Restoration

Another sun filled day and as we are awake an hour early, it makes sense to be up and doing before night sets in! Just as well this time because at 8.15, John and Louise (with Poncho crated in the back!) drew up on their way home, to say goodbye. Oh dear, not many of us left now.

Liz and Keith are also off today but they told us of a good walk up above Beaumes. Today was the day to try it. Who knows how many more days like this there will be...carpe diem.

We left the car at Notre Dame d'Aubune overlooking the Beaumes Coop and the giant concrete hands roundabout then set off up the scrambly limestone scree and rock path, beautifully waymarked with blue, red and yellow stripes.

Part way up there was a stone hut with an old anvil and forge equipment. Strange.

But the goal was a ruined chapel on the top of the ridge that is being restored. Believed to be originally 6th century then destroyed by the Moors and rebuilt in the 12th century. Romanesque.

It's a heavily funded project, part of the European Christianity Route. The grounds are being rebuilt by volunteers though. They've reconstructed the terraces and planted rows of iris and olive trees.

Farther along the ridge we came upon another excavation that is being done by International Youth Volunteers. Except that the men wielding shovels today were all retired or close to it! This one is also a chapel that had been  attached to the castle. Quite a way to go yet.

The views in all directions were super but we definitely wouldn't attempt this in summer - it was hot enough today! But from here it was all downhill to Beaumes through the woods, arriving neatly at 12. Just in time to grab a pastry or two from the boulangerie and have a cool drink in the Bar du Siècle before completing our circuit by walking back to Notre Dame d'Aubune. Where to our surprise we came upon the volunteer excavators stashing away their tools in the chapel. Obviously they drove down the road as we were scrambling down the woodland track.

It's Halloween tonight but really the French don't quite get it. It seems to be a family affair where infants go politely from door to door expecting sweets. We have just (at 3.30 and in broad daylight) seen a mother and child dressed in witches' garb. Adrian hastily drew the curtains and we ran upstairs in silence until they had passed by - just like we do with Jehovah's Witnesses in Devon! 

Sun

It has been nice for days now and set fair. Cold nights though. We've taken advantage and had some good walks. One above St Maurice sur Eygues through the vines with views for ever.

But the Sablet 'birds' are starting to gather for the return migration. So last night we had four of them round for dinner.

The little house looked very smart!

Down South

Sun was forecast so we were up and off for Arles by 8.15. As we drove down along the Rhone, we noticed it was also pretty breezy! Good Van Gogh weather.

We love Arles. Some people we know really don't. They think it is scruffy and touristy. Well in some ways it is, but only in parts. There are plenty of quiet streets unpolluted by Viking Cruises crocodiles. They tend to go to the Arènes and Van Gogh Convent then scurry back to the boat for lunch behind their tour guide with her Red 'Lollipop'!

But the day did not start well. My favourite regular breakfast bar was closed so we grabbed some croissants and a palmier from the smart pâtisserie up the road and went into one across
the square. The croissants were good, the palmier a dream of delicious buttery crumbliness, but...the so called grand crème coffees, well. Grand semi skimmed lait more like it! Honestly we could detect no coffee, so we melted the
complimentary choc squares into them in a desperate attempt to get flavour.

Thus fortified we embarked on our city walk, starting with the river wall. Down the lane out of the Place du Forum and away from any potential grockles we wended our way past the wonderful Actes Sud bookshop/publisher, a gallery in the former Docks d'Amersterdam warehouse, the Van Gogh foundation.

It was pretty blowy up on the embankment so we dropped down again into the streets. The area known as La Roquette is quite smart and not  heaving with sightseeers. The houses are pretty and it pays to raise your eyes from the pavement because they have interesting details, roof terraces, mediaeval corbels (?) shutters etc. Amazing that anything is left standing on some of those rooftop terraces knowing how windy it gets here!

Mind you, it also pays to look where you are going because here and there are these strange alien bollards with eyes, ready to trip you up!

Old Arles isn't that big despite the fact that the Commune of Arles is the biggest in France in area. We were soon back on the boulevard with its bustling brasseries and a mere hop and a skip from the Roman Remains. The Viking Cruisers were already filing back to base and only a manageable number of half termers still pottering round the Arènes. Our final stop was outside the city gates at the place where Van G's Yellow House once stood. Nothing left now but it would have been on that grassy patch. 

Quite an eventful patch too. It was here that the most ferocious fight took place between the Résistants and the German forces that led to the liberation of the city.

Now what? Well it was warm, we were here on the edge of the Camargue, the sea beckoned. Les Saintes Maries de la Mer seemed a good idea... like I said, It Is Half Term! As we approached, Adrian groaned at the sight of the world's supply of Camper Vans. We had another indifferent lunch at a restaurant that had previously served the best moules frites Evah. But at least it was hot and bright and good to be there.

