maisie's first impressions, recountd over a glass of red wine (the rose being insufficiently chilled)

Travelling economy is not to my liking. So cramped! And that awful child three rows back who screamed and hollered all night. The final indignity - no cheese course. In fact no food at all as la patronne chose to sleep rather than dine. Then of course much agitation as our hour delay in montreal meant we arrived in geneva after official vet hours, so I just kept quiet in my travelling gym bag and despite having all my papers in order,have essentially found myself an illegal alien in the EU. Ne t thing you know I will be put to work selling knockoff kongs in the market. We are parading around in a huge deluxe station wagon, upgraded to automatic, which I understsnd is a good thing, particularly if one is, like me, uneasy in the car. My first impression of France was a lovely cheese plate shared (not equally I might add)with la patronne at a roadside service centre. At least I got my own bottle of Vittel. Our rental property was hard to find, but is quite suitable. We have french doors in the bedroom that i enjoy using to survey my domayin, plus a terrace where i am too often chained after an exuberant survey of the extent of the property, with its shady areas, grassy areas, and ball-playing pitch. Also, supermarkets here stock a superior brand of terrier kibble. Cheese also pasable, but i am waiting anxiuosly to try some beaufort from the mountain man.

Eating and Shopping

Last night (Sunday) I found a lovely little restaurant right around the corner (well around several different corners but not more than 150 metres away) from the hotel. It is called Le Retour du Marche and features cuisine from local ingredients purchased each morning at the market (which is where the Picasso is staying). There was hardly anyone there (6 other people) so I got a spot on the terrace. It was not only lovely, but very interesting because a lot of people’s balconies overlook it so it provided an interesting perspective on the residential architecture.

I had a chilled tomato soup accompanied by little gratinees distinctively flavoured with piment d’espellete, which I do not believe I have ever had before. It is a hot pepper common to southwest France. I followed that with a delicious poached fish and fresh vegetables in a buerre noisette (refreshing change from buerre blanc). I also had a very good local wine from Herault (next department I think) called Eolienne. I had an orthographic panic in making my selection of main dish or I might have had the pulled veal shank pot pie (emiette de jarret de veau avec pommes de terre parmentier), but I feared I might be ordering calf brain (veaux) so I steered clear. Too bad, now that I know it is veal it sounds absolutely delicious. There are no photos because the camera battery conked out on my bike trip earlier in the day.

This morning (now Monday) I had to choose between a bike ride (not to Montpellier – too far I think since I am not familiar with the country) to an archeological site outside of Nimes, but it is hardly worthclambering over stones in bike cleats and it didn’t sound all that interesting, so I decided to explore the city instead and just wandered around on foot, only occasionally consultingthe map (when I began to circle the Arena for the third time). There is some excellent shopping in this town (but quite a bit of it is not available on Mondays, except perhaps for the afternoon). I had a quite tasty coffee at the Café Beaux Arts on the Place des Herbes, and then I could not resist buying a half litre of the best picholine olive oil in France last year – let’s hope that gets home intact.

I went to the little café near the market for lunch (the one where we saw the workmen having an 8 am glass of wine on Sunday). I cheated a bit on my cleanse and had veal lasagne (delicious!) and green salad as it was the plat du jour (and because I had foolishly foregone the veal the night before). Then I went to FNAC and looked at cookbooks and cycling books and cds (and bought a few). From there I headed off to an excellent little shopping street (Rue aux Chapitres) I had passed in the morning and ended up buying two tops and a pair of shoes from some very nice ladies. Much of the clothing here is quite “arty” and either layered or structured.

I came back and organized some of my packing and discovered just how much of Rosanna’s clothing I am actually bringing back! I think I will head to the WiFi café now for an aperitif and maybe post this and check e-mail (and check in on my flight) and see if another restaurant I liked the look of is in fact open this evening. Also, I might pick up a few things I left in the car and pack them in my suitcase.

