Exhale/Inhale

I step out into the garden, stretch and exhale slowly in morning air that holds quiet promise of coming Autumn. In the fields around the village farmers harvest their golden prize from summer near past. I walk barefoot to the apple trees and load the feeders for the birds and luxuriate in the feel of cool grass between my toes. It reminds me that I should be dealing with the garden before we head off for a short break at the weekend, back to France and that special place that's come to mean so much to me over these last few years.

I'd wanted to go to Languedoc for years and years before I ever got there. When I did I felt immediately at home, somehow completely relaxed and at peace. Oddly, I felt unexplainably relieved just to be there. I never said anything to My Lovely G, thinking it was probably just over reaction to that getting-away-from-it-all-on-holiday feeling, yet feeling like it was more than that too.


 A few days before the holiday ended we were sitting in the 'Bar A Vin', our favourite watering hole in the ancient walled city of Carcassonne, slaking thirst and letting the heat of the day drain from us as we recovered from a day trip somewhere that had included a hill climb beyond what the overweight middle aged me was comfortable with anymore. My mind wandered over the day: rivers we drove beside, tiny villages, narrow hill roads, treacherous paths and that withering climb to a Cathar castle ruined centuries ago perched high on its crag. And yet most of all my mind pondered on how familiar it all felt. How comforting it was to push the path down beneath my feet and walk higher and higher through an environment that should have felt completely alien yet instead was the absolute opposite.

I turned to G and said, "Y'know, I don't think I've ever been somewhere I've felt more at home than here - other than actually at home. I can't explain it. I know this is the first time we've been here but I love it. I really do. I feel such a sense of peace. I've been trying to dismiss it as some kind of daft holiday nonsense but I honestly can't. I absolutely love it here."

I glanced across the table into those mesmerising eyes and found I was being examined with one of those typically concerned looks I know so well.  I braced myself for a dose of reality.

"I know. I feel it too. I can't explain it either."

Back in the now I turn from the trees and the now full bird feeders tucked amongst the apples and head back across the grass to the house. At the patio door I turn and look back at the garden for a second, stretch and slowly inhale cool morning mixed with the scent of the garden. Autumn's in the air here for sure and the days will soon be growing short. I wonder how it will have changed by the time we get back. After breakfast I'll get out and mow the lawn, weed the borders and tidy down the drive for the last time this summer. Even though we'll be gone just a week summer will have gone by the time we get back. I'll be sad to see it go but glad to be back in France again.

My laptop isn't coming this time but G is taking hers so I may get a blog or two in, especially if I get the inspiration or some good photos. I have programmed in a couple of Sunday posts anyway to keep the blog ticking over.

See you later or maybe au revoir!

Listening to:

Holiday Day Two.

 

 

On Mondays there’s a great little market in Mirepoix. Now, strictly speaking, or more accurately, being absolutely truthful - Mirepoix isn’t in Aude at all, it’s in Ariege, a neighbouring area, but from the Villa Cabardes in Lavallette near Carcassonne where we’re staying it’s an easy half hour drive away. To miss it is an absolute no-brainer.

 

 

 

 

Soon we’re parking up on the edge of town and walking the few minutes into the dramatic arcaded medieval square. By the side of the 13^th century church, under the window boxes of overhanging painted medieval houses, people are busy buying ingredients for the kitchen; cheeses, bread, sausages, charcuterie, vegetables, fruit and an incredible variety of jams, pickles, honey, mustards - the variety seems endless in such a small place. Mixed in are stalls full of bric-a-brac, clothes, jewellery and antiques, Throw in the odd knife grinder - no I’m not joking! - and street entertainment - and you begin to get the feel of the place. It’s buzzing, yet in a very understated French way. The feel is very much that normality is taking place, as of course it is. This has literally been taking place in the same spot for centuries. Under the arcades, café’s and restaurants are doing brisk trade, offering breakfast, coffee, lunch and any assortment of drinks or snacks to the weary shopper and the overwhelmed tourist. From the shade of the arcade you can enjoy a coffee or a glass of local wine or beer, eat lunch and watch the market at work, see the coming and goings, the meetings and greetings of everyday life take place.

 

 

 Fascinating, fabulous and a fan-blooming-tastic way to start the holiday!

