Home safely, but we're starting to find the long drive a bit much. It's tempting to think that it would be better to spend less on motorway tolls and fuel and stay a couple of nights en route. The 4x4 is pretty refined on the journey, but it doesn't do the concentrating for you, and I think that's what left me so tired last night. Though with a number of visits in the night from a vengeful Montezuma (yesterday's bought sandwich gave me awful indigestion), the Ministry of the Interior may also have had some influence.
Fine day today: we're both in shorts (which we weren't in France) and have been out to see what the garden has been doing in our absence. Last year's seedling aubrieta, alyssum saxatile and aquilegias are flowering well, but the magnolia, cherry and spiraea blossom are going over, and the tulips have similarly passed their best. The grass hasn't taken a holiday either, so I've a job to do this afternoon, Montezuma permitting.
Monday 25 April 2011
Easter Saturday
Coming to the end of our stay in France. Annie joined us at Lagrasse on Monday last, and we’ve had a restful, sociable time together. We went over the hills to Limoux again on Tuesday, and the wild flowers were, if anything, better than last week, so we had long pauses for photography, and just listening to the countryside quietly getting on with its job. Cuckoos, green woodpeckers, wood pigeons calling, the wind in the trees. Now and then a stream chuckling over the limestone rocks. All in all, a treat for several senses.
Of pizzas in Limoux, nothing to add, save that they were up to scratch, and that the ducks in the river were as vociferous as ever, the more so in marshalling their trains of ducklings.
Wednesday’s market in Lézignan was quite busy in the spring sunshine. Isabelle, who has few vegetables to sell at this time of year, was selling vegetable plants. I guess her reasoning is that customers who grow their own veggies rather than buying hers might at least pay her for the plants, and keep the cash flow running in the lean months. And if her experience is like ours, she’ll germinate more seeds than she can possibly grow on herself, so for the cost of some pots and medium, she has owt for next to nowt to sell on. The irrepressible Madame Donnet was also there, so we stocked up on her lovely ewes’ milk cheese and yoghourt. We also found some dirt-cheap ADSL filters - €2 a pop compared with the €13 we were charged last time by Frogtel.
Reasonable ride up to Le Roc on Thursday. Good news: the house wasn’t knee-deep in mouse droppings like last time (mild hyperbole). Bad news: Grandma Colette from the farm up the hill is in hospital after a severe stroke, and it seems unlikely that she’ll come out. We found a note to this effect from her daughter-in-law, also saying that the electricity was off, and that she had reported it to the Régie. Good news: by the time we got here, they’d been out and fixed it. Back to bad news – no dialling tone on the telephone, and busy tone when we tried calling from mobiles. We hopped up to the neighbours’ farm again and I rang Frogtel. Much listening to ‘Bong, bong, boing, boiiing’ later, I encountered a human being, who, to her credit, has got things moving. I’d to come back down and disconnect all the phones so she could do a remote test, but as she was about to knock off for the day, she asked me to go up and receive a call from her next morning at 08:30 (they can’t call foreign mobile phones). Well, up I went yesterday morning in good time, met by the neighbour’s douce old Labrador cross and an unlocked door to the kitchen. True to her word, the Frogtel woman rang back a decent two minutes after the appointment, ran the test, excluded terminal equipment problems, and fixed an appointment for this morning.
So, back down the hill for breakfast, then off to the delightful Jardins de Beauchamp in Marmande. They have some lovely subjects there, and I’d have paid greater attention had I not been feeling rather unwell. From there, we headed along to La Réole for lunch, booked by Annie at a rather nice restaurant. Excellent meal, not wholly matched by the robustness of the furniture: both Martyn’s chair and mine yielded in uncomplimentary fashion as we planted our best features on them, and part-way through the meal, his collapsed altogether. When Annie knocked over a glass of wine a little later, I was left wondering what the third calamity - my turn - was going to be. I didn’t have too long to wait. As we headed over to Bergerac to collect her hire car, I started getting violent abdominal cramps, and wondered whether I’d have to head for the woods. Well, we got to the airport and I hurtled to the chiottes, only to find the gents’ first-class engaged. Well, any port in a storm: I admit that the better of the available options was to head for the ladies’. No known prosecution pending.
In the evening we went for an aperitif at the home of delightful friends, Christine and Jacques, finding both in excellent spirits, despite the fact that the latter is off to a Bordeaux hospital on Tuesday for an MRI scan. He has a prostate cancer, the diagnosing of which laid him up for quite a while with septicaemia. But, characteristically for dear Jacques, he was cheerful and welcoming as always.
