This and that

Yesterday was lovely and sunny and warm. We even ate outside in Roaix, with Keith and Liz. And sat in the sun on our terrace until Archers Time.
Today however, dire forecasts of industrial strength Mistral. It hasn't yet materialised but the temperature has gone down and we've had a bit of rain. Last market of the trip, coffee partaken in the watery sunshine with the regular crew including an English couple and their very sweet collie dog who loves and is loved by all. We conclude they are permanent residents, see them every week with a succession of what we presume are offspring and grandchildren visiting. We observe but remain anon... We will miss all this, it's our favourite bit.

Back in Sablet the wall opposite has been rendered this morning. Took four of them to do it and it looks very smart. But which colour did they choose? Hard to tell until it dries out completely. It's already looking lighter.
May First tomorrow - everything closed. But we have a brocante in the village to keep us amused. Who knows what bargains and treasures will be unearthed. Well, I do...none. And if it's as windy as threatened no one might turn up.

Hooray for Hollywoood!

Now you know those big letters on the hillside in Hollywood? Yes you do! Well Vacqueyras has them too. You see them in ten thousand point on the outskirts of the village.  Today we happened upon them while on a walk round the back of the village. It was another canal exploration but we detoured along a botanical trail first and were amply rewarded for our trouble.

But back to the matter in hand - the walking of as much as poss of the Canal de Carpentras. So we now pottered along to the Greate Workes seen the other day. They are done. And now we can inspect...it is a flood capture system to divert flood water fropm a piddlking loopoking stream (ha!) into a new basin. As we were there the sound of joyful enfants rent the air. Twas a school trip from Vacqueyras primary out on their regular nature walk. They passed by with appropriate adults and disappeared up the track.

 Nice and warm now in the lee of the slopes. The other side, the wind was chill. Had a fougasse aux lardons bought from Nathalie in the car and then went of to the Café du Cours in the village for a coffee in the sun. This spot epitomises La France for me. Huge plane trees, deep contrasting shadows, brilliant blue sky and honey coloured stone. Sitting on the terrace of a local bar with a petit crème. And as we were there at least four mega pantechnicons trundled down from the wine producers' caves, presumably laden with superior wine for the nation.

We zipped home for a quick change into lighter garments, somewhat puzzled not to find our house keys in the glove compartment. Only to discover we hadn't actuallly locked the door and they were sitting on the worktop in the kitchen.  Ahem!

It was such a lovely day that we just had to be out but not in the mood for serious walking and uphill (well I never am). The Plan de Dieu beckoned and as the canal crosses it we used that as a hook for the walk. Just pleasant field paths loaded with all sorts of butterflies and an amazing tiny moth that looked like a miniature swallowtail but bright lemon yellow.
Not only that but we got two for the price of one! Part way along our stroll the canal went under a familiar looking bridge with distinctive railings. Yes, it was the old track of our dear friend Le Petit Train.
I could see that it ran right up to the main road about a kilometer away under the red and white pylons fizzing with electricity.

So once we got  to the main road I struck across some vineyards to rejoin the former railway, and returned to the car...Another Way. Near the canal junction I was suddenly aware of a baleful look. On the edge of the bank was a Very Big Cat, all brown and speckled staring at me with ill disguised loathing. I was in his way. He loped off at hare-like speed across the vines and disappeared into the scrub.

A brief study of irrigation on the Vaucluse plain

 Flushed with success at having explored the Aubignan to Carpentras bit of the Canal, today we moved west and north to the section between Vacqueyras and Travaillan, where it ends. Research overnight revealed that the waterway starts in Mérindol down on the Durance and I have downloaded a most detailed account of it describing every sluice and siphon. Nerds can go to this link Canal de Carpentras.

Round the back of Vacqueyras there is a magic patch with mounds and strange weathered rocks and twisty lanes. The canal here is being upgraded. They are reconstructing an aqueduct that takes another canal off the main one. Must be important because this pretty major works.

It is also here that our little life-giver disappears under the hillside to emerge at least a kilometre later on the slopes of the Ouvèze between Gigondas and Violès. Our route was a bit more meandering down roads and tracks but we knew where to go because last year we'd been within a gnat's whisker of it, only down on the river bed itself in search of the mythical aqueduct that is marked on the map! Never saw the canal because it's obscured by trees.