A place like this demands that at the very least you experience its vibrancy with perhaps one, preferably two, perabambulations round the square and through the stalls, a walk through even those possibly less fortunate stalls which overspill the main square into the streets beyond and an {ahem} obligatory stop at one of the numerous cafes at the side of the market. We do the full tour…….

 

The great thing about carrying a camera, is that my hands and much of my mind is occupied; looking for shots; calculating depth of field, ISO, aperture for the light conditions and almost any combination of the above. Distracting and fun as it is none of that guarantees a decent photograph but it leaves precious little time for shopping which suits me fine. I’m not a shopper unless there’s ingredients to be bought for a meal at the end of it. Unfortunately the same is not the case for The Lovely G. who also has both hands and mind free to get up to all kinds of mischief. Thankfully she is as distracted by the sights sounds and smells as I am and we complete at least one circuit without any financial impact whatsoever. The second circuit costs us a few Euros spent on some bracelets she tells me are ‘shamballa’ style, with a curious but clever slide-y knotted fastening to open and close them. This is demonstrated to me but my mind, as I’ve said, is on things photographic and I’m afraid I don’t pay as much attention as I should, or take the obvious opportunity literally at hand. Thankfully my error is unnoticed/expected/forgiven and we move on. My attention is taken by the sound of bagpipes being played to the beat of a drum and I head over to investigate the din and find two highly photogenic men dressed in a blend of Moorish/pirate gear knocking out some very catchy stuff. I take a number of shots trying to cope with the fact they are standing in bright sun beside some of the glariest backgrounds around. Some work, some don’t and by the time I’ve worked it out they - and the rest of the market - have begun to pack up and leave. Was it something I said or is everyone just camera shy???

 

 

 

　

As the market winds down we too decide to head back to Carcassonne and find a spot just below La Cite where we can park {free} well away from the tourist {expensive} car parks. A leisurely walk up the hill into the citadel via a back gate and a wander through a couple of streets inside the ramparts takes us to one of ’our’ places: La Bar a Vin. It’s a small bar and tapas restaurant under looming ramparts in the walled garden of what has been the house that is itself now part of the bar. The space is shaded by enormous chestnut trees which gives a magical light and cooling shade to the place. We’ve spent a lot of time here over the years, drinking coffee or wine, enjoying the simple food on offer and the comings and goings of visitors. It’s one of my favourite bars in the world and a must visit place during any holiday here. Just one of those great little finds that helps make a holiday special. Today we have a cool drink and share a plate - a crusty bread ‘boule‘, goats cheese and honey. Simple and magnificent in the afternoon sun. The bar is almost empty at this time of the year, very different from the frantic pace of the last few months but the staff are as usual relaxed and funny. It’s a real performance and one that we enjoy.

 

 

 

 

Soon though the heat is getting to us and we head back to the car for the short drive home. For me, the pool is calling……

 

 

　

See you later.


 

Listening to:

Carcassonne

Carcassonne - La Cite

We arrived on Sunday morning, a dull grey affair that was disappointingly little warmer than the wet one we’d left behind in Scotland just a couple of hours earlier. The landing approach brought us in a low circle of the huge walls and towers of La Cite, the ancient medieval heart of Carcassonne deep in the south of France and gave us a spectacular start to our stay despite the weather. Like Edinburgh, Carcassonne sits proud on its rock above the sprawling town below but there the similarity ends. Edinburgh is beautiful and I love her, but beside Carcassonne, with her fairytale princess looks, tanned and tall in the sun, she‘s an ugly sister in a dowdy frock.

 

Rennes Le Chateau

 

 

We pick up our bags quickly in the quiet-now-the-summer-is-over airport and collect a hire car just as efficiently and within a short time are on our way to the rented villa where we’re staying. An acquaintance of G has done us a great deal on her holiday home and we find it’s a short ten minute drive from the airport in a sleepy village surrounded by vineyards. A combination of a strange bed the night before, getting up in the wee small hours and getting to the airport by 5am for the flight has left us exhausted and now, knowing we are within easy reach of at least one favourite holiday haunt here - La Bar a Vin in La Cite - we decide to have a nap for an hour before we head into Carcassonne.