Today, the Frogtel subcontractor arrived mid-morning, but went away again, saying they’d return on Tuesday with a cherry picker to replace the drop wire from the end of the lane to the house. Shortly after Annie left to visit some neighbours, our man returned, saying that, since the weather hadn’t deteriorated as forecast, he could do the job from ladders, and proceeded to do so. He has also installed a test socket at the point where the Frogtel line joins the house wiring, so they’ll be able to tell whether any future fault is inside or outside the house. Reason for the fault? A shotgun pellet in the telephone wire. Yet another of the joys of rural France.
Of pizzas in Limoux, nothing to add, save that they were up to scratch, and that the ducks in the river were as vociferous as ever, the more so in marshalling their trains of ducklings.
Wednesday’s market in Lézignan was quite busy in the spring sunshine. Isabelle, who has few vegetables to sell at this time of year, was selling vegetable plants. I guess her reasoning is that customers who grow their own veggies rather than buying hers might at least pay her for the plants, and keep the cash flow running in the lean months. And if her experience is like ours, she’ll germinate more seeds than she can possibly grow on herself, so for the cost of some pots and medium, she has owt for next to nowt to sell on. The irrepressible Madame Donnet was also there, so we stocked up on her lovely ewes’ milk cheese and yoghourt. We also found some dirt-cheap ADSL filters - €2 a pop compared with the €13 we were charged last time by Frogtel.
Reasonable ride up to Le Roc on Thursday. Good news: the house wasn’t knee-deep in mouse droppings like last time (mild hyperbole). Bad news: Grandma Colette from the farm up the hill is in hospital after a severe stroke, and it seems unlikely that she’ll come out. We found a note to this effect from her daughter-in-law, also saying that the electricity was off, and that she had reported it to the Régie. Good news: by the time we got here, they’d been out and fixed it. Back to bad news – no dialling tone on the telephone, and busy tone when we tried calling from mobiles. We hopped up to the neighbours’ farm again and I rang Frogtel. Much listening to ‘Bong, bong, boing, boiiing’ later, I encountered a human being, who, to her credit, has got things moving. I’d to come back down and disconnect all the phones so she could do a remote test, but as she was about to knock off for the day, she asked me to go up and receive a call from her next morning at 08:30 (they can’t call foreign mobile phones). Well, up I went yesterday morning in good time, met by the neighbour’s douce old Labrador cross and an unlocked door to the kitchen. True to her word, the Frogtel woman rang back a decent two minutes after the appointment, ran the test, excluded terminal equipment problems, and fixed an appointment for this morning.
So, back down the hill for breakfast, then off to the delightful Jardins de Beauchamp in Marmande. They have some lovely subjects there, and I’d have paid greater attention had I not been feeling rather unwell. From there, we headed along to La Réole for lunch, booked by Annie at a rather nice restaurant. Excellent meal, not wholly matched by the robustness of the furniture: both Martyn’s chair and mine yielded in uncomplimentary fashion as we planted our best features on them, and part-way through the meal, his collapsed altogether. When Annie knocked over a glass of wine a little later, I was left wondering what the third calamity - my turn - was going to be. I didn’t have too long to wait. As we headed over to Bergerac to collect her hire car, I started getting violent abdominal cramps, and wondered whether I’d have to head for the woods. Well, we got to the airport and I hurtled to the chiottes, only to find the gents’ first-class engaged. Well, any port in a storm: I admit that the better of the available options was to head for the ladies’. No known prosecution pending.
In the evening we went for an aperitif at the home of delightful friends, Christine and Jacques, finding both in excellent spirits, despite the fact that the latter is off to a Bordeaux hospital on Tuesday for an MRI scan. He has a prostate cancer, the diagnosing of which laid him up for quite a while with septicaemia. But, characteristically for dear Jacques, he was cheerful and welcoming as always.
Today, the Frogtel subcontractor arrived mid-morning, but went away again, saying they’d return on Tuesday with a cherry picker to replace the drop wire from the end of the lane to the house. Shortly after Annie left to visit some neighbours, our man returned, saying that, since the weather hadn’t deteriorated as forecast, he could do the job from ladders, and proceeded to do so. He has also installed a test socket at the point where the Frogtel line joins the house wiring, so they’ll be able to tell whether any future fault is inside or outside the house. Reason for the fault? A shotgun pellet in the telephone wire. Yet another of the joys of rural France.
