Thursday 5th
Getting Phillipa out of the bathroom in under an hour is no mean feat - and that still leaves hairdrying time! But somehow we manage to get on the road by 9.30 - fortified with lots of scrumptious coffee and bread for us and croissants and hot chocolate for her. Tony is still looking tired and obviously isn’t relishing driving again today - but the plan is to just take it easy. There’s lots to look at along the way - the Loire is arguably the prettiest part of France - though I would still opt for Provence…. The Loire is a little too perfect for me…. Perfect “Grape fields” as Katie’s boyfriend Sam calls them, perfect river, perfect farms and Chateaux….boy are there perfect chateaus!. Every little village seems to boast one, beautifully proportioned, whether a “small” residence of some 20 or 30 rooms - or a virtual palace with hundreds of rooms. After a while you stop oohing and aahing because they are so commonplace - as we said in 2005 - it’s easy to get Chateaud out! At lunchtime though we stop after seeing a sign saying - “Chateau Ancien”. It’s in a little town called Lapallises, and we’re expecting it to be a ruin, as so many now are. But there it is in its palatial grounds….a genuine 14th century Chateau - and it’s stunning. It’s closed for lunch ( like everything else in France) but it’s too good to miss so we sit at the little Auberge next door and eat Croque monsieur ( a fancy way of saying toasted cheese and ham) and kill time until it opens for the afternoon. It’s very impressive, doubly so because it has been in the same family since 1430 - obviously they’re waiting for a real estate boom to cash in! Phillipa is more than impressed and decides she could quite easily live in a chateau, despite the hundred rooms that need heating, and the drafts, and creaking floorboards. Not me - a sprawling single level Provence house with French doors leading to the pool will do just fine….my needs are simple - Hehehe. Tony grabs a cat nap in the car while we bask in the sunshine and talk luxury. I try to take a picture of a clearly middle ages Weber barbecue and ancient plastic chairs. I just love the incongruity. By this time it’s gone 3 o’clock and we’ve covered only 150kms today. But before we take off Phlip has to use the public toilet - and goes through culture shock at her first confrontation with an old French style “jump” where you squat on a chine base with specified footholds and pee into a hole in the floor. I think it takes her several hours to get over the event…. She’s shuddering as she tells us, but everybody should experience it once….I’ve just never been able to master it without wetting my feet and anything else in the general vicinity.
We’re following the Loire as far as we can, which means we’re heading northeast. It’s such a pretty river, in sharp contrast to the Rhone, and there is always something to see. Tomorrow we will head due north, stop at Fontainebleu, and then head for Paris. I have bookmarked a little place called La Charite Sur Loire for tonight’s stay; mainly because I love the name, and it is on the river. Too often places with pretty names fail to live up to expectation….but not this time. La Charite ( can’t do the accent, sorry) sur Loire is as pretty a town as you could ever imagine. Founded in the 7th Century it runs from a hilltop right down to the edge of the Loire. Part of it is even on an island in the Loire and you cross by an old stone Bridge. Take a look at it here http://www.ville-la-charite-sur-loire.fr/anglais/reflets.htm ( I don’t know why I didn’t think of hyperlinks earlier in this blog.)
We are overwhelmed. We knew nothing about it at all except that it is on the river - and the Loire is very beautiful - with sandy banks, ancient bridges mainly beautiful weather. We walk around the ancient town. Around every corner there is something new/old to see. How has this stunning little place stayed a secret for so long? It’s only a little smaller than Uzes but the river is a plus. The tourist centre books us into a cheap hotel which turns out to be a doss house! No way is our Philly staying there - even Tony turns up his nose, and it takes a lot for him to do that. But right across the street is a charming little hotel called Un Mille et un Feuilles. We check in with the lovely Yves - a charming man who slows down his French and encourages my answers. I’ve managed to talk ONLY French outside the family while I have been here - and everyone so far has understood me….though I think I did call my husband my chestnut at one stage and got some funny looks.
For 41 euros we get a lovely double room…though the bathroom is behind concertina vinyl doors with a plastic shower unit. Philly pays 53euros for a mini suite in the attic. She’s in the George Sand Suite. And we finally discover that La Charite is a book town, and our hotel is where the writers stay….I tell Yves how appropriate it is, and he asks about script writing. But I’m more interested in hearing about his town. In this tiny town there are fifteen book shops and there is a book festival every year. Everything about it is charming. And the hotel’s name Un Mille et un Feuilles is explained to mean. A Feuille is a leaf or a layer of something. In this case it means pages or leaves in a book…but it could be pastry as in MilleFueille pastry ( to die for….literally if you’re a diabetic.) Yves saves us a table for dinner and we dine in style on Escargots…totally delicious ( Philly is now a snails addict) and chicken livers cooked in cream with white wine mushrooms. Escargots are local cuisine in the Bourgogne region and they are huge. The chicken livers are so delicate and melt in the mouth. Crème Brulee to finish and a bottle of Pouilly Fume - which is expensive even here. The Loire is famous for it’s two major white wines - Sancennes and Pouilly - from the towns of the same name. It’s exceptional and stays on our palate seductively. We want another bottle but that would blow the budget - and it’s already extraordinarily tight. Instead we go out for a walk and the most spectacular sunset is starting. WE grab the car and cross over to the island and hold our breath at the fabulous display the sleepy sun puts on for us before its bedtime. This truly is a magic spot and I say a little prayer that I will see it again, though I know it’s not likely. The two days of driving have felt like a mini holiday of their own - and there’s still Paris to come, with just Beloved and I in the city we love more than anywhere else. No too shabby at all.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
51/16 - On the road again
Wednesday 4th
Take your pick - Canned Heat or Willie Nelson....even a touch of John Denver as we'll be on country roads.
We’re up very early. There’s a sense of disbelief that we are leaving Provence and may never see it again….yet also excitement because we are Paris bound, and Paris is our favourite place in the entire world.
Tony hurriedly grabs coffee and bread and takes off once again for Avignon, poor baby…… in the four weeks we’ve been over here he has driven nearly 4,000 kms and it’s another 800 to Paris….add to that the 2,000 miles we did round Britain and it’s small wonder he is tired and stressed.
Pip and I strip beds, do washing, sweep floors and pack, using up nervous energy and hoping that everything is alright with the car. When Tony returns - a little after 1pm…there is NO Michelin tyre…. Nowhere has one. Go figure. Instead there are TWO new front tyres but at least Europcar has agreed to pay for one. A hurried lunch and we pack the car. Tony is already looking exhausted….he is so eternally young that I forget hios chronological age until his body screams out…”I’m 73, give me a break!” I doubt we’ll get far tonight but at least it’s daylight until 9.30. Hurried goodbyes to Robert - a note in the Guest book for mal and Cristina ( we have left the electric fan as our contribution to the house and we are finally on our way.
Random thoughts fill my head with pictures…. The first time we saw the swallows diving in a whole flock; a little black scorpion on the wall of the terrace, springing for a gecko that was too fast for it…. An old rusted plough/tiller with lethal looking spikes sticking out….. The friendly dog who liked to rub against us…AFTER he’d rolled in the cow pats….a herd of deer in a paddock far away following a lone girl with feed for them…The arrogant little shit in the internet shop….who saw me every other day for 4 weeks and never once remembered me…. The smell of the Roquefort cheese as you spread it and cover it in fig jam …the bread, still hot, from the Boulangerie in Uzes ( they bake fresh every two hours) The first taste of Kir in Provence. The silly blow up kids paddling pool which Tony had to empty before we left. The pate and terrine - always a fridge full of it for snacking day and night. All of these things I take with me - knowing they will never be lost.
It’s 2.45 by the time we leave Uzes and hit the open road. We avoiding the Paeage motorways. They’re expensive and boring. Instead we’re using mostly the route National…with some D roads thrown in for good measure. Tony has plotted the trip and I am navigating….I enjoy that part and keep an eye out for likely places to visit. It isn’t long before Provence is behind us and we are travelling through the ardeche - a district that is rockier and more traditionally French. The architecture is changing….the pitch of the roof is different and the baked clay tiles are giving way to slate. We partially follow the Rhone but, while the river itself is lovely, the banks have been ruined by the endless power stations belching steam. We turn off and head for the mountains…looking for somewhere to stay. Toulon Sur Rhone is a picturesque little town and we would love to stop there, but it will put too much extra mileage on the trip tomorrow so we press on. Up, up we climb, thinking what a great leg of The Tour de France this would make as we reach the summit of the Col de Republic. There are so many little towns…but many of them are deserted, closed up for the summer. It seems we will not find another Toulon sur Rhone….and we make instead for the mining town of St Etienne.
It’s unappealing but we find a little 2 star hotel and book in. We just want a place to sleep…but Phillipa is very picky about the rooms and luckily she gets the best one. The building is very old but with a new façade. Inside though it is all stonework and I have to climb a spiral stone staircase. Ouch! There’s a little bar and a breakfast room and our rooms have modern bathrooms ( except the shower door is so tiny I can’t get in.) For 45 Euros a night it’s more than we expected. In the little square next door we find a great restaurant - Le Carre Soft. The 23 Euros 3 course menu is spectacular and eat a great dinner. The bed is okay but the pillows are the crumbed rubber type….an abomination from 30 years ago. I don’t sleep much, but I’m not sure if it’s the pillow or the fact that Paris is drawing ever closer.
Take your pick - Canned Heat or Willie Nelson....even a touch of John Denver as we'll be on country roads.
We’re up very early. There’s a sense of disbelief that we are leaving Provence and may never see it again….yet also excitement because we are Paris bound, and Paris is our favourite place in the entire world.
Tony hurriedly grabs coffee and bread and takes off once again for Avignon, poor baby…… in the four weeks we’ve been over here he has driven nearly 4,000 kms and it’s another 800 to Paris….add to that the 2,000 miles we did round Britain and it’s small wonder he is tired and stressed.
Pip and I strip beds, do washing, sweep floors and pack, using up nervous energy and hoping that everything is alright with the car. When Tony returns - a little after 1pm…there is NO Michelin tyre…. Nowhere has one. Go figure. Instead there are TWO new front tyres but at least Europcar has agreed to pay for one. A hurried lunch and we pack the car. Tony is already looking exhausted….he is so eternally young that I forget hios chronological age until his body screams out…”I’m 73, give me a break!” I doubt we’ll get far tonight but at least it’s daylight until 9.30. Hurried goodbyes to Robert - a note in the Guest book for mal and Cristina ( we have left the electric fan as our contribution to the house and we are finally on our way.
Random thoughts fill my head with pictures…. The first time we saw the swallows diving in a whole flock; a little black scorpion on the wall of the terrace, springing for a gecko that was too fast for it…. An old rusted plough/tiller with lethal looking spikes sticking out….. The friendly dog who liked to rub against us…AFTER he’d rolled in the cow pats….a herd of deer in a paddock far away following a lone girl with feed for them…The arrogant little shit in the internet shop….who saw me every other day for 4 weeks and never once remembered me…. The smell of the Roquefort cheese as you spread it and cover it in fig jam …the bread, still hot, from the Boulangerie in Uzes ( they bake fresh every two hours) The first taste of Kir in Provence. The silly blow up kids paddling pool which Tony had to empty before we left. The pate and terrine - always a fridge full of it for snacking day and night. All of these things I take with me - knowing they will never be lost.
It’s 2.45 by the time we leave Uzes and hit the open road. We avoiding the Paeage motorways. They’re expensive and boring. Instead we’re using mostly the route National…with some D roads thrown in for good measure. Tony has plotted the trip and I am navigating….I enjoy that part and keep an eye out for likely places to visit. It isn’t long before Provence is behind us and we are travelling through the ardeche - a district that is rockier and more traditionally French. The architecture is changing….the pitch of the roof is different and the baked clay tiles are giving way to slate. We partially follow the Rhone but, while the river itself is lovely, the banks have been ruined by the endless power stations belching steam. We turn off and head for the mountains…looking for somewhere to stay. Toulon Sur Rhone is a picturesque little town and we would love to stop there, but it will put too much extra mileage on the trip tomorrow so we press on. Up, up we climb, thinking what a great leg of The Tour de France this would make as we reach the summit of the Col de Republic. There are so many little towns…but many of them are deserted, closed up for the summer. It seems we will not find another Toulon sur Rhone….and we make instead for the mining town of St Etienne.
It’s unappealing but we find a little 2 star hotel and book in. We just want a place to sleep…but Phillipa is very picky about the rooms and luckily she gets the best one. The building is very old but with a new façade. Inside though it is all stonework and I have to climb a spiral stone staircase. Ouch! There’s a little bar and a breakfast room and our rooms have modern bathrooms ( except the shower door is so tiny I can’t get in.) For 45 Euros a night it’s more than we expected. In the little square next door we find a great restaurant - Le Carre Soft. The 23 Euros 3 course menu is spectacular and eat a great dinner. The bed is okay but the pillows are the crumbed rubber type….an abomination from 30 years ago. I don’t sleep much, but I’m not sure if it’s the pillow or the fact that Paris is drawing ever closer.
50/17 - The car that didn't eat Paris
Tuesday 3rd August
Sometimes the fates - or your husband - just conspire against you…the best laid plans of Mice and Men and all ( though what mice are doing making plans I haven’t the faintest idea.) On the way into Uzes Tony hit’s a BOULDER which was apparently hiding on the shoulder of the road waiting to spring out at him. The front tyre explodes and we’re stuck on perhaps the loneliest road in the whole of the South of France. I bite my tongue and don’t point out that he’s been driving too much on the verge - I know he feels pressured driving on the wrong side and in the Mercedes and this is just one of those things. But things aren’t helped when we discover there is no tool kit at all with the car! I tell him to ring Europcar but that would be too simple. Instead he walks around trying not to get into a foul mood ( he’s unsuccessful) and waiting for God or whoever to inflate the tyre or wind back time so that he can miss the rock ( though how he didn’t see it the first time is a miracle in itself!)
Fortunately a nice swiss couple stop to help…and then a Frenchman in a ute. Two cars in the one day on that road is practically a traffic jam. But at least they have tools and manage to put on the incredulously small spare which is meant as a temporary measure until we can get to Europcar - which is in Avignon - 50 kms or an hours drive away! Bang goes the swim and the horses as Tony wants me to come with him…it’s a chance for us to see Avignon….which wouldn’t be so impressive except that we have been to the town four times before and never seen a thing. Parking is a nightmare. So off we set….but Beloved’s mood is getting darker and darker - and when he says it’s my fault….WELLLLLL….I blow a tyre of my own. By the time we make Avignon, Europcar is closed for Lunch, naturally….if you plan on a big lunch and a couple of bottles of wine, French style, there’s not much point in keeping the business open. Just before Tony and I stop talking for the next four hours I ask him to drop us at the historic part of Avignon. He does so unceremoniously after driving round in circles - and then takes off, without any plans to pick us up again! Not that I entirely blame him. If only this stubborn man that I love would admit there IS such a thing as stress…and he has got it. Left alone, Phillipa and I wander through the ancient stone wall arches and back in time.
Avignon is an amazing city because so much of what is ancient is still intact….not just a roman ruin or amphitheatre, but a BIG city dating back to the 12th century. It was the home of the popes then - before The Vatican was ever conceived. We walk up the cobblestone streets to the palace of the Popes. It’s huge, and the cobbled forecourt seemed to be filled with peasants just as it must have been 800 years ago. This passage in religion makes a mockery of what the church purports to stand for. Here the popes kept their mistresses and illegitimate children, threw orgies and luxuriated in every penny they could bleed from the peasantry who saw the pageantry as a conduit to God. It’s both beautiful and revolting when taken in context….but it is special…there is no denying that. It’s around six stories tall and was built over a period of three hundred years when the church was at its strongest.
The bridge at Avignon….the one famous from our childhood, where everyone danced, only stretches halfway across the Rhone, but it costs a fortune to set foot on it. Despite the gob smacking history of it all, every monument is priced to fleece the tourists… 20 Euros to look round the palace….another 10 to step on the bridge.
We take it all in and sit in the shade and drink mineral water and wait for Tony to get over his mood, get the car fixed, and call us. After two hours we start to wonder if he will. We fill the time buying postcards and looking for a china Cicada that Kelly has requested….one she will like and that doesn’t have “A souvenir of Avignon” printed on it!
Finally the call comes and he picks us up. But the car isn’t fixed. Europcar insists only a Michelin tyre can go on the car…..and nowhere has any! Er, excuse me, but isn’t Michelin a French company??? The upshot is that a tyre depot has ordered one in but Tony will have to come back in the morning to have it fitted…another 100km round trip….and, because I didn’t take the “extras” insurance, we have to pay for it. We head back to Uzes…it’s hot and we’re tired and we haven’t eaten…..plans for dinner go out the window. Phillipa and I go to the pool for a long refreshing swim and to get the balance back into our day. Phillipa sunbakes and I enjoy the cool water. But Tony is still in his mood and opts not to come inside. When we finally come out he is sitting on a stone wall, fast asleep. I really do understand the pressure ( most of it self imposed) he is under and when he says “ sorry lovely, I’m just exhausted” my heart goes out to him. Once back home we eat up the remaining food in the fridge and Tony is fast asleep by nine o’clock….with Pip and I not far behind.
Sometimes the fates - or your husband - just conspire against you…the best laid plans of Mice and Men and all ( though what mice are doing making plans I haven’t the faintest idea.) On the way into Uzes Tony hit’s a BOULDER which was apparently hiding on the shoulder of the road waiting to spring out at him. The front tyre explodes and we’re stuck on perhaps the loneliest road in the whole of the South of France. I bite my tongue and don’t point out that he’s been driving too much on the verge - I know he feels pressured driving on the wrong side and in the Mercedes and this is just one of those things. But things aren’t helped when we discover there is no tool kit at all with the car! I tell him to ring Europcar but that would be too simple. Instead he walks around trying not to get into a foul mood ( he’s unsuccessful) and waiting for God or whoever to inflate the tyre or wind back time so that he can miss the rock ( though how he didn’t see it the first time is a miracle in itself!)
Fortunately a nice swiss couple stop to help…and then a Frenchman in a ute. Two cars in the one day on that road is practically a traffic jam. But at least they have tools and manage to put on the incredulously small spare which is meant as a temporary measure until we can get to Europcar - which is in Avignon - 50 kms or an hours drive away! Bang goes the swim and the horses as Tony wants me to come with him…it’s a chance for us to see Avignon….which wouldn’t be so impressive except that we have been to the town four times before and never seen a thing. Parking is a nightmare. So off we set….but Beloved’s mood is getting darker and darker - and when he says it’s my fault….WELLLLLL….I blow a tyre of my own. By the time we make Avignon, Europcar is closed for Lunch, naturally….if you plan on a big lunch and a couple of bottles of wine, French style, there’s not much point in keeping the business open. Just before Tony and I stop talking for the next four hours I ask him to drop us at the historic part of Avignon. He does so unceremoniously after driving round in circles - and then takes off, without any plans to pick us up again! Not that I entirely blame him. If only this stubborn man that I love would admit there IS such a thing as stress…and he has got it. Left alone, Phillipa and I wander through the ancient stone wall arches and back in time.
Avignon is an amazing city because so much of what is ancient is still intact….not just a roman ruin or amphitheatre, but a BIG city dating back to the 12th century. It was the home of the popes then - before The Vatican was ever conceived. We walk up the cobblestone streets to the palace of the Popes. It’s huge, and the cobbled forecourt seemed to be filled with peasants just as it must have been 800 years ago. This passage in religion makes a mockery of what the church purports to stand for. Here the popes kept their mistresses and illegitimate children, threw orgies and luxuriated in every penny they could bleed from the peasantry who saw the pageantry as a conduit to God. It’s both beautiful and revolting when taken in context….but it is special…there is no denying that. It’s around six stories tall and was built over a period of three hundred years when the church was at its strongest.
The bridge at Avignon….the one famous from our childhood, where everyone danced, only stretches halfway across the Rhone, but it costs a fortune to set foot on it. Despite the gob smacking history of it all, every monument is priced to fleece the tourists… 20 Euros to look round the palace….another 10 to step on the bridge.
We take it all in and sit in the shade and drink mineral water and wait for Tony to get over his mood, get the car fixed, and call us. After two hours we start to wonder if he will. We fill the time buying postcards and looking for a china Cicada that Kelly has requested….one she will like and that doesn’t have “A souvenir of Avignon” printed on it!
Finally the call comes and he picks us up. But the car isn’t fixed. Europcar insists only a Michelin tyre can go on the car…..and nowhere has any! Er, excuse me, but isn’t Michelin a French company??? The upshot is that a tyre depot has ordered one in but Tony will have to come back in the morning to have it fitted…another 100km round trip….and, because I didn’t take the “extras” insurance, we have to pay for it. We head back to Uzes…it’s hot and we’re tired and we haven’t eaten…..plans for dinner go out the window. Phillipa and I go to the pool for a long refreshing swim and to get the balance back into our day. Phillipa sunbakes and I enjoy the cool water. But Tony is still in his mood and opts not to come inside. When we finally come out he is sitting on a stone wall, fast asleep. I really do understand the pressure ( most of it self imposed) he is under and when he says “ sorry lovely, I’m just exhausted” my heart goes out to him. Once back home we eat up the remaining food in the fridge and Tony is fast asleep by nine o’clock….with Pip and I not far behind.
