Bruce and I are now settled for 3 weeks in the village of Montlaur, not far from Lagrasse, where we spent 6 months in 2006. It's in the Corbiere hills, in the Languedoc area of France, just north of the Pyrenees. We had wanted to spend some time unpacked and a bit settled in a place where we could cook our own food and spread out. The added bonus is that we have old friends here, who introduce us to their friends, so there's rather a ready-made community, which is lovely.
Last Sunday we drove to a nearby village for a gathering of farmers selling locally produced cheese, wine, escargots, and bread. Our friends from our time in this area in 2006, Barbara and Allan, had alerted us to this event even before we arrived in Montlaur. We had it written in ink on the calendar. It turned out to be a quintessential French countryside happening, complete with tables set up under grapevine arbors and cyprus trees. We sat in a small island of English speakers among a sea of French bon vivants. I met a woman from Scotland, younger than I, I'm sure, but retired from the BBC in Edinburgh. and her husband, a Scottish violin maker, who own a summer home in Montlaur. They were ordinary, friendly folks, great company for a summer afternoon. Near them sat Anne Marie, a French widow who was married to a Brit, now returned to her family's hometown. Next down the row were Helen and Peter, an out-going Australian couple who had befriended us at an impromptu outdoor musical evening in Montlaur. Bruce and I chatted with Allan and caught up on news since we last saw him and Barbara in 2008.
The cellier where the wine was being sold
The merry-making was set up behind "a chateau", a wine-producing operation in the middle of fields bursting with neat orderly rows of grape vines, overlooked by dry rocky mountains. A cool, dirt-floor "cellier" offered a nice selection of the chateau's wine, and outside tables were loaded with other delicacies, including frites (French fries) and raw pieces of magret (duck breast) which they would grill for you. As I looked around at the people socializing at tables, I couldn't help but feel that we were part of a Monet painting, all dappled light with friends in straw hats, eating and drinking together in the warm summer air.
The day before, Bruce and I had taken out the bikes at our rental house. We rode out of town along a one-lane road lined with plane trees. I shall never tire of that classic scene, the tree trunks a soft motley gray and brown, standing slightly bowed but in perfect symmetry! At the tiny hamlet of Requy, we had turned onto a track that was paved at first and then just a rocky lane. It led us out into the sunny open vineyards, past a busy "chateau" with workers tending the vines and up, up, up to a sun-drenched stretch where we could look down into the beautiful pastoral valley, partitioned into hay fields, and wheat fields, and lots of vine fields. A steady breeze kept us from getting too hot. Wild flowers along the roadsides grabbed my attention. Then down onto a stretch along a busier highway - the least fun part of the excursion. We arrived back in our little village for a beer at the only brasserie in town.
Bruce is pedaling along the plane tree lined road to Requy
Later in the afternoon we drove over to Lagrasse to visit our British friends, John and Mary, now in their 80's and still among the most interesting and fun folks we know. We were treated to tea and a tour of Mary's (Mary Fernandez Morris) artwork. You can google her and see some of her pieces yourself. Mary and infamous dog, Theo, who jumps over electric fences in order to run amok in the village, walked us back to our car.
Mary and John Morris and dog Theo in front of their home in Lagrasse
From there we returned to Montlaur for an evening "fete de St. Jean", an annual June celebration in Roman Catholic cultures. Earlier in the day, we had seen the townspeople setting up for it in the plaza, and the party was in full swing when we arrived. Heaping platters of mussels and frites and glasses of wine were being served at long tables, along with a lively helping of local music. As Helen said, ""The French take their music very seriously!" I think by that she means not "serious" but always a staple part of public gatherings - and great fun! I couldn't help but think of the Quebecois and Acadians in Canada and their similar joie de vivre. We especially enjoyed a troupe of guys playing brass instruments, dressed in black top hats and mismatched tux's, weaving their way among the audience, doing physical antics along with their amazing music. Their obvious delight was infectious. Bruce can't stop talking about it. We toddled back to 2, Rue Petite Cantonne, at 11pm, having had a wonderful day.
Lively, local musicians at Fete de St. Jean in Montlaur
Yesterday we drove up to the Canal du Midi, where Bruce and I had spent a week boating with Jon and Deb four years ago. An incredible engineering feat of many centuries ago, it is a truly magical place now, quiet and peaceful, bordered by vineyards and small towns, with the occasional canal boat slowly plying the waters. We hope to rent bikes one day soon and take a ride along the path beside the canal, perhaps with a picnic.
Large "hotel" canal boat on the Canal du Midi
Our days here in Montlaur are tolled out for us by the church bells which ring every hour, then three dongs at the half hour. Such an ancient tradition. It's comforting during the day but disturbs the sleep at night. Windows need to be closed at bedtime - unfortuately. But that serves to muffle the sound tremendously.