Sunday 17 April 2011
So much for planning
We set out yesterday in search of long views of the Pyrenees, but when we got to the turning above Talairan, it was just too hazy. So, instead of turning right for the mountains, we turned left for the seaside, and had an unexpected alfresco moules-frites at La Franqui. And a walk along the beach, and a visit to the école de char à voile to watch people sand-yachting and kite-boarding. Great fun, but definitely for the younger and suppler among us.
Another fine evening, so a nice stroll round the village and environs, admiring people's gardens, and then dinner on the roof terrace. I tell ya, life is hard.
This morning's plot was to look for a track to the watchtower on top of the Montagne d'Alaric, and get the 4x4 off-road for the first time. Well, we found the end of the track in Comignes, complete with its 'interdit aux trials et 4x4' sign. Bugger. We'll just have to lose some weight and walk it. But - sour grapes - it was too hazy for the views to have been anything much.
Another fine evening, so a nice stroll round the village and environs, admiring people's gardens, and then dinner on the roof terrace. I tell ya, life is hard.
This morning's plot was to look for a track to the watchtower on top of the Montagne d'Alaric, and get the 4x4 off-road for the first time. Well, we found the end of the track in Comignes, complete with its 'interdit aux trials et 4x4' sign. Bugger. We'll just have to lose some weight and walk it. But - sour grapes - it was too hazy for the views to have been anything much.
Friday 15 April 2011
La vita é bella
Another couple of fine days, though not without reminders of the things that can drive one mad about France. We still need some heating in the house, morning and evening, and the gas bottle had run out. A couple of years ago, we got a no-deposit bottle from the Intermarché, and I remember being amused at the fact that a contract still had to be made out. When I went up for a refill, I was told that they no longer did that (their own) brand, and that they wouldn't take the bottle back without the contract. All expressed in a manner that implied that it was all my fault for being an ignorant foreigner. I did think of just dumping it, but then they'd be able to deny having had it back, and pursue me for the cost of the bottle. I unfortunately forgot to pack the household admin file when we left, so will have to store the bottle until the summer. The neighbouring Brico d'Oc provided me with a new bottle of Spanish gas, with no deposit, no contract and a free adaptor. And a smile.
It was fine enough later to grill a couple of steaks on the barbecue and have dinner outside, listening to the sounds of the village and watching the house martins twisting and turning through the air as they shopped for dinner. But we'd to head indoors when the sun went down: it is only mid-April, after all.
We took our ritual ride over the hills to Limoux yesterday for pizzas at the Grand Café. Martyn drove, since I'd twisted my ankle the night before when I was getting the chairs out. So I got to admire the scenery and the wild flowers by the roadside. The cowslips are terrific this year, and the orchids and poppies are blooming in profusion. Judas trees are covered in blossom in village gardens, and the lilacs and wisteria are adding their pale mauve to the palette. The new foliage on the vines gives almost as much variety of greens as it does reds and yellows in the autumn. The different grape varieties vary in colour as well as flavour, and bring pleasure to the eyes as well as the palate.
And this time the pizzas were pretty good as well: my favourite has mushrooms, magret, potatoes, mozzarella and crème fraîche, and it was all the nicer for being consumed in sunlight filtered through the canopy of a young plane tree in the pleasant square (photo from last October). Martyn goes for one with fresh and smoked salmon, also made with crème fraîche. Modest dinner, however, with more lettuce than anything else!
It was fine enough later to grill a couple of steaks on the barbecue and have dinner outside, listening to the sounds of the village and watching the house martins twisting and turning through the air as they shopped for dinner. But we'd to head indoors when the sun went down: it is only mid-April, after all.
We took our ritual ride over the hills to Limoux yesterday for pizzas at the Grand Café. Martyn drove, since I'd twisted my ankle the night before when I was getting the chairs out. So I got to admire the scenery and the wild flowers by the roadside. The cowslips are terrific this year, and the orchids and poppies are blooming in profusion. Judas trees are covered in blossom in village gardens, and the lilacs and wisteria are adding their pale mauve to the palette. The new foliage on the vines gives almost as much variety of greens as it does reds and yellows in the autumn. The different grape varieties vary in colour as well as flavour, and bring pleasure to the eyes as well as the palate.
And this time the pizzas were pretty good as well: my favourite has mushrooms, magret, potatoes, mozzarella and crème fraîche, and it was all the nicer for being consumed in sunlight filtered through the canopy of a young plane tree in the pleasant square (photo from last October). Martyn goes for one with fresh and smoked salmon, also made with crème fraîche. Modest dinner, however, with more lettuce than anything else!