At this point, well hidden in the vines it comes to a stop at the river. Instead of the aqueduct shown on the map, here is the longest siphon on the system. The water goes down a U bend, along a pipe under the river, and emerges on the other side into a proper canal bed again. Lots of debris gathers at the wall above the pipe, amongst which we noticed a punctured green watering can. Hold this in your minds...

And as I was gazing down into the water there was a scuffling and a splash and up popped a beautiful green lizard all dripping and glittery. He climbed up onto the concrete bank with his tail in the water trying not to look embarrassed. In fact he just stared us out. Adrian managed to take his portrait - very fine it is too. We could have scrambled across the river bed to see the continuation of the canal, but instead decided to drive round to Violès and do it from that side. You could tell it was midday - all the little vans and cars in the vines were moving out as if by some silent signal.

 

About 25 minutes later we got round and down the right track. There was a sluice gate in the vines where our canal fed some ancillliary ones and I was again just eyeing it all up when I noticed the green watering can. The very same - I recognised its slit sides. Ten seconds later and it would have disappeared because the water is flowing quite fast and I would never have known. What were the chances eh! Amazing. It must have been sucked down the siphon and out the other side. It reminded me of the Tin Soldier in the Hans Andersen tale.

Eventually, after a coffee in Violès to replace lunch, we followed the route across the Plan de Dieu to Travaillon. You can see the canal from time to time and even cross its path. The end comes on the banks of the Aygues where the water just pours through one final sluice into the river. More debris gathers at the outflow but we didn't spot our little watering can. Perhaps it was on its way, or maybe it had got caught elsewhere.

So, why, you ask, do we do this?! Infrastructure dear ones, infrastructure. It tells you why the land is as it is, how people produce what they do. No fraises de Carpentras or melons de Cavaillon, aspèrges, nectarines, Florette salad bags without this canal. And the amazing engineering and surveying that went into it in the 19th century. It helps inform where we are and understand how it all fits together.
Next instalment will be down on the Durance where it all begins... But you'll have to wait.

Gimme shelter

Mistral still with us. But it is so bright and sunny we had to get out. The reasoning being that south of Dentelles would be in the lee of the blast we off in that direction. On the way we detoured into Gigondas to see if there was a new sculpture trail. The village was a bit like a ghost town, pretty as ever but empty. And the wind howled round every corner. The steps up to the top where usually there is some installation was unkempt and unfilled. All we could find were two metal spheres, like man-made tumbleweed, that looked as if they'd been blown into the alcoves of a wall. Quite appropriate really.

But the purpose of today's expedition was to explore the Canal de Carpentras, a 19th century irrigation canal that wanders around the plain, enabling the production of fruit, vegetables and flowers - the life blood of the local economy. We did various stretches, mostly round Aubignan. You have to look carefully at the map to spot the tracks but once you do it's a wonderland. There seems to be a footpath along most of it, though we came to one place where it was completely dissected by a stream and the canal somehow went underneath.

Lovely birdsong above the dry rattling of the canne de Provence - nightingales, blackbird, warblers, dippers, anonymous yellow one in the tree. Swallows swooped, swifts screetched and ducklings cheeped. And we were pretty much sheltered most of the time.

We popped up to Caromb for a bar lunch - 13 euro steak frites salade pud wine coffee! Then another explore at the Carpentras end that was less successful. The canal sort of ends somewhere in a residential area. We could see it but the streets were residents only and no parking. Looked very nice so we'll probably have another go one day. We could have parked a bit farther away in a housing block but it looked a bit dodgy - the sort of place you see in Engrenages - so I put my foot down!

However, we did have a look at the old aqueducts that used to supply Carpentras with water.

Much dilapidated in places with trees growing out of the top.

This bit of it simply ends in someone's garden and the other bit we walked across disappeared into a school carpark.