 

A Great wee bar

 

 

The Lovely G and I have been here several times before. I’ve been fascinated by this area and its history for longer than I can remember and had always wanted to see it for myself but somehow holidaying here had never seemed a viable option. I never felt I could afford it and then, after meeting G with her Swiss roots, for many years I lost my heart - and all my available holiday resources - to Switzerland. It was hard not to when introduced to her wonderful relatives and such a stunningly beautiful country. But ultimately chocolate box beauty gave way to an insistent longing to see what I’d been reading about all these years: Languedoc, or more specifically, the Haute Valee area of Aude, the edge of the so called ‘Pays du Cathars‘.

 

Lagrasse

 

 

That first visit was six years ago now and since then I’ve been back every year. I found I was instantly and completely at home. Things seemed so familiar, so expected. I wanted to love it and I do, more than I could ever have imagined and more than I can probably explain. I soon laid tentative plans for a holiday home and retirement to the sun but these haven’t happened - yet. For now I have to be content to visit and renew my acquaintance with this unique place, this sanctuary of mine. In the last few years we’ve ranged across the area, from the walls of Carcassonne to La Montaignes Noir, west to the border forests of the Ariege and the snow capped Pyrenees, from Mt Cardou to distant Beziers and Narbonne on the Mediterranean coast. We’ve climbed to mountain castles destroyed in the Albigensian crusades, to Cathar villages, trailed through vineyards dripping with ruby grapes and enjoyed the wines that comes from them as well as the tasty goats cheeses, fabulous breads and honeys that go so well with all. Most of all we’ve followed the quiet river valley of the Aude‘s high valley, from Limoux of the sparkling wines, to Alet les Bains and Couiza and mysterious Rennes le Chateau high on its peak, past the Donjon of Arques, to the spa village of Rennes le Bains deep in its river gorge. All of them have told tales, left indelible marks and made me more fascinated, tempted and haunted by L’Aude than ever.

 

La Canal Du Midi - Carcassonne

 

 

Now we’re here, its time to get started again.

 

I’ll let you know how we get on……..

 

 

See you later.

 

 

Listening to:

 

 

Gentlemen Take Polaroids?

Early Morn, Villa 'Les Rosiers', Aude, Languedoc.

{Post title is a vague reference to a track by 'Japan' in case you're trying to make a connection.}


Well, that's the final holiday of the year over and the sad return to cold, damp, rainy Scotland happened on Sunday afternoon. We had a great week of good weather in the Languedoc, with temperatures in the high twenties and low thirties each day apart from the last couple before we flew back. In some ways this actually helped us prepare for coming back to the weather that we heard was covering Scotland in rain and windy conditions.

It was great to be back in the Languedoc again. It's an area we've been to a couple of times now and always felt completely at home there, so much so that we have looked at buying a house in the area (should the finances ever allow) at sometime in the future. For now though we have to make do with renting a holiday home, which this time was in the village of Trauss, just to the north of Carcassonne. The house is owned by a British couple, one of two gites attached to their own house, which they bought when they moved to live in France permanently four years ago. {lucky people}

The house was lovely. A typically French affair with shuttered windows, open beams and exposed stone walls, well kitted out with all mod cons and comfortable furniture. Having a nice pool was a definite bonus, despite advice that it would probably be too cold to go swimming as the temperatures now were a lot cooler than the summer temperatures of a few weeks ago. Of course with temperatures at 30 degrees, hotter than the normal Scottish summer, that advice was largely ignored and I was often grateful to have a cooling dip after a long day out on a hot day, especially if that day had involved a long drive or hoof up a mountain to explore a castle or two.

Lastours

Distant Queribus

We spent our time returning to old haunts, exploring new ones and finding those wonderful, unexpectedly amazing restaurants you sometimes find in the farthest corner of the smallest village. We had some amazing meals at bargain prices and certainly didn't lose any weight while we were there, despite doing plenty of walking. We walked through picturesque villages, drove mountain roads covered in fallen chestnuts whose spiny shells carpeted the road as far as you could see. We were amazed by the incredible colours of autumn that were beginning to come to the fore despite the heat and were mesmerised throughout one unforgettable drive through the montaigne noir which lay close behind the village we were living in.

Minerve

Alet les Bains

We spent time in the World Heritage site of Carcassonne old city with its incredible mediaeval walls and soaring towers, glad that the crush of summer tourists had gone leaving space for everyone and time to take photographs undisturbed. We spent the final night of our holiday in a hotel in the old city and I had the amazing buzz of being able to drive through the narrowest streets to get to our hotel at six p.m. when the curfew on cars was lifted, something I've repeated again in the early hours of Sunday morning when we left to go to the airport. An absolutely unforgettable experience.