Ethel (or is it Lucy?) goes back to Italy

Today (Sunday) we were up relatively early and off to a bakery when it opened its doors at 8, then to a café where the street cleaners (the ones we think were at the end of their shift) were having several glasses of wine each (yes, at 8am). We had coffee. It turned out the car exit ramp was quite straightforward and not very steep. Also the uphill starts after the gate and ends in a special lane (no merging). All well and good, but I wondered how I could get back into that precise area of the lot without engaging in some dodgy manoeuvres of my own. I had put on my biking things and stuffed my bike in the car as I planned to visit St. Remy and les Baux and Arles. At first it looked like it might be too foggy and dangerous, but as we left the Gard and approached the Vaucluse (and this is pathetic fallacy I believe) it cleared right up. After Rosanna and her luggage (including Pussy Jones) was safely stowed in the train, I headed for St. Remy, which only took 20 minutes from the Avignon TGV and I found a parking spot on the outskirts of the centreville. There was some kind of Sunday antique fair and the place was crawling with tourists, so I did not linger, but headed to les Baux, which I had formerly thought the most spectacular landscape I had ever seen.

That was before the Gorge de la Nesque. I climbed all the way up into that town (just below the chateau) and it was jam packed with bus tours. Between that and the cobblestones I also decided to leave there quickly, and fancied maybe a lunch at the Bistro du Paradou where Peter Mayle and Charles Aznavour are regulars. Alas, it is closed on Sunday.

There was nothing for it but to head to Arles, which has a long drawn out approach and layout typical of these towns in the flats. There was some kind of bullfight festival on (no doubt why hotel rooms were so scarce) and it was also crawling with tourists (all in either Tilley-style or straw cowboy hats). I had a steak frites and glass of red costieres de nimes and headed back to St. Remy, taking a slightly different route (so I did not have to climb les Baux again and deal with all those vehicles on that narrow road). As luck would have it, it was completely flat and featured a bike lane, so I made very good time and arrived moments before my paid parking (not that anyone seemed to be checking) expired. Then, miracle of miracles, I got from St. Remy to Nimes and into the parking lot and into exactly the same space we had departed from in the morning (without doing anything tricky or illegal at all, unless you call following the signage tricky) and then to the hotel in one hour flat.

Subsequently I spent almost an hour trotting around with my macbook looking for a bar (or restaurant – anything) that is open on a Sunday night. I am NOT going back to Country Rock, even though it advertises itself as ouvert 7 sur 7. I would rather eat Petits Ecoliers all night. I think I will do a little Michelin search to see if there are any restaurants I might like to patronize. Tomorrow I am contemplating a bike ride to Montpellier, if I can figure out how to get out of the city on something other than a major road.

Lucy et Ethel quittent le Vaucluse

We were up quite early Saturday morning, and headed off to the laverie in Malaucene to do the household linens (which we now have a full set of stored with June!), and for Rosanna to retrieve her pedals which she inadvertently forgot to have the shop remove from her rental bike. Once back at the house there was a bit of horsetrading of items – I was prevailed upon to bring afew of Rosanna’s things back and in return she demanded my Q-tip holder (!) and tea towels and several CLif Bars. We divvied up the remaining PetitsEcoliers. I packed the car and made several trips to dump garbage, recycling and compost and she cleaned the house. Then we popped down the road to les Alazards to say goodbye to June and Paul who were cleaning the large gite. The pool looks fantastic I must say, and the house is more beautiful than I recall, and so is the setting. Rosanna wanted to know why we kept dragging our asses on bikes up all thoselong ascents to look at landscapes no more beautiful than what we have in ourown valley.

All of the above done, we decided to stop at Chez Serge in Carpentras for lunch. I commenced my new regime (announced the previous evening). I call it a “meatcleanse”. It involves the elimination (for a period of time) from my diet of all cheese and white carbs (not including weissbier). I started off with prosciutto (salad) followed by faux filet of boeuf (saignant). Delicious! Then we headed towards Avignon and on to Nimes.