49/18 - Last days of Provence
Monday 2nd
We awoke this morning to find the power is still off and the cooler weather is still with us. The pools of water on the bedroom floor have almost dried up and there’s an air of camping about the whole morning….none of us fazed at the prospect of more candlelight to come. We were busy boiling water on the gas-stove for much needed coffee when Tony caught sight of Danielle and managed….through words and gestures … to tell her about the power. She desperately tried to make herself understood in very fast French but then gave up and went to find Robert who was down at another farm ( does he own all of Bourdiguet, I wonder to myself?) Very quickly he shows Tony that the safety switch had tripped in the other half of the house….Tony thought the fuse box in the laundry was ther only one for the whole house. Within seconds we have power again. Over breakfast we formulate a plan to leave Provence on Wednesday and stay two nights on the road. It will ease the burden of driving on Tony if we split it over 3 days and we’ll still arrive early Friday afternoon. Phillipa fills us in on her plans to stay away a year, and we are impressed by how sensible and grown up she has become. She has a very clear vision of what she wants from this trip and she’s ready for the experience. She helps us clean our messy Mas and then we start throwing everything in sight into the washing machine….just in case of another blackout.
Phillipa is quiet as we walk through Uzes and take in the sights. For a while we think she is bored, but she’s just taking it all in - and loving it. It would be hard to imagine anyone NOT loving Uzes. There is something quite magical and mystical about this little town that weaves its spell around you. Later I cook snails and they are yummy….dripping in garlic and butter and wine. Phillipa loves them and she has embraced kir as if it were a drink invented just for her. Eating at home is certainly saving us money and we haven’t gone short on anything, but after a big salad none of us has room for the framboise tarts. We haven’t made a lot of plans in Provence…just drifted from day to day and let fate take us whichever way the breeze blows. But now we sit down and plan what we will do. A trip to the pool for a swim and a sunbake….lunch in the little creperie near the fountain….then off to the national horse Haras to see Lucien Grass training the fabulous Andelusian horses. We head off to bed early but not until after another spectacular light show from the lightning over the hills. Only one more day in this magic place……only one more night after this in the squeaky bed - fighting off the flies! Aaaah…the Good, the Bad and The Ugly ( not a bad title that!)
We awoke this morning to find the power is still off and the cooler weather is still with us. The pools of water on the bedroom floor have almost dried up and there’s an air of camping about the whole morning….none of us fazed at the prospect of more candlelight to come. We were busy boiling water on the gas-stove for much needed coffee when Tony caught sight of Danielle and managed….through words and gestures … to tell her about the power. She desperately tried to make herself understood in very fast French but then gave up and went to find Robert who was down at another farm ( does he own all of Bourdiguet, I wonder to myself?) Very quickly he shows Tony that the safety switch had tripped in the other half of the house….Tony thought the fuse box in the laundry was ther only one for the whole house. Within seconds we have power again. Over breakfast we formulate a plan to leave Provence on Wednesday and stay two nights on the road. It will ease the burden of driving on Tony if we split it over 3 days and we’ll still arrive early Friday afternoon. Phillipa fills us in on her plans to stay away a year, and we are impressed by how sensible and grown up she has become. She has a very clear vision of what she wants from this trip and she’s ready for the experience. She helps us clean our messy Mas and then we start throwing everything in sight into the washing machine….just in case of another blackout.
Phillipa is quiet as we walk through Uzes and take in the sights. For a while we think she is bored, but she’s just taking it all in - and loving it. It would be hard to imagine anyone NOT loving Uzes. There is something quite magical and mystical about this little town that weaves its spell around you. Later I cook snails and they are yummy….dripping in garlic and butter and wine. Phillipa loves them and she has embraced kir as if it were a drink invented just for her. Eating at home is certainly saving us money and we haven’t gone short on anything, but after a big salad none of us has room for the framboise tarts. We haven’t made a lot of plans in Provence…just drifted from day to day and let fate take us whichever way the breeze blows. But now we sit down and plan what we will do. A trip to the pool for a swim and a sunbake….lunch in the little creperie near the fountain….then off to the national horse Haras to see Lucien Grass training the fabulous Andelusian horses. We head off to bed early but not until after another spectacular light show from the lightning over the hills. Only one more day in this magic place……only one more night after this in the squeaky bed - fighting off the flies! Aaaah…the Good, the Bad and The Ugly ( not a bad title that!)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
48/19 - Sunday Sunday
Sunday 1st August.
Sunday morning; love and croissants and fresh framboises and lashings of coffee. If there is any better way to start the day I don’t want to hear it.
It’s a strange day. The sun is very hot even by 10am, but cloud is building up on the horizon. The air is oppressive but Robert tells us it won’t rain as the rain clouds always come from one direction…..and this isn’t it. We’re relieved. We don’t want the perfect weather to end. Phillipa is arriving today but we have no idea when. We shop for essentials so that we will be prepared and then return to watch the marathon in the athletics. Tony goes into a frenzy washing sheets and cleaning the upstairs room for Philly. He’s very excited. Even though we moved to Melbourne we still only see the girls about once a year. To catch up with both of them in two weeks in Provence is actually quite odd but very serendipitous.
We’re on tenterhooks until the text message arrives telling us that she will arrive on the 10.33 from Marseilles and can we pick her up at Nimes….we needn’t have bothered about supper but at least now we know. I cook dinner early and Tony goes to have a nap. The sky is darkening and there are ominous rumblings in the distance. But it won’t rain. Robert, who has lived here his entire life, says so.