Tuesday 12 April 2011
Firewood
We took a ride along to the outskirts of the nearby sous-préfecture this morning to refresh our firewood supply. Interesting process: you drive in and on to the weighbridge, then motor along to the wood pile, fill up your car with logs and have it weighed again, paying for the difference. A spot of healthy exercise comes free of charge - between us, we've shifted a good half-ton of mixed chestnut and holm oak. Twice.
It was ex-neighbour Geno who put us on to this supplier. He has since left the village and was due to open his new restaurant in Tucson, AZ, a couple of nights ago. Alas, he was stricken with a kidney stone on the night, and had to cancel. To judge by his facebook entry, however, he seems to be back on form again.
It was ex-neighbour Geno who put us on to this supplier. He has since left the village and was due to open his new restaurant in Tucson, AZ, a couple of nights ago. Alas, he was stricken with a kidney stone on the night, and had to cancel. To judge by his facebook entry, however, he seems to be back on form again.
Monday 11 April 2011
Last Easter when we came down here, the tiny irises and daffodils up on the hill beside the old road were barely starting, and we’d to wait till we were on the point of leaving for home to see the slightest sign of foliage on the vines. And there was still mimosa in bloom, which I’d never seen before. Of course, it had been a very severe winter, and everything was way behind, and this year Easter is as late as it can get. When we went looking this morning, the daffodils and dwarf irises had been and gone. The cistus is blooming like mad up on the hill, together with the broom and the poppies, and a few big irises.
A lot of the vines are in good leaf, though a few are still stick-like, presumably because they were pruned late. Every year a few vineyards remain weedy, unploughed and unpruned. One would have to enquire locally, but my best guess is either that they have been abandoned because the owner is no longer capable of the hard work involved in maintaining them, or that the economics no longer make sense, given the costs involved in changing to a better approach to vinification. There’s no doubt that the region has adapted its approach to wine growing in recent times. The great lake of carignan that used to flood the Languedoc-Roussillon region is most definitely no more: carignan can make excellent wine, but not on the industrial scale that used to prevail when it was grown for sale by the carboy as vin ordinaire. As Jancis Robinson once put it so well, never did spitting come more easily. These days, our favourite growers mix in a good proportion of syrah and grenache, plus occasionally a bit of mourvèdre and even cabernet-sauvignon. I’ve even seen varietal wines of the region labelled ‘shiraz’ in the UK, which seems shocking (in that they use the variety name used in the new world rather than the French ‘syrah’). But perhaps it’s closer also to the original Persian name of the variety.
We went into the grotty shop in the market town this morning after we’d done our food shopping. It’s one of those ghastly places with a concrete floor and acres of brightly coloured ready-made curtains, artificial flowers and lurid plastic crockery. But it also sells good stuff like WD40 felt pens, salad spinners and glass scrapers that take Stanley knife blades. The last mentioned made short work of the build-up of tar on the window of the wood-burning stove just now. Maybe because it had been left to dry for six months, of course. I think I may already have mentioned that, if your heart’s fondest desire is a metre-diameter paella pan, this is the place to go. And they’ll also sell you the outsize gas ring to go with it.
A lot of the vines are in good leaf, though a few are still stick-like, presumably because they were pruned late. Every year a few vineyards remain weedy, unploughed and unpruned. One would have to enquire locally, but my best guess is either that they have been abandoned because the owner is no longer capable of the hard work involved in maintaining them, or that the economics no longer make sense, given the costs involved in changing to a better approach to vinification. There’s no doubt that the region has adapted its approach to wine growing in recent times. The great lake of carignan that used to flood the Languedoc-Roussillon region is most definitely no more: carignan can make excellent wine, but not on the industrial scale that used to prevail when it was grown for sale by the carboy as vin ordinaire. As Jancis Robinson once put it so well, never did spitting come more easily. These days, our favourite growers mix in a good proportion of syrah and grenache, plus occasionally a bit of mourvèdre and even cabernet-sauvignon. I’ve even seen varietal wines of the region labelled ‘shiraz’ in the UK, which seems shocking (in that they use the variety name used in the new world rather than the French ‘syrah’). But perhaps it’s closer also to the original Persian name of the variety.
