shift, just like when I was learning to drive about a hundred years ago.  After more than a year of planning, I'm so ready to just do this.

Here's a little back story on what "this" is.  I love France, and have often commented that I would like to spend an extended amount of time there, trying to really get to know the culture.  That thought was being discussed last summer with friends and my long suffering and very understanding spouse, when it hit me that if I don't do it now, I will never do it.  

In August, 2013, I turned 70.  That is worthy of a significant celebration, and I decided to give myself that extended trip to France to recognize that.  As I looked at options, I discovered language school, and realized that was exactly what I needed.  How can one understand a culture without knowing some of the language?  So on Monday, Sept. 16, I will start immersion in the French language at the Language in Provence school (http://www.languageinprovence.com/en/) in St. Saturnin les Apt, Vaucluse, France.  There will be 2 weeks of language classes, during which I will stay in a French household.  Then I have rented a gite in the same village for the next 4 weeks, after which I'll go back to Paris for a few days, then home to Durango on Oct. 30. Une bonne fête d'anniversaire, n'est ce pas?

I hope to capture my thoughts, adventures, every day stuff, and all my sure-to-happen faux pas along the way, in this blog.  Joining me in France will be good friends Dottie Blanchard, for a few days in early Oct., Alice Washington, later in the month, and, at the end, my brother, Sam Isley, and sister in law, Claire, for the last 4 days in Provence and the time in Paris.  Except for that, I'll be on my own in the wilds of southern France---yeah, throw me in that briar patch.

There are, of course, other ways to commemorate 70 years of life, generally well-lived.  And I had another memorable celebration, thanks to some wonderful women friends in my wonderful adopted home town of Durango and the incredible Colorado mountains where we play.  Here's a quick look at how turning 70 is celebrated in the Rocky Mountains.

I'm arriving at the rustic cabin high on Red Mountain to have a sleepover with a few friends who will be nice to me (not) on this almost birthday day.  And I have no idea what is planned for me.














There were toasts, there was lots of food, there was laughing and tales of past adventures, 

                                                                   there was excellent
                                                                   mushrooming-- and                         

there was hiking in these gorgeous mountains.  Birthdays at 12,500 ft. are so much more special!

                                                             

Thank you all for the great time.  Maintenant, je vais en France.  Stay tuned and share the fun with me.