Bastille Day
July 14th was duly celebrated in the village with a bit of flag waving and, much more importantly, an extremely agreeable evening of alfresco entertainment in front of the Bar du Pont. The centre of the village was blocked to traffic, the Bar put on a meal of lamb chops, chips, cheese and ice cream and the chairs and tables in the Place Banche Cour in front of the Bar gradually swelled with people who had simply come to drink, listen, maybe dance and generally socialise, around 300 of them packed into the tiny square.
It's one of my favourite evenings, along with the Feu de la St Jean, because all ages come. The entertainment this year was a very basic band and a surprisingly good girl singer. It's amazing what an atmosphere you can conjure up with a squeeze box, a piano, a bit of percussion, a good singer and the right tunes. The entertainment started, the statutory Provencal half-hour late, with the similarly statutory Marseillaise, and continued until after midnight. I ate, drank, chatted, wandered among the tables seeing friends and then engaged in my favourite sport of people watching. Everyone seemed relaxed and happy and the night was pleasantly warm without being too sultry. A lovely evening.
Artists In The Streets
The weekend, the third in July, is when artists both local and from various parts of France, display their paintings in the streets of the mediaeval part of the village. I didn't wander round them this year. Usually, I go to the Mairie to get myself a costune and take part in the parade through the village of some 60 of us all dressed in costumes dating from the Middle Ages through to the 18th century. This year however, Pierre Dieux, who organises the parade wanted a year off so there was no parade; plenty of visitors, though, with cars parked all round the village.
Previous years walking through the old village in procession have taught me that unfortunately there is seldom much work of any originality among the paintings displayed. Whilst nothing descends to the extreme banality of the classic large-eyed boy/girl with a tear in one-eye, a very large proportion consist of “typical” Provence scenes (fields of lavender/sunflowers, dotted with the odd cabin roofed with semi-circular tiles). The prices posted for these works show more imagination than the paintings themselves, a triumph of hope over expectation. This, despite he fact that there are three prizes of various sorts on offer. I find it all rather depressing and would much rather gaze into the studio window next door to admire the work of my artist neighbour, Florence Gosset.
Unfortunately too, the entertainment on offer in the evening, in the 14th of July square, behind the Mairie, was similarly banal. Posters proclaimed high-kicking girls in exotic feathered costumes, bare-breasted too. It's not my preferred form of entertainment but a good show of the sort can be enjoyable. Two girls alone, though, struggle to provide the same elan that a chorus line can (-can). The crooners, male and female, were just that and the songs uninspired. One singer did get her tits out (appeared in a transparent bra) but the effect was sleazy, almost obscene, in that there appeared no reason for it. The idea, presumably, was to titillate (excuse the pun) but the effect (on me) was almost the opposite.
Nonetheless, since the entertainment was free it is hard to quibble too much and I quite enjoyed myself sitting watching people as much as the stage. And most people seemed to be enjoying themselves. The sky helped, turning at one stage to a deep velvet blue. Really, the skies in Provence have to be seen to be believed. However, I decided that an hour of the entertainment was enough and left before the grand finale(?).
Almost Clochemerle
I commented previously on the beautiful stone wall built to hide the wheelie bins for our street. Ah, but there was a problem, almost a Clochemerle moment. The workmen who built the wall moved the bins originally; they had to in order to start work. But whose job was it to move them back behind the new wall? The workmen had long gone and it wasn't the job of the binmen. The matter probably had to be referred to the commune for arbitration. However, my neighbour Jean-Marc, simply took the job on himself, since the bins were then parked in front of his house, and moved the bins the 20 yards to their original position. It was brave of him: there could have been a binman strike, a dispute over commune power usurped and heaven knows what but all is calm in the street this morning so presumably the matter is resolved.
Apricots Galore
The apricots here have to be tasted to be believed. Some large as peaches, some red and gold in colour, they are a delight. And there seems to be a glut this year. At the depot by the boules court, small lorries packed with cases of them have been arriving by the dozen to unload and huge pantechnicons blocking the road to take them away. In the markets they are now below a euro a kilo, a very small price for a piece of gastronomic heaven. However, I have already made around 4 kilos of jam and friend Jo has amassed some 42 jars of it so the only thing left to do is eat them while they are still around. Next up are figs!