Mistral

The rattling overnight was a clue. The wind was coming from the North, and strong. Always a bad sign when the windows on the middle floor are misted up in the morning- means it was cold. And it was! I muffled up in my new pink scarf, bought on the market yesterday, and battled up to the bakery for bread. And there I instantly morphed into The Pink Fairy. Picture, if you will,  a little boy of some eight or so years. Braces on his teeth, smartly dressed. A young Parisien on holiday allowed out to buy himself pastries. He was a chocolate fan. Nathalie offered him chocolate pain swirls, sacristains, even got Julien to push some sticks of chocolate into a warm croissant. And, finally, he added a chocolate éclair. Came to six euros but the poor lad only had five. This was all his mother had sent him out with. He was about to put one of his treats back but I took pity, sprinkled my fairy dust, and gave him the euro. Aah... Go on, let's hear it! He rewarded me with 'Un gros merci Madame.' and everyone in the shop beamed. Bet his mother is furious, undermined by a perfidious Albionite.

Around eleven we decided we simply had to have a walk and drove up to Rasteau. Didn't seem too bad at first. The sun was shining despite some evil looking clouds and the wind was strong but manageable. Along the way we passed the clump of iris I took in bud the other week. Now look at them- glorious, and not too battered by the gale.











Then once on the ridge out in the open it was a different story. Head down, Van Gogh-like, we marched into the teeth of the maddening wind. It was as lovely as ever but you didn't want to linger today. Back home the terrace doors are creaking against the relentless onslaught. Poor little violas on the window ledges are curling up and I have brought one of the pot plants in because it was visibly shivering.

All change

weather muggy. We had a brief feeble thunderstorm last night during the fishnchips and today is big clouds and patches of blue sky and flashes of bright sun.
Returning from the market, which was jolly in the extreme, we notice that Mr. Multiservices is once again fettling next door now the latest holiday visitors are gone. The man must be on a retainer! What can be left to do in that house?

The vines are now lettuce green and the fallow fields, recently grubbed up, are dotted with red clover. Is this a legendary 'herbal lay', O Archers fans?

And, special thrill. Just as we were turning out of the track leading between Rasteau and Cairanne, a joyful stoat danced across the road and flashed its cream bib at us.

The Freiburg two are off today, to be replaced by the Berkhamstead duo. So we will not be friendless.

Running repairs

Today we have been mostly buying and fitting a new toilet seat! Well, not all day, obvs. But joy of joys this morning it was announced that the old loo seat hinges had broken - hooray. I have been wanting a new one for some time. So off to Bricomarché for a replacement. Consternation at the choice - white, red, grey, one with a yellow orchid on it. Alas no Union Jack ones. So we settled for bog standard (geddit) white. It was fixed and fitted in a trice - no shrieks of despair or swearing heard at all.


Down on the Riviera opposite, we think they are fitting a Sauna. Why else would you put wood planking as a roof over bitumen coated concrete and have a large pipe sticking above the lot if not to produce steamy heat?

Fish and Chips this evening just to support Bruno. But is isn't very warm so we will doubtless be inside.

Up top

Well we have been most indolent since the Great Walk on Tuesday. Yesterday was sunny and we patrolled our battlements, gazing at the goings on down below. Work continues on the piscine and its dependences. Men threw render at the wall which does not seem to have stuck and then neat little patches of sample colour were plastered on. Which shall we choose? The one on the right is favourite.

A cacophony of cleated feet and cycle brakes saw us rush to the parapet...a gaggle of middle-aged cyclists were gathered by the lavoir with water bottles. Oh eau ...it is non potable!

Today's brief excursion was to Villedieu for coffee. We sat in the lovely square with its three eateries and fountain and it were reet pleasant. Even if the coffee was, how shall I say, not.

Beautification goes on apace. Not everyone takes heed of road signs however. Adrian marches on defiant!

Flowers are coming out mob handed now. Wisteria all over everything like a rash, delicious tiny yellow flowered climbing roses, dusty pink tamarisk plumes and bluebells, deep purple, blue and white iris in great swathes. And last year's pomegranate husks hanging on for grim death!

Bleu blanc rouge

A sunny but windy start so we booted up and strode out towards the Cheval Long - the ridge behind the village that divides us from the Dentelles proper. Just a couple of minutes on and we heard the familiar roar of jets and a perfect diamond formation flew over us. Somehow it is impossible not to watch, no matter how many times we see them. Today was certainly worth it. They have progressed to Level 5 now and as three of them hurtled vertically upwards two pumped out dark blue and red trails and the middle one At Last added the white as they looped the loop. The remaining four peeled off like a fan, billowing blue and red. By now the sky was a puther of mingled pigment! This continued for some while as they regrouped, morphed into arrow formations, diamonds, whizzed round the hills and popped out from behind the ridge to have another go at it. Precision stuff. So we were a bit behind in our schedule by the time they went off for elevenses.