One of the entrances to La Citie, Carcassonne.

There's always a cat!

or two!

Although the week didn't seem to go too quickly it was over far too soon and it did rekindle our love affair with the area and make us determined to come back more regularly in the future, to explore the area even more thoroughly and perhaps to look further afield at some of the other areas around the Languedoc too.

Cloudy day, Rennes le Chateau 

La Tour Magdala

See you later.

Listening to.

A bad Case Of The Bends

Hullo ma wee blog,

We took breakfast on the balcony of the apartment in Jausiers every day. For the first few days of our holiday here in the Alps of Haute-Provence we used the local cheese and bread we had bought in  a small deli and artisan bakers in  nearby Barcelonnette on that first evenings walk through the streets of the small town. We'd also supplemented it on the second day with some jam bought in the local supermarket. It felt strange to be sitting on a balcony in the middle of September and feeling the first warm rays of the sun hit the bottom of the valley, feeling it warm enough to sit in comfort to eat outside. We'd left rainy Edinburgh in 13C and arrived in Marseilles in 29C. It felt good to be back in France. We feel somehow at home here, there's just something which gives us a sense of peace and makes us promise to come back again and again.

Every day we would decide where we were going to head to and set off in our hire car. No motorways for us on holiday, not that a promise like that was hard to keep with the village in such a remote valley and at such a height. The sign in the photo at the head of the post was 50 yards from the exit from the apartment onto the road. The high pass that is the Col de la Bonette was the first one that we tackled, heading off after breakfast that first day. The illuminated sign above is only one of many signs in that first few kilometres that tells any driver passing that this road, which is only open for a couple of months a year, isn't to be taken lightly. But, I like to think I'm an experienced driver - and a reasonably careful one too - and as I've driven on mountain roads many times I felt confident that I would be able to handle anything we would meet. After all, didn't I get through that tiny road that G took me up a few years ago? The proximity sensors on front and  both sides were all going off at the same time trying to get through one tight pinch point that day and, although I was smiling through gritted teeth at her beside me, we made it and laughed a bit more genuinely in the Bar a Vin in Carcassonne that night after a couple of glasses of local wine.

So, we felt ready for anything as we set off past the warning signs and the last few houses of the village with the road already beginning to rise at a pretty steep angle. I was glad that we'd gone for a more powerful car than we normally do in expectation of just such terrain as we were now driving on, glad too that the long drive from the airport had given me a chance to get properly accustomed to the Renault, especially on the narrower and twistier roads coming into the Ubaye valley. As the road began to rise up the hillside out of Jausier it began to twist too, firstly in nice looping turns that gave a clear view of how high we were getting, lovely views coming with every turn. Interesting houses in the alpine chalet style became the norm  as we got further away from the village, some with hand written signs indicating 'vente du lait' or 'vente du miele' as they offered the produce of the farms for sale. The road surface was fantastic, looking like it had been newly laid just for us and I was both impressed and feeling more confident about the journey ahead. We chatted easily as you do when seeing new things together for the first time, each of us pointing out to the other things of interest we had spotted along the road.

The landscape soon began to change from small fields to small pastures and woodland and the ever sharpening and more frequent bends showed we were climbing steadily. The early part of the road acclimatised you to the style of driving quite quickly and you soon forgot just how steep the road was as you concentrated on gear changing and keeping the engine revs up, correct acceleration out of the bends to stop the car hesitating. It was some time before I realised corners now were almost all hairpin and every straight was a slow steep climb to the next. The last village we had passed was a dilapidated looking affair with large houses roofed in rusty corrugated iron. I was a bit shocked to notice the tidy blue signs that showed that this was a bus route and offered up a silent 'please no' kind of prayer. Now there were no animals, no farms, the road surface too had become much worse and there were regular potholes that had to be negotiated. The road had narrowed significantly too and the side sometimes sheared or crumbled away into a valley below, the trees looking like they had been planted in a schoolboys model train landscape, the other other side of the road was so steep that it was to all intents a wall of grass or increasingly,  just bare rock. Conversation had dwindled and now for some time had stopped completely as we mutually held an unspoken need for me to pay attention just to the road. I sometimes would give an annoyed tug at the seat-belt which had begun to tighten, uncomfortable and restricting on me as we swung round the bends.