Village church that rings the hour out over the roofs of Montlaur
Our French neighbors are warm and sweet. Conversation is limited to greetings but the sense is that they are glad to have visitors, even temporary English-speaking ones, who help to keep the village populated and the traditions alive.
Our rental house is a story unto itself, which I'll write about next time.
Last Sunday we drove to a nearby village for a gathering of farmers selling locally produced cheese, wine, escargots, and bread. Our friends from our time in this area in 2006, Barbara and Allan, had alerted us to this event even before we arrived in Montlaur. We had it written in ink on the calendar. It turned out to be a quintessential French countryside happening, complete with tables set up under grapevine arbors and cyprus trees. We sat in a small island of English speakers among a sea of French bon vivants. I met a woman from Scotland, younger than I, I'm sure, but retired from the BBC in Edinburgh. and her husband, a Scottish violin maker, who own a summer home in Montlaur. They were ordinary, friendly folks, great company for a summer afternoon. Near them sat Anne Marie, a French widow who was married to a Brit, now returned to her family's hometown. Next down the row were Helen and Peter, an out-going Australian couple who had befriended us at an impromptu outdoor musical evening in Montlaur. Bruce and I chatted with Allan and caught up on news since we last saw him and Barbara in 2008.
The merry-making was set up behind "a chateau", a wine-producing operation in the middle of fields bursting with neat orderly rows of grape vines, overlooked by dry rocky mountains. A cool, dirt-floor "cellier" offered a nice selection of the chateau's wine, and outside tables were loaded with other delicacies, including frites (French fries) and raw pieces of magret (duck breast) which they would grill for you. As I looked around at the people socializing at tables, I couldn't help but feel that we were part of a Monet painting, all dappled light with friends in straw hats, eating and drinking together in the warm summer air.
The day before, Bruce and I had taken out the bikes at our rental house. We rode out of town along a one-lane road lined with plane trees. I shall never tire of that classic scene, the tree trunks a soft motley gray and brown, standing slightly bowed but in perfect symmetry! At the tiny hamlet of Requy, we had turned onto a track that was paved at first and then just a rocky lane. It led us out into the sunny open vineyards, past a busy "chateau" with workers tending the vines and up, up, up to a sun-drenched stretch where we could look down into the beautiful pastoral valley, partitioned into hay fields, and wheat fields, and lots of vine fields. A steady breeze kept us from getting too hot. Wild flowers along the roadsides grabbed my attention. Then down onto a stretch along a busier highway - the least fun part of the excursion. We arrived back in our little village for a beer at the only brasserie in town.
Later in the afternoon we drove over to Lagrasse to visit our British friends, John and Mary, now in their 80's and still among the most interesting and fun folks we know. We were treated to tea and a tour of Mary's (Mary Fernandez Morris) artwork. You can google her and see some of her pieces yourself. Mary and infamous dog, Theo, who jumps over electric fences in order to run amok in the village, walked us back to our car.
From there we returned to Montlaur for an evening "fete de St. Jean", an annual June celebration in Roman Catholic cultures. Earlier in the day, we had seen the townspeople setting up for it in the plaza, and the party was in full swing when we arrived. Heaping platters of mussels and frites and glasses of wine were being served at long tables, along with a lively helping of local music. As Helen said, ""The French take their music very seriously!" I think by that she means not "serious" but always a staple part of public gatherings - and great fun! I couldn't help but think of the Quebecois and Acadians in Canada and their similar joie de vivre. We especially enjoyed a troupe of guys playing brass instruments, dressed in black top hats and mismatched tux's, weaving their way among the audience, doing physical antics along with their amazing music. Their obvious delight was infectious. Bruce can't stop talking about it. We toddled back to 2, Rue Petite Cantonne, at 11pm, having had a wonderful day.
Yesterday we drove up to the Canal du Midi, where Bruce and I had spent a week boating with Jon and Deb four years ago. An incredible engineering feat of many centuries ago, it is a truly magical place now, quiet and peaceful, bordered by vineyards and small towns, with the occasional canal boat slowly plying the waters. We hope to rent bikes one day soon and take a ride along the path beside the canal, perhaps with a picnic.
Our days here in Montlaur are tolled out for us by the church bells which ring every hour, then three dongs at the half hour. Such an ancient tradition. It's comforting during the day but disturbs the sleep at night. Windows need to be closed at bedtime - unfortuately. But that serves to muffle the sound tremendously.
Our French neighbors are warm and sweet. Conversation is limited to greetings but the sense is that they are glad to have visitors, even temporary English-speaking ones, who help to keep the village populated and the traditions alive.
Our rental house is a story unto itself, which I'll write about next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment