Highpoints and Lowpoints

The second day of Alice's visit involved a long road trip---and needs some explanation.  There is a blog called French Word A Day, to which Alice introduced me a couple years ago.  It is written by an American from Az., Kristin Espinasse, who married a French man and, at that time, was living and making wine very near St. Sat.  Since then, she has moved to the Bandol area, where she and Jean Marc are planting a new vineyard in that AOC.   A mutual friend from NC, Robyn Mixon, had visited their winery and painted a picture of their wine bottles which was on the blog when Alice first sent it to me.  Alice suggested we should try to visit Kristin, since we felt we already knew her and her entire family  (especially the dogs) from her blog.  Bandol is on the Mediterranean and about a 2 hour drive from St. Sat.  Kristin kindly responded to Alice's email that she would be happy to meet us for lunch at St. Cyr Sur Mer on Oct. 17.  So, early that morning Alice, Tom Tom lady, and I took off for the Med.

I took my usual route over the Luberon, and ventured toward Marseille.  Soon I realized that Tom Tom was directing me straight through Marseille.  Quelle horreur!  This is the second largest city in France, traffic is god awful, it was mid-morning of a workday and every car, moto, and truck in the city was on the streets.  The saving grace was that our route remained on one major street, with no turning and route finding, just tout droit toward St. Cyr.  We made it through with only a few minutes taken off my life from the experience.

Once through the city, we had a marvelous drive along the sea, which was splendid on that warm, sunny day.  Think deep blue sea, light blue cloudless sky, warm breeze, palm trees and sail boats, un paradis.  One can understand why the Cote d'Azur is such a popular place.

We met Kristin at a pizza resto she recommended which looked out at a lovely harbor scene.  She was such a warm, inviting and interesting lunch companion, we took 2 hours to enjoy the company and the pizza.  We even had a "ride-by" visit from Jean Marc, who was out on his bike and stopped to say hello.  Sadly, we were having such a fine time, I forgot to take any pictures.  The moral of this story for me is that you may miss some of the best times of your life if you never risk asking for them.

On the return, we stopped off in Cassis, one of the most picturesque sea side towns ever, and,  relative to most of the coast, not too touristy.  But since I was concerned about getting back to St. Sat. before it was too dark---the twisty, narrow roads are scary enough in broad daylight---we couldn't tarry too long.  But there's always time for ice cream.  Here's Alice in the harbor in Cassis:

To avoid Marseille on the way home, we gave Tom Tom the freedom to take a route that included toll roads.  So off we went on the Auto Route, with Clio struggling to keep up, but with no city streets to follow.  I was questioning that choice, because we kept heading farther west, toward Avignon and away from Apt.  Finally we saw the exit, going back toward Apt, with all the toll booths and all the cars stopped at them.  I chose a line, got to the machine, put in the toll ticket, saw the fee--3.90 euro---and inserted a credit card.  It was immediately spit back at me, so I put in another, then another, then another, all of which came back.  By this time there was a line behind us, of course, although there was no horn honking --good French manners.  I couldn't do much else, so just turned to the car behind, did a very Gallic exaggerated shrug and hand raise (I thought), and they started moving to other lanes.  Finally I could back away and get off the highway and park to consider our next move.  All the booths were automatic, no people involved; I couldn't go through a cash one without my ticket, which was still in the first machine, and there was no getting off the road without breaking through a gate.  We were in a fine pickle.  But just then Alice spotted a woman in a uniform.  I ran through traffic to catch her at one of the booths as she was emptying change from the machine, explained my problem with the cards and the ticket, and told her we owed 3.90.  She was a true savior, since she believed me, took my change and opened the gate for us.  Without her, we would be like the "Man who never returned from 'neath the streets of Boston".  There was much enjoying of the fine bottle of wine from Chateauneuf when we finally got home.