Monday, 20 July 2009
Friday, 10 July 2009
In Our Street
Street Party
The first Sunday in July is the day of the street party. Those who live in the rue du Faubourg like to think they're a bit special, more outgoing, friendly and cosmopolitan than the rest of the villagers. And it's certainly true that we're an outgoing and friendly crowd. The street party is a chance to demonstrate this and no other street in the village has its own party. Normally, the street is blocked off to traffic by barriers supplied by the Mairie but these were all in use elsewhere this year so we blocked off the street with cars.
A few years ago frinds as well as inhabitants of the street were invited and numbers rose to nearly 100 but some of the residents objected to the friends so it is just those living in the street at the time who can now attend. There were 56 of us this year. Everybody brings a dish of some sort or some drink and we all share.
Just as we were about to put up the tables the heavens opened and a thunder storm broke. Fortunately it lasted only an hour so we were able to proceed as usual slightly later than planned. I made the mistake of offering Jean-Pierre, who was sitting next to me, a Calvados at the end of the meal. Other empty glasses were quickly presented and three quarters of the contents of the bottle immediately disappeared. I'll make sure I have less than a full bottle to offer next year!
Goodbye To Clochemenle Moments
There have been Clochemerle moments, mentioned previously, when people from the houses around have gathered outside the wash house to discuss what can be done about the wheelie bins across the road from me. Petitions to the Mairie have followed and at last seem to have borne fruit. The bins are now hidden behind a new stone wall. When things get done here, they aren't done by halves. A foundation about a foot thick was laid and breeze block walls, with two openings for the dustmen, were built up on it. These in turn have been covered in rendering at the back and faced with stone in front. It certainly looks better and the stone faced wall in front is actually rather attractive. So no more Clochemerle moments.
Petunias
Petunias can be fickle and mine have certainly not flourished this year as in previous years. The result is that the balcony and hanging baskets don't look anywhere near as eye-catching as they should. I'm wondering whether to persevere with a sub-standard display or whether to replace them; but with what? The obvious replacements are geraniums but I regard red ones, at least, as something of a cliché to be avoided. Whatever I do this year I think I shall plant something other than petunias on the balcony and in the hanging baskets next year.
The first Sunday in July is the day of the street party. Those who live in the rue du Faubourg like to think they're a bit special, more outgoing, friendly and cosmopolitan than the rest of the villagers. And it's certainly true that we're an outgoing and friendly crowd. The street party is a chance to demonstrate this and no other street in the village has its own party. Normally, the street is blocked off to traffic by barriers supplied by the Mairie but these were all in use elsewhere this year so we blocked off the street with cars.
A few years ago frinds as well as inhabitants of the street were invited and numbers rose to nearly 100 but some of the residents objected to the friends so it is just those living in the street at the time who can now attend. There were 56 of us this year. Everybody brings a dish of some sort or some drink and we all share.
Just as we were about to put up the tables the heavens opened and a thunder storm broke. Fortunately it lasted only an hour so we were able to proceed as usual slightly later than planned. I made the mistake of offering Jean-Pierre, who was sitting next to me, a Calvados at the end of the meal. Other empty glasses were quickly presented and three quarters of the contents of the bottle immediately disappeared. I'll make sure I have less than a full bottle to offer next year!
Goodbye To Clochemenle Moments
There have been Clochemerle moments, mentioned previously, when people from the houses around have gathered outside the wash house to discuss what can be done about the wheelie bins across the road from me. Petitions to the Mairie have followed and at last seem to have borne fruit. The bins are now hidden behind a new stone wall. When things get done here, they aren't done by halves. A foundation about a foot thick was laid and breeze block walls, with two openings for the dustmen, were built up on it. These in turn have been covered in rendering at the back and faced with stone in front. It certainly looks better and the stone faced wall in front is actually rather attractive. So no more Clochemerle moments.
Petunias
Petunias can be fickle and mine have certainly not flourished this year as in previous years. The result is that the balcony and hanging baskets don't look anywhere near as eye-catching as they should. I'm wondering whether to persevere with a sub-standard display or whether to replace them; but with what? The obvious replacements are geraniums but I regard red ones, at least, as something of a cliché to be avoided. Whatever I do this year I think I shall plant something other than petunias on the balcony and in the hanging baskets next year.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
Summer and Eagles
First Day Of Summer?
