Day 28/39 - It's a tough life.

Monday July 12th

The sun rises at about 5 am. WE open our eyes, acknowledge its presence, and promptly fall back to sleep until 7.30.
A new week is beginning and we have just 36 hours before the elderly sisters arrive and the family mayhem starts all over again.
We’re finally over being totally brain dead and can examine our surroundings in full, with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons accompanying our treasure hunt.
What a marvellous old place this is. Parts of it date back to the 9th century and even the newest part ( with the exception of the gleaming whitegoods) seems to be dated 1777. It’s a three and a half floor rambling building full of nooks and crannies with beamed and terracotta tiled ceilings. The upstairs lounge has a huge medieval looking fireplace and a feature has been made of an old stone sink around 1,000 years old with deep grooves in the rock worn by the water.
The walls are around 3ft or 90cms thick, and all the windows have thick wooden shutters in various states of decay which lovers of shabby chic would kill for.
The terrace is in shade in the morning….pointing NW to the hills in the distance. In the afternoon it is unbearably hot, but by dinner time (8-9pm) the sun is low enough to have dinner outside and watch the sun set and twilight set in. The swallows make their last pass of the dusky sky to munch on a few midges before returning to their nests, and the cicadas provide a background score which owes more to Stockhausen than Debussy.

Everywhere the colours are those of Provence….shades of yellow and French/lavender blue. Everything is slightly dilapidated…which only adds to the charm….though I am sure Beloved would prefer a simple, modern and minimalist apartment in the city. This old house has all the same elements which I love and Tony hates about our Melbourne house - With the exception of the trees. There are miles and miles of open skies here without many trees - though there is a fabulous tree in the garden with leaves that look like a Poinciana - yet it has blossoms like pink feather pompoms. That, and an orange trumpet vine and a pink Oleander, provide the splashes of colour, and some pink and white wildflowers have grown in the neglected garden. Since the house is only used sporadically during the year (when we leave in August no-one will be here until Christmas) there is no-one to care for the garden, but still you can smell the last remnants of the herb garden….mint and oregano waft on the breeze to fill your nostrils.

What is sad is that the ancient grape vine - which totally covered the lower terrace and the iron balustrade of the upper terrace and captivated me in the early photos I saw - is now no more. It has been eradicated, no trace remains except a new telltale paved area on the lower terrace. I don’t know the reasons for its removal… but I suspect I would have chained myself to it…or quoted the poem from school “Woodman, spare that tree” if I’d been here when it was obliterated. It survived 1,000 years but was no match for a chain saw. How depressing.
The bathroom has stone floors, an open shower like a wet room, and a deep clawfooted bath. Thankfully the hot water service is NOT medieval and I luxuriate in a long shower where no-one is checking on my 155 litre a day ration.

Off to Uzes - and once again the words charming, medieval, myth-like, evocative get to draw overtime for having to work so hard. It truly is a breath-taking little place and parts date back to 419AD. You can taste the history everywhere. A stunning town which hasn’t grown into a monstrous industrial estate with a medieval core, like so many of the French towns. This was the heart of the Duchy that three French lords fought over - each building their own castle or tower. It was the first Duchy in France and the premier town in the region du Gard - (being only a few kms from the Roman aquaduct - the Pont Du Gard). It’s built in a circle, and laneways provide shortcuts through narrow cobbled streets to a town square, ringed with ancient buildings and picturesque cafes. It is so pretty that I desperately wish I could paint - or at least draw well enough to do it justice.

“Deux grands Café Crème”in a little café - and I practise my French which actually goes down well - they understand me and I them as we chat about using the internet and I get the directions to the town’s one and only internet centre discreetly hidden down a side street where its presence will not offend. No McDonald’s (thank God) to provide free WiFi; I’m happy to pay 3 Euros for an hour of catching up. All the cats are well, Kelly has a broken wisdom tooth; there are bills to be paid ( thank God for internet banking) and Melbourne is freezing. I am days behind with the blog, but Provence seems to operate in a different time continuum.
I drag myself away and we return to the supermarket at Montaren…(which really DOES sell everything except for electric fans!) and arm ourselves with new supplies…including 18 litres of Eau Mineral avec Gaz!
Home to our “Mas ancien” and finally we discover the laundry….in a stone cave underneath the house. Fortunately the washer and dryer are anything but medieval so we get some housekeeping done.
Bread and pate and Roquefort and Brie washed down with a local white wine ( expensive at almost 3 euros a bottle….yes…we bought SIX!) and some fresh figs and we crash out for a siesta - luckily it’s a rest day in the Tour de France. The rest of the day is a blur….when you’re “In the moment” you really have no memory of what that moment is. You are just BEING.