Nimes is quite confusing and very very old. The streets are really quite tiny. There are insufficient indications as to whether one is permitted to drive on them, and if so, in which direction. We circled a couple of times and then found our hotel indicated. It was down a narrow (but clearly drivable one-way street). There was no parkingclose by and we had a lot of stuff, so Rosanna decided we should circle back to where she had seen a parking “lot” (a few spaces). We went up one narrow deserted street and that wasn’t so bad until we had to turn, but the vegetable merchants and the vendor across the way were amenable to moving their wares and moving patrons and passersby to safer locations. We only had to fold in one side mirror. That over, we went upanother little street. After about 100 of 150 metres, another car turned into it heading towards us. They assured us we could pass and each car went as close to the wall as possible. All mirrors were folded in. There was about 1 ½ inches of clearance, frommy perspective, which was quite good as I took off my seatbelt and hung out the window, sweating. The other car lost a piece of itself (we think a side mirror). All this and we had only just arrived at the 2-hour “lot” from which we took some stuff into the hotel. Then we moved the car to an indoor lot. I was not much looking forward to that as the one weparked in in this town last year had really narrow spots and a exit ramp pitched at about a 25% grade. I did not at all fancystopping and inserting my parking chit and having to get going again when the gate swung up in something like that. I could not believe it therefore when Rosanna chose to DESCEND into the lot rather than ASCEND. Then there was a stunt involving driving the wrong way around because she had seen a nicer spot on the other side. I was a complete wreck once we left that car. We went almost immediately to the tourist office where I got a city map and Rosanna picked up a brochure on a service that operates a locked surface parking lot outside of town (several kilometers outside) and buses you back and forth. Then I saw a poster advertising a hugespecial flea market in that location this weekend, so I gave short shrift to that idea. I decided to make my best efforts to remain calm until after we took Rosanna to Avignon Sunday morning to catch the train, and thought perhaps things driving-related might not look so awful after a night’s sleep.

Drinks were clearly in order. We went to the arty bar across from the Theatre (and near the good cooking store) where we had had drinks with Crystal and Sandra last year. We only had one beer there, though, because I had spotted a bar called “Country Rock” on the major peripheral street of the old town. We went inside because there were good country music videos (Loretta Lynn) playing. Apparently that meant we were there for dinner service. Rosanna ordered a veggie burger. It came with trail mix (and coleslaw) on it, but she happily ate the fries and onion rings. I ordered the magret burger (called Donald (the “o” is long) Duck). It had coleslaw, mayonnaise, brie, slices of duck magret, mushrooms and a slice of grilled orange on it. I got through half and some fries. The food is not to be recommended, but the performing space looks nice. It is down the street from the “Cat Hotel” and across from “Biggy Burger” and “Speed Rabbit Pizza”. I thought I was in Tokyo.

A little digestive stroll and nightcap seemed in order after all these “a little bit off” events. We headed to something called Bar Hemingway in a hotel, because that seemed safe and had been recommended in the green Michelin, but there were so many tour buses parked in front when we got there we changed our minds and went back to a bar I had liked the look (and sound of) in passing. Barroco. I thought it was a karaoke bar but Rosanna thought it was live music. Turned out it was karaoke. We also think it may have been a gay bar. Certainly there was a significant gay presence, but there were a few other things that made us uncertain. First, there was a woman at the end of the bar, who may have been a mere patron, or may have been the patronne. She did occasionally venture (slowly behind the bar). She was a dead ringer for Jeanne Moreau (in her later later years). Then 4 woman of a certain age all made up and dressed up and reeking of more Poison than Rosanna has smelled since the early 80s came in. Much of the singing was fantastic, although we hardly knew any of the songs. I think Guy would have loved it (and perhaps signed up for a little Jaques Brel – or maybe not since he is Belgian). I made Rosanna stay for a second round of drinks since it was the most fun I had had since my 4pm nervous collapse related to the driving (or more accurately the thought of driving).

To the Back of the Back of Beyond and Back

Glenn and I were very excited last year to pick up a real estate brochure and find an entire hamlet near Sault for sale for under a million dollars. Then Pat told us that Sault isregarded as the “back of beyond”. I think Rosanna might agree as she certainly did not enjoy her one trip there last year over the mountain in the Picasso, dodging cyclists and RVs and negotiating hairpin turns for a total of 50km (some up, some down).