It was warming up, the wind was tempered by the trees as we emerged at the end of the climb above the village. Great views. Butterflies- swallowtails, clouded yellow, various white jobs and little browny orange things. Cuckoos down below. At the south end of the ridge we left Sablet behind and edged along a stretch of Gigondas before coming down by the old Plague track and back home. Just in time for drink and plat du jour chez Bruno. Three jolly hours deserved a reward!

Today is Greffoir in the Republican Calender- it means grafting knife. Sablet has a claim to fame in this area. Here is the street sign. Technology supplanting the tool, though I bet people still use the knife.

Vote Yes

How could you not? This is what our money is used for...saving eels. Hooray!

As you can see today was a day by our dear Rhône.

But we started out at Châteauneuf du Pâpe for a walk round the vines. These ones are on the top of a rise overlooking the river down towards Avignon. The stones are sharp white limestone, not the more rounded 'galets' of Vieux Télégraph.  Sore feet- as usual I was in trainers and not properly shod! It was breezy and sunny but not really very warm. Only 17 degrees today. So exhilarating on top of the ridge. It is different from our area because the rolling slopes as well as open views give a sense of height even though it's only a river galley.

People are busy in the vines now with wires and posts, and strange insect-like tractors. The leaves are bursting, butterflies fluttering, birds of prey a'preying, you get the idea!

The journey continued down to the ruined château of Hers on the river. You can do a good walk along between the Rhône and a wildlife canal here.

Nightingales singing here and we think we heard beeeaters too.  And a flock of sheep were making
their way along the banks of herbs and wild flowers, tended by young shepherd and his dogs.
Midday struck from across the river at Roquemaur but we still had to visit Montfaucon on the other (Gard) side. There was a vague hope of a café... Alas not, though the views from its former castle mound were pretty good. We could even see Sablet.

By the time we manoeuvered ourselves back to Vaucluse again and into Caderousse, it was nearly two. So all we had for lunch was an espresso in this rather smart café. One to remember - the menu looked good.













And so to the final bit - a look at the CNR turbines and lock just up the  river.

 

 Most exciting! Zillions of cubic metres of water rushing through and turbines churning up the river.

The current caused a sort of eddy at one side where a raft of debris, mostly tree bits, formed a round swirling mass.
And this where the eel ladders are.

Who will buy...?

Roaix last Friday. Glorious sun.

Roaix, Sunday morning... The lower carpark is strewn with the contents of wardrobes, cupboards, attics, cellars, the roof spaces of sheds. It is Vide Grenier time! Some sellers are die-hard collectors who tramp from village to village with their odds and sods, but most are local folk clearing out their dross. They do this a lot in France. Occasionally, as here, there is a fund raising chips and sandwiches refreshment point in the school, and a rather incongruous seller of strawberries (other seasonal produce is available) in the middle.

It is wonderful street theatre...Père Noël sitting in a pushchair, boxes of jam jars, unwrapped stashes of beer mats, clothes, worn and unworn, ricketty chairs, weird metal ornaments, old school equipment, pots and pans, glasses and crockery. Lots of children's paraphenalia which, mirabile dictu, seems to sell.

.

Ever wondered what to do with those old souvenir keyrings?
Not a warm day, grey and chilly despite it being 18 degrees. Thunder forecast for later, so why
not mix it with the rest of the inhabitants. As we
did, one lady explained the use of a small hand press. Adrian had already twigged it was a meat press but not its true and grisly purpose. Lady informed us that the blood expressed from the press was fed to children in the olden days (how olden I wondered) to give them Strength!

We eventually trundled homeward behind this dear little tractor. Clouds gathering over the hills. Back home, empty handed, we drowned our disappointment at the bar. There are now shafts of sun breaking through as we sit on the terrace. Tonight we go again to the Florian to see Brooklyn - film, not young Beckam.