After all that driving and adventuring, we took it easy the next day.  Up late, then a short drive to Menerbes, Peter Mayle's town from his Year in Provence book.  It is lovely, very much up scale and mostly restored to the nth degree.  Lots of money being spent here, and it shows.  One quick pic of the town Mairie:

Next stop was Rousillon and a picnic lunch, then more walking around.  Took Alice to meet Chantal at her Galerie des Ocres, and they hit it off, chattering away in French about the American sociologist who spent a sabbatical year in Rousillon soon after WWII when it was languishing.  He then came home and wrote a paper, turned into a book, about the town and inhabitants and culture, which became very popular.  Although names were changed, tous le village knew where it was and who they were and were not necessarily happy about it.  

Back home, Alice unpacked the bag in which she had carried her extra things and which had stayed in the trunk of the car.  She didn't find her Ipad, so we looked and looked.  Finally she did another search of the bag and realized a couple other things were missing, mostly small like cosmetics.  It became horribly clear that all these things had been stolen from the car.   There was no sign of any breaking into the trunk, so I must assume that I made the awful mistake of failing to lock the car, either when we took out the picnic stuff, or when it was returned to the trunk.  Rousillon is known to have a problem with theft from cars, so it probably happened there and not in Menerbes.  After a short time of disbelief, then anger and irritation, then more irritation getting calls through to cancel service and get her office IT person to erase all data from the tablet, and some wine, Alice marvelously moved beyond the entire event.  One saving grace is that her passport was in the bag, but was not taken.  I'm still feeling the guilt, but she is wonderful about the whole thing.

Tomorrow was another day, on many levels.  It was Saturday, and market day in Apt.  We wandered for hours, buying some things, looking at lots of others and enjoying the experience.  We both found some things for gifts, and some for ourselves and some for a picnic lunch that day.  We ran into neighbors, Gina and William, from St. Sat. who invited us to come by later that evening for a drink.  As we sat at an outdoor table enjoying a drink after shopping,  Gina and William stopped by, then Susan, her husband Fernando and Emma from school joined the group.  It felt like we were part of the neighborhood, very pleasant.

After Apt, we went on a hunt for mohair.  Alice had found web site for "Mohair in Provence", I found their flyer in the Apt TI and we had Tom Tom to guide, so off we go into the boonies.  Way back off dirt roads we stopped at a house and farm that was the correct location, but with no people.  We got out and started looking around, then a man appeared from the house and walked over to an outbuilding which had a sign on it indicating a shop.  He said nothing to us, just opened the door.   We went in and it was full of marvelous things---clothing made from beautiful mohair and wool yarns, and the beautiful mohair and wool yarns themselves.  From what we had read, this was a goat/sheep farm where the yarn and chevre were made.  Alice was totally ooohing and aaahing, and still the guy said nothing.  Finally she chose several skeins of mohair, put them on the comptoir, the guy added stuff up, wrote it down on a paper and gave it to Alice.  This was clearly the price, which she paid, he put the stuff into a bag, and we left, never hearing a word from him.  Tres bizarre, but efficient.  On the way out, we stopped by the side of  road for our Apt Market lunch:

We had an early morning on Sunday, because Alice was taking the 10:50 train from Avignon to Paris for a lunch date with an artist friend from Charlotte, NC, then headed to the airport to return to Atlanta. And I was staying in Avignon to meet my brother, Sam, and sister in law, Claire, on the 2:30 train from Paris. 

Alice's visit

My friend Alice and I worked together in the Legal Dept. at Wachovia, and have stayed good buddies through career changes and moves--me to Colorado and her to LA, and now to Atlanta.  She is a Francophile, like I, and meets every other week in Atlanta with a group to practice language skills.  She was arriving in Avignon Tuesday, the 15th, on the 13:00 train from Paris, for her first visit to the south of France.