At 7pm the storm breaks - The thunder is loud enough to burst eardrums and the lightning show is spectacular….much more impressive than quatorze Juillet fireworks could ever be:- But it doesn’t rain…..Until…..
The deluge opens up at about 7.30 and it’s time to get out a hammer and nails and build an ark. Sorry Robert - mother nature is poking her tongue out at you. I’m reminded of the floods five years ago and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that we will be flooded in and Phillipa will be left waiting at Nimes station wondering why we never came. The power goes off and I search for emergency supplies of candles. There is still just enough light for me to see things but the sky is getting blacker and the rain ever heavier. A huge thunderclap wakes Tony and he finds me on the terrace still gob smacked by the lightning show. I’m worried about him driving in this torrent but the storm can’t last very long - can it?
By 8.30 we decide to drive to Nimes together - no sense in sitting in a dark house alone for hours and so we take off. Only people on a mission ( like us) or complete idiots, are out on the roads, a solid sheet of water follows us all the way. Just before the Nimes turnoff I take a call on Tony’s mobile. It’s Philly - The Nimes trains from Marseilles are cancelled and she’s coming into Avignon…. Which is about 40kms from Uzes. We change direction but the storm is determined to stay with us. By 10pm we reach Avignon and the storm has been raging for 3 hours and shows no sign of stopping. Phillipa is quite emotional at seeing us and Tony melts and hugs her for a long time. She chats away all the way home and brings us up to speed, but a sideward glance shows me that Beloved is feeling the tension of the drive and is a lot less confident than he sounds with thunder and lightning doing in his head and the rain making visibility negligible. But years of rally driving have made him an exceptionally good driver and we reach Bourdiguet without mishap.
The power is still off - though the single street light in the alleyway is working. We light six candles, drink mineral water ( it doesn’t even occur to us to boil water on the stove for a cuppa) and raid the fridge, scoffing pate, Roquefort with fig jam and cold chick all with fresh bread. At midnight, the storm starts to abate. It’s worn itself out with five hours of spectacular fury and we are all still standing so, grumbling away and with the occasional flash, it makes it’s way back to the storm storage shed until another day.
Walking into our bedroom we realise that the roof has leaked badly in two places and there are huge pools of water on the wooden floors. Tony paddles through it and collapses on the bed. He’s soon asleep, but Philly and I sit up and talk till after 1am. It’s so good to see her and realise what a marvellous young woman she has grown into. She takes a candle and the tiny torch to light her way to bed. Beloved has left a lighted candle on my nightstand so I can find my way and I take another candle to the bedroom and try to do Sudoku by candlelight but without success. The rain has eased to a light shower and the wet earth smells wonderful. Everything is clean and alive and there’s the novelty of a cool chill in the night air that makes me pull a doona over my feet. I blow out the candles and snuggle into Tony’s back and drift away. Great day.
Sunday morning; love and croissants and fresh framboises and lashings of coffee. If there is any better way to start the day I don’t want to hear it.
It’s a strange day. The sun is very hot even by 10am, but cloud is building up on the horizon. The air is oppressive but Robert tells us it won’t rain as the rain clouds always come from one direction…..and this isn’t it. We’re relieved. We don’t want the perfect weather to end. Phillipa is arriving today but we have no idea when. We shop for essentials so that we will be prepared and then return to watch the marathon in the athletics. Tony goes into a frenzy washing sheets and cleaning the upstairs room for Philly. He’s very excited. Even though we moved to Melbourne we still only see the girls about once a year. To catch up with both of them in two weeks in Provence is actually quite odd but very serendipitous.
We’re on tenterhooks until the text message arrives telling us that she will arrive on the 10.33 from Marseilles and can we pick her up at Nimes….we needn’t have bothered about supper but at least now we know. I cook dinner early and Tony goes to have a nap. The sky is darkening and there are ominous rumblings in the distance. But it won’t rain. Robert, who has lived here his entire life, says so.
At 7pm the storm breaks - The thunder is loud enough to burst eardrums and the lightning show is spectacular….much more impressive than quatorze Juillet fireworks could ever be:- But it doesn’t rain…..Until…..
The deluge opens up at about 7.30 and it’s time to get out a hammer and nails and build an ark. Sorry Robert - mother nature is poking her tongue out at you. I’m reminded of the floods five years ago and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that we will be flooded in and Phillipa will be left waiting at Nimes station wondering why we never came. The power goes off and I search for emergency supplies of candles. There is still just enough light for me to see things but the sky is getting blacker and the rain ever heavier. A huge thunderclap wakes Tony and he finds me on the terrace still gob smacked by the lightning show. I’m worried about him driving in this torrent but the storm can’t last very long - can it?
By 8.30 we decide to drive to Nimes together - no sense in sitting in a dark house alone for hours and so we take off. Only people on a mission ( like us) or complete idiots, are out on the roads, a solid sheet of water follows us all the way. Just before the Nimes turnoff I take a call on Tony’s mobile. It’s Philly - The Nimes trains from Marseilles are cancelled and she’s coming into Avignon…. Which is about 40kms from Uzes. We change direction but the storm is determined to stay with us. By 10pm we reach Avignon and the storm has been raging for 3 hours and shows no sign of stopping. Phillipa is quite emotional at seeing us and Tony melts and hugs her for a long time. She chats away all the way home and brings us up to speed, but a sideward glance shows me that Beloved is feeling the tension of the drive and is a lot less confident than he sounds with thunder and lightning doing in his head and the rain making visibility negligible. But years of rally driving have made him an exceptionally good driver and we reach Bourdiguet without mishap.
