Terroir de cerise

Well. What eventful days, psychologically speaking at least. First, a note on the flights. The one from Montreal left almost two hours later than scheduled due to the air traffic systems having been knocked out by electrical storms. As we had already loaded, this merely provided an opportunity for sampling more of the wines featured in business class (which I love more than I remembered). A very very good white (crotese grape) from Peimonte and a nice merlot. The benefit of a late start and all this wine tasting was that I was out like a light the moment dinner ended (9 pm local time) and did not wake up for 4 1/2 hours, just before landing in Paris at 8 am local time there. My bicycle did not immediately appear on the tapis (new vocabulary word) and I had to make some faltering inquiries, but eventually there it was. At the car rental agency I was advised that my reservation had been upgraded. Which turns out to mean much the same thing as it does in Canada -- a bigger vehicle for the same price. In my case it was a Citroen Picasso which resemble the Nissan Cube but without the blind spot. I was ambivalent about this bit of news. Nevertheless I managed to start it without stalling and exit the airport and find all the right highways. I started at 930 am, and stopped for a bite to eat and a coffee around noon, just shy of Beaune. I got to practice my clutch control when the idiot parked next to me who was smoking and playing soccer barefoot in the ramp to the autogrill kicked his ball under my front wheels! Off I went, happy to see the end of him and get back into 5th gear. Just south of Lyon I had a new burst of energy when the beautiful broad blue expanse of the Rhone revealed itself. I think I may have to do a tacky touristy boat cruise from Avignon just to experience a bit more of it. Shortly thereafter, signs informed me that I was entering the Rhone Valley and then the Drome department. It seemed like no time at all after that before I exited the highway at Bollene and started following the signs for Vaison la Romaine and gazing at Mont Ventoux. I arrived at my destination just before 5 pm. The landscape is all even more breathtaking than I recalled. I found my toothbrush and made my bed and then joined Pat and June (property owners) for a glass of rose and their own cured green olives and tapenade. I walked into town (about 3km) to get a few essentials for dinner (bread, cheese, local melon, prosciutto, rose from Bedoin), and managed to stay awake until 9:30 when Lawrence Durrell once again put me to sleep (albeit with but 50 pages left in the book). That was Tuesday.

Wednesday I had a rather leisurely morning. Up just before the church bells next door (I mean RIGHT next door) pealed at 8 am, but then lingered over my coffee with the New Yorker. Did not get out of the house until almost 11. It was market day in the local town so I drove there, intending to park in the school lot. As luck would have it, there was one space left, but there were two competitors for it -- me and the French couple who won. I headed down another street thinking to make for the far side of town. It was a very narrow street, but nonetheless it allowed for 2-way traffic, which I almost immediately encountered in the form first of a small car, and then 2 winnebago-like things. I had to proceed and take to the sidewalk and fold in my mirrors so that they could pass. But, I DID NOT STALL. After this incident I was overtaken by a kind of laissez-faire attitude and parked on a small green boulevard under a tree rather than search for official parking. I felt quite rakish about it all. At the market I bought some olives from Nyons, some olive oil, new potatoes, green beans, eggs, lettuce, soap, a chicken, saucisses de Toulouse, and some peaches. I was only scolded once, by the peach monger, who would not let me put her fruit in my market bag for fear they would be crushed, although they were the last thing (save the bread from the good boulangerie and not the one where they sold me salmon quiches as vegetarian 4 years ago) I bought. I was saved a scolding from the egg man because I recalled that he will not sell you eggs unless you have exact change. I also saw the same cheese merchant from the massif centrale who sells the delicious laguiole cheese (and cuts it with a knife of the same provenance). After returning home and having lunch, I had a little nap and then reassembled my bicycle and went for a short ride further into the valley. At first I felt alarmingly sluggish. Then I turned around and averaged about 35km all the way home without peddling. I rode on into town to the excellent new bike shop, hoping to use their floor pump. What a production! Several helpful passersby thought they could be of assistance, and finally one was. Unfortunately the fellow most determined to help did not appreciate the difference between a Schrader and a presta valve. I also ascertained that there is (in addition to the afore-mentioned excellent bike shop which prominently features Cervelo) another improvement in Malaucene's commercial life -- the Blueberry cyber cafe. Rode home and made dinner, thinking that perhaps I do not care that much for toulouse sausages and that they may have liver in them. Also I finally finished the Lawrence Durrell. Despite the fact that it is marketed as a travel book, I hardly think it would induce anyone to visit the region.

Thursday I slept in, and in, and in. I did not leave the house until well after 2:00 pm. First I drove to Vaison la Romaine and the very large supermarket, which involved practising (successfully) quite a few traffic circles. Then I went (via a circuitous route so as to continue practising my driving) to the Cave Cooperative de Cairanne where I (tasted and) purchased 4 bottles each of the Cotes de Rhone reserve rose; les Voconces (red); and Les Salyens. The total was only 90 euros. I drove back through many many traffic circles and mostly uneventfully to Malaucene, and now here I am at the Blueberry cafe with a pint of german lager(eichbaum) and my macbook. Tomorrow I must drive to the Marseille airport to fetch Rosanna and I am quite preoccupied with choosing the best route, which I think will avoid Carpentras as it is horrible to navigate through there and it is market day to boot. I fear she will be disappointed to discover that the fountain right outside our accommodation (and directly across from the church) is no longer potable, due to the fact that someone (the mayor's son in fact) has commenced keeping horses on the hill about Beaumont de Ventoux and they have soiled the water. She had attributed a glowing complexion last time we were here to the properties of that water.

C'est tout for now.