The weather had been gorgeous all week, but had turned drizzly and cool that morning.  I left home early for the drive to Avignon (about an hour) so I could go by St. Saturnin les Avignon (I was living in St. Sat. les Apt) to find a fabric store that Francis had told me about.  I had admired the drapes in his salon, which were a sheer linen fabric that I have tried to find in the US, without any luck.  He told me he made them and had bought the fabric in St. Sat. les Avignon, which is sort of on the way to pick up Alice.  My Tom Tom lady got me there, and some nice people on the street immediately knew what I wanted when I asked where a "grand magasin de tissu" was.  And a large store it was.  Every kind of fabric you could think of, all jumbled into a great rambling warehouse of a building.  I found lots of the linen sort of fabric I wanted---it is very popular for curtains here.  Unfortunately, getting it home would be far too much trouble and expense than I could undertake.  But I did find the store, Gregoire, on the web, so perhaps I'll be able to order some.

Alice's train was a about 30 minutes en retard--and I thought they always ran on time.  We got into the car and drove back to St. Sat. for her to settle in and rest a bit, stopping along the way in Gordes for a late lunch and walk around.  Alice had been on a whirlwind travel schedule before she met me---a day in Chapel Hill, NC for a meeting, a few days in Tampa to see her friend Christopher's Royal Ballet of Scotland group perform, then to Paris and finally home with me.  She needed an early night.

On Wed. morning we had a 9:00 meet with Abdel Hamid, wine sommelier and retailer, for a tour of the Rhone valley wine region.  Abdel had cooked in restaurants for years, some of which were Michelin starred, and now does tours, wine tastings in restaurants, and sells wine at several markets in the Vaucluse.  We went first to a small, but several generations old, winery near Vacqueyras, Domaine La Fourmone.  It is run by a woman, granddaughter of the first owner.  Abdel commented on how many wineries are now being operated by women, and that they are turning out to be exceptionally good vintners.  We tasted a rose, a red and a white from Vacqueyras, one Gigondas and one Beaumes de Venise---all good.  We also got a little lesson from Abdel about the region.  This is a part of the Cote du Rhone region, where some areas have been especially recognized as outstanding by winning their own appellation, or AOC.  Gigondas is included in these, as is Beaumes de Venise, famous for its sweet white wine.  The most famous is Chateauneuf-du-Pape, which is on our itinerary for later in the day.

Alice and Abdel walking in, and admiring,  the Domaine La Fourmone vines

Entrance to the tasting room and cave at Domaine La Fourmone

Our next stop was a side trip to the Dentelles de Montmirail, and a vineyard where the vendange had not yet finished.  The dentelles are a short range of mountains with spiky tops, sort of like the Needles, and white rock.  The vendange, or grape harvest, is normally done by early Oct., but in this area there had been a late, and cool, summer, so the grapes ripened late.  Here are a couple pictures of the mountains and the grape harvest.

Les Dentelles de Montmirail

Grape harvesting---note the barely visible pickers in the middle of the picture

Grapes ready for the crusher

Lunch was at a little place in Gigondas that Abdel knew from having worked in the village before.  I had excellent house made raviolis.  If you see "maison" on a French menu board it means the dish has been made in the restaurant and should be extra good and fresh.
                                                       
                                                                   





As we walked around before lunch, we saw a class of plein aire artists working here.  One of them had set up at this spot to paint the doorway---not a bad choice.       

Next we drove to the Chateaufneuf-du-Pape AOC, and 2 degustations.  First was the Domaine de Beaurenard, one of the oldest vineyards in the area, now operated by the seventh generation of the family.  We were taken on a complete back stage tour of the whole wine making process and the gorgeous cellar where the barrels were aging.