In view of the volume of folk, some of them in the sea, but most just walking, we gave up the idea of a long trek into the wetlands and instead strolled along the prom enjoying the bright warmth. And trying to identify the odd woopee cushion noise that we eventually tracked down to wind (ha ha) in the street lamps.

Tuesday's sooooop

Well that was last night. The annual Soup Competition, part of the Soup Festival of the Vaison area! You might think we have entered the realms of the Soup Dragon and Major Clanger, but no. This is serious stuff. Folk gather in the School with their prize-winning (they hope) broths. Others scramble for cupfuls of same and someone judges the brews.You then fork out 8euros for a meal and wine.



Our friend Sørn, a mean soupetier, has been known to enter, but it is futile. Only a local ever gets the prize. And the winner goes on to the the great Simmer-Off at the end of the Festival, competing against the winners of the other villages.

We've never been. Adrian doesn't fancy it. I might have joined the gang of four (Liz, Keith, Gerard, Jen) last night, had it not been for watching Adam on Eggheads. Family first and all that! But to be honest the meal of a sausage and flageolets followed by bread and a foil wrapped triangle of camembert didn't sound too great!



This morning we seemed to spend our time trying to chase down L and K. Eventually, after having circled each other round the village like Pooh and Piglet searching for the Heffalump, we made contact and set out for lunch. In their hire car...only we couldn't get in. Automatic key did not work. Eventually Keith managed by using it manually and opened the doors from inside. But then the ignition wouldn't start and he couldn't lock the doors again! No lunch. They used our phone to speak to Avis and we went our separate ways...us to Vaison for what turned out to be an indifferent plat du jour.

Weep not, the home journey was a feast of amazing clouds and vivid colours and we stopped and walked round the vines in warm sun and wind.

Season of mists and yellow fruitfulness

Another warm grey blanket day. Rather nice really - I don't mind this muted light. It's a good backdrop to the luminous yellows of the leaves and foliage. Everything seems to be yellow today... quinces, persimmons, vines, poplars, plane trees, even asparagus beds. We looked out over the vines to the misty valley to the north and decided to visit Nyons. Why not?! No, we did not eat here but it looked so much of another era.

And just down the street, so did this. A lovely 1928 pedal car in the Citroën showroom.

In fact it was all a bit old and new round here!

We'd sort of thought we might have coffee in Nyons but nowhere inspired us. It was the tail end of lunchtime and we've had some pretty appalling coffee here before. So we went back to Mirabel. Should have known better! Last time we entered the lone café, we sat for ages and no one appeared. This time at least they had the good grace to stick a notice on tbe door saying reopening at 5.30. Harrumph. Plan C...Puyméras at the jolly refurbed bar. As soon as we entered the street we knew we were doomed. Zinc shutters firmly down. Notice saying weekly closing Tuesdays. As if they were a public art gallery!

Nothing for it but to go to Vaison, where we had Viennese hot(ish) choc in the square.

Autumn rituals

21  degrees at 8 am. Country cocooned in a dense grey high cloud with sunshine bursting through. Definitely warmer out than in!  In Vaison men are pruning plane trees - it's that time of year.

Also the time of year when Mme Pradier (baker 2) produces her indescribably scrumptious Pains coing - brioche buns filled with a whole poached quince. Divine.

Carpe Diem

Bright blue sky again so off to market for chicken and breakfast. We managed to bag a table in the sun, just, and basked for a while watching the usual comings and goings across the road.

One or two rather strange stalls but the usual stallholders were mostly back - we asked the chicken sellers why they'd been absent last week and they said it was because they'd been washed out by rain on the Friday. The same rain we had on Monday if you see what I mean! And they warned that more was to come - tomorrow. That decided us. We unloaded the spoils at home then set straight out again for Visan to get as much sun as we can before the wet.

We like Visan, and its wine. The village is rather grand picturesque stone houses overlooking the vines and hills, so after purchasing wines in the smart Cave we strolled up into the old town to the top and enjoyed the view before a restorative beer and wine in the bar.

I had vaguely hoped we might visit the Salon de Santons that is being held in the local centre this weekend! Ha Ha. Not a chance. I do like Santons. They are terracotta figures representing local people and occupations but linked to Christmas, so you get camels and shepherds as well as lavender sellers and bakers. They are part of the tableaux in most Provençal churches at Christmas and have a long respectable tradition. Adrian considers them on a par with Eddie Grundy's garden gnomes!






There's a fine alternative return route over the hills which was too tempting to ignore today. Through vines and olive groves with view to Ventoux one way, Montélimar another, sort of the Alps to the north. It was so still today, not a breath of wind. But we could see the clouds gathering over beyond the Cévennes and they will be with us this evening.

Stopped on the top for a short walk through the vines and olives. We tend to take it for granted a bit that you can just do this. And now that the harvest has taken place there are occasional opportunities for scrumping the small bunches of grapes that have been left behind. They are so delicious - sweet and ripe. Why buy them? Well, of course, because We are British and Honest!