 For some time the only thing that we met on the road was the occasional motorbike, their German, Swiss, French or Italian riders obviously revelling in the hairpins and the lack of traffic even on a clear sunny day at this time of year. It was difficult too to keep an adequate eye on anything coming up behind, so much concentration now going on the car and road ahead and the view behind limited by the distances between bends. More than once I was caught by a motorbike suddenly appearing close behind with its headlights full on, rider waiting patiently for me to get round the bend so they could scream past in exaltation for a road made for powerful bikes. I looked at the dashboard and realised that we had been climbing for the best part of an hour, were doing only 40km an hour on a good straight and that I'd long ago lost count of the number of hairpins we had gone through. "Thank God for power steering" came to mind more than once. I could add thank God for a decent second gear too as it seemed like that was all I was now using.

Throughout the journey I'd been thoroughly enjoying the drive. It was great fun and the car handled really well even if I was questioning if we'd gone for a big enough engine. Or maybe we should have gone for a four by four? Although the road had got really quite narrow it was quiet and the couple of cars we had met had been nice small ones which we managed to get past quite easily. In fact my confidence was up and the last one I hadn't even slowed down for. At one point as we came round a corner I looked up and saw with horror that there was a huge camper van coming down the hill towards us but at that moment it was still a few bends and some distance above us. I felt pretty confident that the driver would have time to see me coming up the hill and would find a nice wide spot on the road, at a bend maybe where the road was considerably wider, and he would wait for me to come sailing past with an insouciant wave to a fellow traveller. After all, the highway code says that you should always give way to vehicles coming up a hill if there are any obstacles or difficulties. Surely the same common sense rule applies on the continent doesn't it?  I couldn't see him any more due to the twisting road so it looked as if he must have stopped. "Good stuff mate! Well done!" and "Jings am I glad about that!" were all things that went through my mind as I came round a bend to meet him head on and - of course - at one of the narrower bits of the road. Some nice kind French road worker had also chosen that exact spot to start and not complete some road repairs, having cut a nice chunk out of the road width and left it marked with a nice big sign of an exclamation mark and a 'Chausee Deformee' written boldly on a yellow metal sign that looked like it had been left in the middle of the road.

I said "Aw Bugger!!!" and put the brakes on.

We both sat and looked at each other. Him in his huge bloody four apartment on wheels and me in my wee Renault. It was obvious that he wasn't going anywhere other than forward and so I looked at the view in my rear view mirror. It looked horrible. I turned in my seat to get a better look back through the rear window. Hmm, not much better actually. It looked tiny and a bit of a chicane with a solid rock face on one side and a crumbly edge, no barrier and complete absence of anything solid at all on the other. I stuck the car in reverse and indicated that he should wait and give me a bit of space and began to edge back down the hill through the chicane towards the last hairpin which was about 50 or 60 yards away. About half way I saw another car come round the bend behind me, see the predicament, and pull into the wide bit of road that I had been heading for.

Aw Jings!!

I kept on heading back towards the latest arrival thinking he would realise that I had to get there and move back a smidgin so I could get in too, but as I got closer I could see that he was firmly staying put and was engrossed in watching progress ahead.  I wracked my brain for the French for "move over the bed a bit old chap" but failed miserably. It was at this point that I realised the camper van hadn't waited where he was but was about 10ft from my front bumper. I was in fine position to get a nice view of his DE plate. Bloody typical! Just as I was feeling a tad under pressure I realised that the road had opened up a bit and by squeezing tightly into the rock face there would just about be enough space for him to get past me, so that's what I did and pulled on the handbrake with an audible sigh of relief. The camper van driver stopped and looked at me like I had two heads, making a gesture with his hand that maybe I should just go on backwards but to be honest I'd had enough. I gave what I hoped was a Gallic shrug of indifference and indicated with my two hands to the huge space he could get past me with. He looked at me again and I again shrugged and folded my arms with a pantomime exhalation and glare at the space. As he edged past me - on the sheer drop side - he managed by about the thickness of a good coat of paint but I didn't feel too guilty. He was a bit grey though.

I bet he'll stop at the first opportunity the next time it happens.

Or get a smaller camper van...............

see you later.

Listening to Sting, 'Fields of Gold'