The power is still off - though the single street light in the alleyway is working. We light six candles, drink mineral water ( it doesn’t even occur to us to boil water on the stove for a cuppa) and raid the fridge, scoffing pate, Roquefort with fig jam and cold chick all with fresh bread. At midnight, the storm starts to abate. It’s worn itself out with five hours of spectacular fury and we are all still standing so, grumbling away and with the occasional flash, it makes it’s way back to the storm storage shed until another day.
Walking into our bedroom we realise that the roof has leaked badly in two places and there are huge pools of water on the wooden floors. Tony paddles through it and collapses on the bed. He’s soon asleep, but Philly and I sit up and talk till after 1am. It’s so good to see her and realise what a marvellous young woman she has grown into. She takes a candle and the tiny torch to light her way to bed. Beloved has left a lighted candle on my nightstand so I can find my way and I take another candle to the bedroom and try to do Sudoku by candlelight but without success. The rain has eased to a light shower and the wet earth smells wonderful. Everything is clean and alive and there’s the novelty of a cool chill in the night air that makes me pull a doona over my feet. I blow out the candles and snuggle into Tony’s back and drift away. Great day.
47/20 - JESUS WANTS ME FOR A SUNFLOWER
Saturday July 31st.
Today I am a sunflower. No, really. I have this long kaftan - it’s Georgette and it is bright golden yellow with some abstract flashes of burnt orange and dark forest green. I never wear it, except for once on our honeymoon nearly six years ago, because beloved doesn’t like kaftans. But I slipped it on this morning and discovered Tony got ponchos and kaftans mixed up - and he LOVES it ( but still hates ponchos!). I feel like the world’s biggest sun flower but the colours are soooo Provence and it is wonderfully cool. So, at Tony’s suggestion I wear it out. It’s market day in Uzes. That’s a big thing in this part of the world. Unlike the fiasco of last Saturday, this time we are prepared and go early. I stand out in these colours - they’re hardly subtle - and a seller at the flower stall holds up a bunch of sunflowers and says “C’st le meme coleur.” and smiles. Er ….yep….exactly what I thought.
The Uzes market is a sensory overload. Because the medieval city is round, the place des herbes - the town square - is right at its centre. Today it houses all the food stalls. There are entire stalls dedicated to herbs and spices……not the type you buy in cellophane packets in the supermarket. There are more kinds of salami than you could possible imagine and a bread stall with at least forty kinds of bread. Another stall has only lavendar…..mostly dried….. In varying shades and even some pink and white. Just gorgeous. The colours and smells are overwhelming and I snap away with the camera for everyone back home. Kelly wants a china Cicada….it’s the symbol of Provence….but I can’t find one that I think is just right for her. Mostly French children are well behaved but there is one throwing such a tantrum that her screams can be heard through the entire town. Tony says “cricket bat job” though he’d never raise a hand, let alone a bat, to anyone. We drink coffee at our regular haunt and browse the other stalls, mostly clothes and tablecloths. A hurdy gurdy man is cranking out a tune and the little city is full of life…as it has been for over a thousand years. It’s magical experience but I buy nothing except a melon and some Roquefort Noir. Back home we have it spread on bread with fig jam….another sensation…this time an assault on the taste buds.
It’s uncomfortably hot. The locals predict a storm in the next day or two and I am reminded of how we were flooded in at Nimes at roughly the same time 5 years ago. With no breeze and little relief from the small electric fan we bought, we crash out on the bed. The sunflower dress wilts on the floor.
Today I am a sunflower. No, really. I have this long kaftan - it’s Georgette and it is bright golden yellow with some abstract flashes of burnt orange and dark forest green. I never wear it, except for once on our honeymoon nearly six years ago, because beloved doesn’t like kaftans. But I slipped it on this morning and discovered Tony got ponchos and kaftans mixed up - and he LOVES it ( but still hates ponchos!). I feel like the world’s biggest sun flower but the colours are soooo Provence and it is wonderfully cool. So, at Tony’s suggestion I wear it out. It’s market day in Uzes. That’s a big thing in this part of the world. Unlike the fiasco of last Saturday, this time we are prepared and go early. I stand out in these colours - they’re hardly subtle - and a seller at the flower stall holds up a bunch of sunflowers and says “C’st le meme coleur.” and smiles. Er ….yep….exactly what I thought.
The Uzes market is a sensory overload. Because the medieval city is round, the place des herbes - the town square - is right at its centre. Today it houses all the food stalls. There are entire stalls dedicated to herbs and spices……not the type you buy in cellophane packets in the supermarket. There are more kinds of salami than you could possible imagine and a bread stall with at least forty kinds of bread. Another stall has only lavendar…..mostly dried….. In varying shades and even some pink and white. Just gorgeous. The colours and smells are overwhelming and I snap away with the camera for everyone back home. Kelly wants a china Cicada….it’s the symbol of Provence….but I can’t find one that I think is just right for her. Mostly French children are well behaved but there is one throwing such a tantrum that her screams can be heard through the entire town. Tony says “cricket bat job” though he’d never raise a hand, let alone a bat, to anyone. We drink coffee at our regular haunt and browse the other stalls, mostly clothes and tablecloths. A hurdy gurdy man is cranking out a tune and the little city is full of life…as it has been for over a thousand years. It’s magical experience but I buy nothing except a melon and some Roquefort Noir. Back home we have it spread on bread with fig jam….another sensation…this time an assault on the taste buds.