Swift return

They are here! Heard faint squeaks earlier and now they are circling round the village. A day at home enjoying the sun, lunch at Roaix under the trees. Thunderous racket from the construction work across the road - more houses... It will soon finish, they are quick workers and all they do is put in all services ready for building.

Piégon

This is a place. A village of sorts near Mirabel. It was such a lovely day today that it struck me this would be a good place for a wander. We'd been there years ago when we were staying in Mirabel and on that occasion in the hot summer we'd watched a troupe of beeeaters swooping over the road scoffing butterflies. So I found a route on t'internet that we adapted a bit to shorten and off we trotted.

Warm enough for Bare Arms! Yeah. The walk starts in the village in front of this frankly gross sculpture done directly into the rock. Called La Belle Vendengeuse (this is wine country).
You are instructed not to climb on it. Then it's along the lanes past the restored 12th century chapel and up to the  bell tower below the ruins of the old village.

Great views and worth the precarious scramble. Mirabel is below in the distance and Ventoux behind me, wearing a fresh white snow collar. It was so quiet here. Just bird song and the occasional distant vehicle, hens chuntering and cocks crowing, jackdaws chirruping as they brought nest material to the tower.

We stopped at the top of a ridge by a vineyard around midday. A couple of blokes were having lunch by their van but as usual we had brought nothing with us! Really do not like lugging bottles and bags on a walk and we weren't bothered. They were replanting a whole hillside with cuttings that looked as if they'd been dipped in red wax. It was at this moment that we heard the lads, way over Sablet way, and saw that they were still practising with red and blue smoke, no white yet!

Ventoux looked dramatic but no sign of vehicles up there yet. Should have opened yesterday but if there was fresh snow this might delay things.

At this point the walk went on for another few hours past some ruined village where giants had been found (!) but we took the short cut back through the vines and a smart domaine where obviously they also did serious olive production. The trees all had rolled netting attached ready to be unfurled to catch the ripe olives. No way these precious fruit were going to be sullied by contact with the soil.

Back in time for thunder

Forecast was for sun then showers and not so warm as yesterday. Did a quick wash and while putting it out to dry noticed the gallant lads at play again. This time issuing red smoke and rolling all over the sky. We had planned to go up to Buis, decided to risk the weather and off we went. Talk about a spectacular air show! As we were driving out of Sablet the whole Patrouillle zoomed across, four of them doing a sort of roller coaster loop and streaming out red and blue trails. The others joined in with snakey trails. So maybe tomorrow they will add the white and we will get the full display - pre-Champs Élysée performance.

The road to Buis is special, across the slopes of the Baronnies via Puyméras and Propiac. So picturesque, with long views to Ventoux and slopes covered in vines and olives and cherry trees.

Strange sights in the olive groves. He had friends...

We'd totally forgotten that Wednesday is market day in Buis. Treat! It's a good market, too. Different from the others because of different local producers, and it brings the whole town to life. Got a stash of asparagus at 5€50 a kilo- half the price we paid on Ste Cécile, fresh local garlic and green beans.

As luck would have it, midday passed and we were within reach of restaurants. Just a pizza. The owner was worried we might get rained on but the sun was still out and temps were rising. All was well and it's fun to watch the stallholders pack up so efficiently in the space of a few minutes. Seems we have a new Cardinal!

After lunch we returned via Ste Jallle on the other side of the hills to the north. No vines here, just lavender and olives.
Then a brief stop in Mirabel where, as usual we sat and admired the house covered and almost obscured by potted plants and flowers, and gazed at the house we would have bought if it hadn't been too expensive! By now it was really hot, jumpers were removed and, in the process, cameras (mine) put down...only to be remembered as we were getting back into the car. I hot footed it back to the place I'd left it and it was still there.

We know a little short cut road that goes via Villedieu. Half way along it becomes just unmade track for a few hundred metres. We
assume that this is some no man's land  between communes and neither wishes to pay for surfacing. At the side of the road lay a sad sight - this poor aéolien flat on its back.
Black clouds were now visible over the Dentellles and raindrops spattered on the windscreen as we hit Vaison. The washing! Once home I dashed to the terrace and wrenched the towels off the line as the first claps of thunder boomed. All still dry-just.