Our last stop, and probably the best wine we had, was at Chateau Gigognan, also in Chateauneuf-du-Pape.  All of these wineries have vines in other areas, and make more than the CNduP wines.  Because of France's strict regulations, if the grapes are not grown in the area, the wine can't be labeled with the AOC.  CNduP has extraordinary soils, one of the reasons its grapes are special.  Check out this vineyard:

The rocks warm up in the sun, retain and reflect the heat, keeping the vines and grapes at a more constant and warm temperature.  This particular vineyard is also "bio", meaning organic, so the grass and plants have been left around the vines, rather than being chemically treated.  This rocky terroir is reflected in the taste of these wines.  At Chateau Gigognan Alice found her favorite wine, and a sort to namesake, Cardinalice, a bottle of which we enjoyed for the next couple days.

More adventures with Alice---both the good and the not-so-good--- to come.

And now for the rest of the story

Picking up where the tablet died, this is October 8 and the beginning of my week alone--no company to  keep me from having to entertain myself in a strange land.  But, of course, there was housework.  I did have to wash clothes, and hang them outside like everyone else does, as few people have dryers.  I did have grocery shopping and sweeping and bed changing, etc., etc.  There was time to play, though.  Did some hiking, with another trip to the Colorado for pictures in the sunshine;  revisited the village of Saignon, where Buck and I stayed with the children when we all came over here for my 60th birthday celebration;  went back to the Apt market on Saturday.

I also took an afternoon to explore Apt more.  It is the major town in the area, although its population is just around 10,000.  It looks bigger than that.  There is a substantial commercial area, lots of services on the perimeter, several hotels and restaurants, and some industry.  It's more of a work-a-day than tourist town.  There's a very nice movie theatre where Susan, Emma and I saw the latest Woody Allen movie another day---in English with French subtitles.  The headquarters of the Regional Park of the Luberon is there, also.  This is not a national park in the sense we know in the US.  It is a large tract of private land that is sort of zoned to preserve its ecology and traditional way of life---at least in the case of the Luberon.  There are several of these regional parks through the country, some more environmentally focused---like the park where our house in Normandy last summer was located.  On my afternoon exploratory excursion I happened to pick a neat restaurant for lunch---just while wandering through back streets.  It was a small place, but busy with locals obviously taking their lunch break from work.  The food was good, but the people watching was better.  Everyone seemed to know everyone else, lots of cheek kissing and "ca va's" going around.  And I was disabused of the notion that all French women are thin and chic.  Many of these ladies would have fit right into any American workday lunch scene.

I decided on Sunday to go for a more ambitious hike, but near town.  The Randonneurs have a map of hikes in the area, and I chose one that was about 8 km, and headed out of St. Sat. north on the streets, then turned on to a path and came back through a steep valley into town.  I got up the road and to the path, and started hearing lots of dogs---then some shots.  That's when I remembered it was hunting season---for sanglier, the wild boar.  I kept walking for a bit, then, after an internal conversation, decided that was a stupid thing to be doing with all those hunters and dogs around, so turned around and walked back toward town.  By then the dogs were quiet, and no shots for a while.  So I had another conversation and decided I was silly and I really wanted to hike so back I went to the path--le sentier.  Along the way, I saw three hunters with guns, but no dogs, who assured me I would be fine down in the valley.  So on I went.  Ran into some serious mountain bikers who rode back up the steep rocky path I had come down.  Then I happened to look up to the ridge line above the valley and see a dog and hunter looking back down at me---just a bit unsettling, but I was committed by then.  It turned into a lovely walk, with much turning and twisting, some of which I didn't do exactly right.  I wound up near town, on a road clearly not right, had to ask for directions and finally got into sight of the ruins so I could get my bearings and make it home.  I think I turned an 8 k. walk into a hot, sticky 12 k afternoon adventure.

The next night I was invited to a birthday party.  There was a really nice English girl, Emma, at the school the previous week, who was staying for 2 more weeks.  I had invited her to come with me on last Sat. to explore a couple of small villages, and enjoyed her a lot.  Her birthday was Monday, and Francis invited me and Susan to come over to have dinner to help her celebrate.  Since Francis was a patissier when he was younger, he made her quite a birthday cake:

Alice will be here next week, and things will become much livelier.