Anyway, we came close to Sault on our ride yesterday, and I had already been through once last week. Today I decided to do a ride inspired by Glenn’s studying of what Rosanna refers to as the “cartoon map” – really just a tourist brochure showing popular routes between towns and roughly where some recreational trails are. I decided to do a loop incorporating the northernmost route tracking the Toulerenc. After much hemming and hawing and consulting of maps this morning (none topographical) I determined to cast my fate with the counter-clockwise route.

I went across the fields and up the Veau road to the end, and then along the usual lower Toulerenc route past St. Leger du Ventoux, Brantes, and Savoillan to Montbrun les Bains.

At this point, I took a wee road in a northerly direction. It was devoid of habitation and sparse of vegetation. (And no eateries, alas, and I was forced to subsist on hammer gel and a fruit bar and the last bag of sharkies for the first 75 hilly km). Also, I only saw three cars, unfortunately one of them was a fire truck. The road follows the gorge of the Toulerenc, and threatens in many places, to subside into the Toulerenc. The rocky outcroppings on either side loom over it . This goes on for about 7 km in an uphillish fashion, and then the pavement improves and there is another 3 or so km of distinctly uphill (but not unbearably so) and then, to my tremendous delight, a sign noting I had reached the Col d’Aulan (elevation 852 m). I knew it was 23 km to Buis les Baronnies, and I knew that town was not much elevated from Malaucene. I tried to keep my expectations low, but, What JOY! Another 20km plus downhill!

I arrived in Buis and went to the first Brasserie I came to and had a croque monsieur with salad and a Jupiter beer (in honour of my having explored beyond my known horizons). Fr

om there to home the route was one I have already written about too often. I arrived just behind Rosanna who had taken an afternoon trip to Villedieu (after visiting the Carpentras market this morning).

Now I am posting (but not this post – confusing eh? – all this post-modernist time shifting) and Rosanna is toasting – it is another “clean out the fridge” evening. We are starting with a course of bruschetta with tapenade and bits of cheese.

Later on – June and Paul came by for a drink and assisted in the fridge cleaning. It was our first visit with them and it was very nice to chat. They are both so lovely and interesting. We got a bit caught up on goings on in the hamlet (the contretemps over the purchase of the traditional threshing ground where no one has threshed anything for several generations – the historical to-ing and fro-ing over the relocation of the fountain and how that affected some property convenants about distance from the fountain etc.). They also talked about the culture shock they experienced in the US and the scale of everything. And we talked about Johanna, and what a gentle bookish one she was.

After June and Paul left Rosanna and I had a bit of a tasting menu of leftover quiche, caprese salad, roasted potatoes, and fresh-picked figs. We even polished off the dregs of the cheap bottle of red wine Glenn bought and opened, and which I did not entirely manage to use in cooking and has been schlepped about since he left.

Rosanna is very pleased to leave unused only the following: 2 ratte potatoes (on in the shape of a peace sign which I declined to cook); 2 lemons; 6 cornichons; a half jar of mustard; 2 half jars of jam; some cheese (with which she is going to make sandwiches for tomorrow’s train ride to Calabria); and some granola (which she is taking to Italy as it is apparently unavailable and unknown there); one box of pasta integrale; one Whaou!

Bar du Soleil

This is the bar at the main intersection (and square with the fountain) in Ville-sur-Auzon. It is always packed with cyclists and locals in the late afternoon. I have been by many times and always been tempted to stop, except for the fact that I have another 25-30 km to ride from there to get home. Except for today (Thursday September 9^th).

Today Rosanna and I got organized relatively early. So early that it was a bit chilly and we had to kill some time. By about 10 or so we loaded the bikes in the Picasso and headed to Flassan, from which we intended to tackle the Col des Abeilles (996 metres) and the Gorge de la Nesque. Once there, however, we discovered a problem with the centring of her front brakes which we could not fix on the fly. We loaded the bikes back into the Picasso and headed to the Malaucene shop for a quick repair. I intended to buy new tires for my bike, but the ones I had my eye on had been sold. At this point, it made sense to come home for lunch and then head out later, after we had stuffed ourselves with leftover pasta and with caprese salad.