It’s uncomfortably hot. The locals predict a storm in the next day or two and I am reminded of how we were flooded in at Nimes at roughly the same time 5 years ago. With no breeze and little relief from the small electric fan we bought, we crash out on the bed. The sunflower dress wilts on the floor.
46/21 - BUSY DOING NOTHING
Friday July 30th
Doing nothing actually heightens your senses. No , really. Despite all that is said about keeping active, exercising your brain, mind power etc, doing absolutely nothing brings a different perception into focus.
I have always been able to lose myself in the moment when I am doing SOMETHING. Sometimes dangerously so. When I’m writing I am completely in the place I am creating, with no sense of time or place in the real world. My time frame is the script’s time frame. I don’t return to “real time” until the script is finished. It is an out of body, out of life experience where fantasy is reality. It’s interesting that writers have more autistic children than any other profession, but not surprising when you analyse it. When you are a writer, rather than someone who writes, it is much like autism - creating an alternative reality to function within.
Most of us have to concentrate on SOMETHING to do nothing. Even those who meditate usually have a mantra or a mandala or something to focus on. If anything breaks the focus, they are back to reality in a nanosecond.
This morning I realised I had been doing absolutely nothing for some hours….not daydreaming even. It was an unconscious meditation where time passed and I was in the world but not of it. The result was astonishing on the return to reality. I could see a hawk in the far distance and hear a jet plane that was out of sight….merely a tiny contrail in the sky.
When we drove to Uzes my senses were bombarded by things I might never have noticed. The long shadows of six pencil cedars against a medieval wall….a huge spider’s web horizontal between wheat stalks…..a flock of white birds - doves - though my first thought of course was cockatoos. I thought what brilliant photos Kelly would have taken of them…she is a gifted photographer where as I am hopeless. Kelly takes photographs for herself….anything that interests her. I do that with my eyes…the image stays etched in my mind but it doesn’t occur to me to reach for the camera. I take photos for other people to see - typical tourist shots. Just awful. My memory is far more artistic.
Bourdiguet now has official status! It happened while we were in spain. We were warned before we came that we would not find the village on the map or the satnav - but now there is actually a road sign outside of Aigaliers which says Bourdiguet 3 kms. And a larger sign as you enter the village. In truth the village is a collection of about 10 houses - most of which belonged to the old farm, and a couple of new builds. No shop, no post office, no school…. No nothing. I hope now there won’t be a rush of - say - four or five people wanting to enlarge the village.
Today we went to the local pool and swam. Impeccably clean, the water was a balmy 24C - comfortable after the 35C temperature outside the water. We swam for a couple of hours and then went home to sleep. This few days is all about US being together. I can’t remember what we ate…or if we ate - and I am drinking gallons of water; over the wine for the time being. We watched some of the athletics. Life is very gentle and beautiful right now.
Doing nothing actually heightens your senses. No , really. Despite all that is said about keeping active, exercising your brain, mind power etc, doing absolutely nothing brings a different perception into focus.
I have always been able to lose myself in the moment when I am doing SOMETHING. Sometimes dangerously so. When I’m writing I am completely in the place I am creating, with no sense of time or place in the real world. My time frame is the script’s time frame. I don’t return to “real time” until the script is finished. It is an out of body, out of life experience where fantasy is reality. It’s interesting that writers have more autistic children than any other profession, but not surprising when you analyse it. When you are a writer, rather than someone who writes, it is much like autism - creating an alternative reality to function within.
Most of us have to concentrate on SOMETHING to do nothing. Even those who meditate usually have a mantra or a mandala or something to focus on. If anything breaks the focus, they are back to reality in a nanosecond.
This morning I realised I had been doing absolutely nothing for some hours….not daydreaming even. It was an unconscious meditation where time passed and I was in the world but not of it. The result was astonishing on the return to reality. I could see a hawk in the far distance and hear a jet plane that was out of sight….merely a tiny contrail in the sky.
When we drove to Uzes my senses were bombarded by things I might never have noticed. The long shadows of six pencil cedars against a medieval wall….a huge spider’s web horizontal between wheat stalks…..a flock of white birds - doves - though my first thought of course was cockatoos. I thought what brilliant photos Kelly would have taken of them…she is a gifted photographer where as I am hopeless. Kelly takes photographs for herself….anything that interests her. I do that with my eyes…the image stays etched in my mind but it doesn’t occur to me to reach for the camera. I take photos for other people to see - typical tourist shots. Just awful. My memory is far more artistic.
Bourdiguet now has official status! It happened while we were in spain. We were warned before we came that we would not find the village on the map or the satnav - but now there is actually a road sign outside of Aigaliers which says Bourdiguet 3 kms. And a larger sign as you enter the village. In truth the village is a collection of about 10 houses - most of which belonged to the old farm, and a couple of new builds. No shop, no post office, no school…. No nothing. I hope now there won’t be a rush of - say - four or five people wanting to enlarge the village.
Today we went to the local pool and swam. Impeccably clean, the water was a balmy 24C - comfortable after the 35C temperature outside the water. We swam for a couple of hours and then went home to sleep. This few days is all about US being together. I can’t remember what we ate…or if we ate - and I am drinking gallons of water; over the wine for the time being. We watched some of the athletics. Life is very gentle and beautiful right now.
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