We lingered as long as we could then headed back. Resinous pine perfumes, twittering of little invisible Olive Warblers in the groves and a robin trilling in a bush. You just have to fix the memory and the sights in your mind to remember how lovely it is once you are not there. So easy to forget.

The Big Birthday Bash

Only Jennifer kept still

7 pm. We are foregathered in a vigneron restaurant somewhere near Violès. A mêlée of people, some we know, others we sort of know, some total strangers. All there to celebrate our dear friend Gérard's 80th birthday. It was a good if occasionally chaotic event starting with a Provençal musician playing us in to Coupo Santo, the Provençal anthem - in your choice of language! Words were provided in Provençal and French.

Louise is serene, Keith rapt, Gudrun attentive

Then courses of food dribbled onto the tables (not literally) during which lengthy, anecdotal introductions and speeches were given often twice or thrice in different languages , often hilariousy rambling and jumbled - first by Gérard, then by Dieter his old friend, Eliane, Gudrun, Ellen (G and J's eldest daughter). We are told that Germans like these sorts of speeches

Gudrun presented a painting of Sablet she had done. In fact the point of the evening was really this. The affection Jen and Gérard have for their adopted village, and the reciprocal affection we all have for them. A veritable United Nations of friendship. And we met some nice new people too.

Today, cloudless, sunny, warm so we redid last year's walk near Veaux. Colours not quite as vivid yet but it was lovely.

C is for Carpentras

athough we didn't really go  into town. C is also for Canal and this was the objective. We wanted to see how it passes through its namesake town. This involved leaving the car in the middle of vines alongside the canal and, the ringroad. Not a promising start. But here was a spanking new footbridge with ramp for bikes to get us across to the other side.

Once there all was green and sparkly with crashing bamboos,  strange fruits on unknown trees, a runner and then a whole school party out on its bikes . As usual, the canal runs between quite smart houses. Some with gardens open to the water, others with imposing gates.

Eventually it gets into the town and the path ends up at a tunnel where the canal disappears for 96 metres. We left it there and circled back through a lovely wooded park with river and weir. C is for cascade, too!







Stopped in Aubignan on the way back and had a quick walk round the ruined old village. Well it isn't ruined but the walls certainly are! It must have been pretty grand once. And we zipped into a bar for plat du jour to keep us going until tonight's fiesta. Who knows what time we will dine! Anyway it was a tasty chicken in creamy sauce, spiced veg and buttery couscous. No frills, vast colourful painting on the wall of locals playing cards, a few blokes tucking in, no ladies except two braving the chill wind on the terrace, pleasant owner, clean kitchen visible, collie sheepdog squirming with pleasure to be noticed and stroked. It's what we come here for.

A is for apple

...and Ardèche.
Our fickle weather decided to have a hot day today. Sun, blue sky, the works. With no great plan we drove west towards the Rhône and ended up on the unmarked roads between motorway and TGV. We like that. Somewhere near Mondragon we hit upon apple groves groaning with fruit. Pink, plum red, yellow. Crates were stacked up alongside in readiness for the harvest but some fruit had already fallen. Never one to miss a free mouthful, Adrian bit into it. Pah! Vile, tasteless. French apples are destined for other things than ploughman's lunch. They go into tartes aux pommes, compôtes, juice. They need to be soft - don't be too harsh.

Last year we went twice to Aiguèze, the cliff village overlooking the Ardèche. Today we thought we'd view it from the other side. En route we passed through St Just d'Ardèche and swerved to a halt by this extraordinary set of buildings, completely decorated with bizarre
sculptures, frescoes, mottoes.







As we were gazing, an elderly man popped outand handed us a leaflet. All his own work. Briefly, he is fighting against the bland internationalisation of culture and art galeries, the ubiquitous pots of flowers and false 'traditions', the nuclear facility down the road. And more!

 

Moving on... We got to St Martin across from Aiguèze and walked on the beach by the river and looked up. Very nice. Lovely river, but by the size of the carpark, a nightmare in season.

St Martin was very sleepy today, all closed up and we were lucky to get a cup of coffee by the bridge at 3.
Kind lady served us as she was clearing up.

It's in fact the lowest bridging point of the Ardèche because the bridge at Pont St Esprit is below the confluence with the Rhòne.

On our way back we passed through Piolenc. garlic capital of, ... Well, here!
They like you to know this.

Then. Just as we were driving into Sablet, an ominous bang from 107's rear. No, not the effects of bio fuel but the exhaust pipe. Bracket broken. Swiftly down to the garage on the roundabout. Man can do it  tomorrow but needs car all day. So no trip to Arles.
Have a consolation pomegranate !

Living in the clouds

Well it is wet. We are trapped inside in the midde of a big grey cloud. Such a dramatic change from yesterday's warm sun.

I'm supposed to be going to the taxi firm two streets away to see about a minibus for next Thursday's Big Party...somehow I think this will have to wait!

So in the meantime, here are some pictures of rain... Note the lack of view!

Do I hear thunder? Perhaps not.