In our first foray to Flassan, we encountered huge numbers of cyclists, including a large group of riders in wheelchair-bikes. They were all quite low to the ground (lower than a recumbent), and most of them seemed to be pedal powered, but we did see one woman hand-operating hers. Each rider had a companion in a bright coloured vest on a conventional bicycle with them, for visibility I presume. We also saw scads of other cyclists, many more than usual, and many of them in teams. I picked up a brochure at the bike store while Rosanna’s brakes were being attended to, which I think explains why the big uptick in biking. There is a big cycle event this Sunday, which is both participatory and a race, and includes a category called “handicap”. There are two choices of distance, but both go up and over Mt. Ventoux (from the Malaucene side). One is 101 km and the other is 151 km. The latter involves some extra climbing – the departure and arrival for both is Ville-sur-Auzon.

I am quite happy to report that the climb from Flassan to the Col des Abeilles, while long, was not as taxing as I had recalled (of course I was fresh when I tackled it and had not already ridden around the mountain with Glenn nor was it blazing hot which I think it was when I went with Kate). The Gorge de la Nesque was as spectacular as usual, but the descent was rather breezy, particularly in the little tunnels hollowed through the rock. The wind seemed to collect in there and entering one was like hitting a wall. The first one we came to was particularly bad. Nevertheless, even into the wind, a 23 km plus downhill is still a downhill. At the end of it was Ville-sur-Auzon, (and the banner for the cyclists arriving Sunday) and the Bar de Soleil, with a prominent road sign in front of it – Flassan 5. We had two pastis each and watched a lot of cyclists roll in (and by). The road to Flassan was not enjoyable. It has no scenery to commend it, and it is uphill but appears flat (I believe I have already complained of this), and there was a strong wind. On the plus side, it was only about 22 degrees and we only had 5 km to cover. In Bedoin I was sent into the bakery with some very poor instructions as to what I should order, but nevertheless managed to emerge with the correct bread (and a wee cake) and locate the Picasso half a block away. I have already enjoyed the bread (as bruschetta topped with the last of the tomato confit) and am awaiting an artichoke risotto. I am more curious than hopeful about the wine accompaniment – a viognier from Mazan! It was purchased at the grocery store and my cross-examination about the price elicited no concrete information.

Library Takeover Thwarted!

Wednesday I got myself all dressed up in my library outfit (a cardigan featured prominently) and let myself in through the secret passage (and many doors) just before opening time at 11 am to discover, a volunteer library attendant already in the seat I had hoped to occupy! And furthermore, I was informed that the library was covered all day. There I was, with nothing to do, but read my book and perhaps think about a bike ride later, since Rosanna was off to the market and the grocery store and Skyping and who knows what all at the Blueberry.

What I did was, I had a nap. In fact, I had my second nap of the day – the first was from 9:15 until 10 and the second from 12:15 until 1:15. Then we had lunch. Then Rosanna went for a ride around the Toulerenc valley, and I went back to bed for a longer nap (2:00 until 5:30). It seemed inadvisable to ride as I was quite headachey and dizzy. The only event I have to report on for the day (Wednesday this is) is the successful roasting of some ratte potatoes which I then incorporated into a quiche with leeks and assorted leftover grated cheeses. Also, I got up to the Second World War in my current book, La Vie en Bleu, a History of France in the 1900s. I have so far only finished the chapter on collaboration, and have decided never to buy a Renault (unless the firm manages to rehabilitate itself in the ensuing decades, which I hope it will not take me decades to read).

After a great deal of discussion, guidebook perusing, telephoning and internet searching, we have decided to go to Nimes when we quit the mairie on Saturday. Originally, we had planned to go to Arles, but all worthwhile (and reasonably priced) accommodation seems booked up for Saturday. Nimes and Arles are but a few kilometers apart, however, so we should still be able to see a bit of the town.