We went into the grotty shop in the market town this morning after we’d done our food shopping. It’s one of those ghastly places with a concrete floor and acres of brightly coloured ready-made curtains, artificial flowers and lurid plastic crockery. But it also sells good stuff like WD40 felt pens, salad spinners and glass scrapers that take Stanley knife blades. The last mentioned made short work of the build-up of tar on the window of the wood-burning stove just now. Maybe because it had been left to dry for six months, of course. I think I may already have mentioned that, if your heart’s fondest desire is a metre-diameter paella pan, this is the place to go. And they’ll also sell you the outsize gas ring to go with it.
Sunday 10 April 2011
Rape, etc
About half of the French land mass appears to be covered in oilseed rape. Just great for late adopters of hay fever. I sneezed and spluttered my way through the top three-quarters of the country yesterday. But the cowslips are also in flower everywhere, and they couldn't possibly be the culprits, could they? Closer to home today, we encountered some superb clumps of poppies by the roadside.
Back home, we've left the garden as it is coming to life: just before we left, after several fine, warm days, the spireas and the magnolia (var. Susan) were coming into flower, as were HM and Royal Mail potentillas (yellow and white resp.). The fritillaries have done very well this year, and will probably have finished by the time we return. A new subject (a 60th birthday present last year from Jane) was just coming into flower as we left - I'll have to ask her to tell me the name again! It has beech-like evergreen leaves, a prostrate habit and delicate yellow flowers on long stems with a tiny trumpet and four cruciform petals.
We'd a good run down, all things considered. Traffic wasn't too heavy, and the weather was magnificent yesterday, even making the Sologne appear quite interesting in its spring leaf colours and blossom. The northern approaches to Paris were as nerve-wracking as ever, though less awful than on yer average weekday, thank goodness. We stopped overnight as usual at a familiar motorway rest stop in the Auvergne, but found it more than usually expensive and mediocre this time. Time, maybe, for a change of plan: shame, because the 360° views from its hilltop location are a delight. Cloud, mist and drizzle this morning up in the mountains, giving way to sunshine and strong winds once we were through the Escalette tunnel. The A75 has finally been completed through to the A9, so the route is now a good bit faster and easier. We were here in a whisker over 3 hours from our overnight stop.
There are now some supermarkets in France that open on Sunday mornings. Those in Lézignan are not among them, hence a few wasted miles as we left the motorway. Still, the village shops were open, so we're stocked up with essentials like old Cantal and local ewes' milk cheese, semi-skimmed milk and some fresh veggies and bangers for supper tonight. The fresh milk is a welcome recognition by the local shop of the numbers of tea-drinking Brits in the village. A little depressing, however, is the cabinet of stuff like Marmite, Hobnobs, HP sauce and sundry other Brit-fodder. What's the point of coming to the Languedoc and eating beans on toast?
Back home, we've left the garden as it is coming to life: just before we left, after several fine, warm days, the spireas and the magnolia (var. Susan) were coming into flower, as were HM and Royal Mail potentillas (yellow and white resp.). The fritillaries have done very well this year, and will probably have finished by the time we return. A new subject (a 60th birthday present last year from Jane) was just coming into flower as we left - I'll have to ask her to tell me the name again! It has beech-like evergreen leaves, a prostrate habit and delicate yellow flowers on long stems with a tiny trumpet and four cruciform petals.
We'd a good run down, all things considered. Traffic wasn't too heavy, and the weather was magnificent yesterday, even making the Sologne appear quite interesting in its spring leaf colours and blossom. The northern approaches to Paris were as nerve-wracking as ever, though less awful than on yer average weekday, thank goodness. We stopped overnight as usual at a familiar motorway rest stop in the Auvergne, but found it more than usually expensive and mediocre this time. Time, maybe, for a change of plan: shame, because the 360° views from its hilltop location are a delight. Cloud, mist and drizzle this morning up in the mountains, giving way to sunshine and strong winds once we were through the Escalette tunnel. The A75 has finally been completed through to the A9, so the route is now a good bit faster and easier. We were here in a whisker over 3 hours from our overnight stop.
There are now some supermarkets in France that open on Sunday mornings. Those in Lézignan are not among them, hence a few wasted miles as we left the motorway. Still, the village shops were open, so we're stocked up with essentials like old Cantal and local ewes' milk cheese, semi-skimmed milk and some fresh veggies and bangers for supper tonight. The fresh milk is a welcome recognition by the local shop of the numbers of tea-drinking Brits in the village. A little depressing, however, is the cabinet of stuff like Marmite, Hobnobs, HP sauce and sundry other Brit-fodder. What's the point of coming to the Languedoc and eating beans on toast?
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