The locals seem to be slightly out on the first day of summer but maybe the tradition dates back before anyone did the calculations. So, the 23rd of June is the Feu de la St Jean, a celebration of the first day of summer. The centre of the village is shut off to traffic and a large contingent of villagers congregates in front of the Bar du Pont to eat, drink and listen/dance to a band. When darkness descends, a bonfire is lit beneath the bridge over the Ouvèze river. The first year I was here the bonfire was actually on the bridge and the fire brigade had to stand by to see it didn't get out of hand. Since the, it's been down on a stone bank in the middle of the river, presumably because there's plenty of water around to put it out, if necessary.
Two things contrast with my English experience. Firstly, I've never lived anywhere in England where this kind of thing happened, except some vague memory of a street party in London at the time of the current Queen's coronation. Secondly, all ages come: grandparents, parents, adolescents, kids, dogs, cats, etc, and everyone seems to have a good time. It really is a family occasion.
A couple of years ago the entertainment was a couple playing the guitar and singing Brassens songs. Most of the people were singing along to the well-known songs, which are generally pretty bawdy. You can't really dance to Brassens but a number of 6-7 year-olds weren't to be put off and duly bopped away to the music. I can't think of anywhere else where you would happily have teeny boppers dancing away to songs with words like “when Margot undid her bra” and “I took her into the countryside and lifted up her skirt to introduce her to nature”. Nowhere but in France.
Dog Fight
I was playing boules a couple of days a go when we all stopped and looked up into the sky. A dogfight was going on between an eagle and a number of house martins. The eagle had somehow got amongst a flock of them and was desperately trying to catch one. Every time it got near one, the house martin would swerve or turn up or down at the last minute. We watched fascinated for a while but didn't see the eagle have any success. It must have been like some of the scenes over Britain at the time of the second world war.
The locals seem to be slightly out on the first day of summer but maybe the tradition dates back before anyone did the calculations. So, the 23rd of June is the Feu de la St Jean, a celebration of the first day of summer. The centre of the village is shut off to traffic and a large contingent of villagers congregates in front of the Bar du Pont to eat, drink and listen/dance to a band. When darkness descends, a bonfire is lit beneath the bridge over the Ouvèze river. The first year I was here the bonfire was actually on the bridge and the fire brigade had to stand by to see it didn't get out of hand. Since the, it's been down on a stone bank in the middle of the river, presumably because there's plenty of water around to put it out, if necessary.
Two things contrast with my English experience. Firstly, I've never lived anywhere in England where this kind of thing happened, except some vague memory of a street party in London at the time of the current Queen's coronation. Secondly, all ages come: grandparents, parents, adolescents, kids, dogs, cats, etc, and everyone seems to have a good time. It really is a family occasion.
A couple of years ago the entertainment was a couple playing the guitar and singing Brassens songs. Most of the people were singing along to the well-known songs, which are generally pretty bawdy. You can't really dance to Brassens but a number of 6-7 year-olds weren't to be put off and duly bopped away to the music. I can't think of anywhere else where you would happily have teeny boppers dancing away to songs with words like “when Margot undid her bra” and “I took her into the countryside and lifted up her skirt to introduce her to nature”. Nowhere but in France.
Dog Fight
I was playing boules a couple of days a go when we all stopped and looked up into the sky. A dogfight was going on between an eagle and a number of house martins. The eagle had somehow got amongst a flock of them and was desperately trying to catch one. Every time it got near one, the house martin would swerve or turn up or down at the last minute. We watched fascinated for a while but didn't see the eagle have any success. It must have been like some of the scenes over Britain at the time of the second world war.
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
Fruit, roses, etc
Fruit, Fruit, Fruit,.....
The fruit season is now in full swing. Even the strawberries, which were first, are still going strong although the markets haven't yet started offering several kilos for a few euros for jam making. The cherries, which were second are also still around and the village man who sells his own stuff opposite the Mairie is selling a white variety for a euro a kilo. Apricots the size of peaches are plentiful and the peaches themselves are now fully ripe. Add the Charentais melons to that lot and there really is a cornucopia of fruit. Jam making is definitely just around the corner.
Rose Identified
I gave a rose to friends Steve and Jo several years ago to plant by their pool and it has bloomed magnificently and repeatedly. However, I had forgotten which variety it was although I knew whom I bought it from, a man in the Nyons market. I've now tracked down the name: it's Pegasus. I shall get one for myself if I can find one.
Watering
Watering is now a constant chore with the weather consistently in the 30s. As Steve and Jo are away there is their garden to look after too, as well as my own, although there is Hallie to help with the former. Two of my clematises still haven't bloomed so I have yet to discover whether the colour it said on the ticket (blue in each case) is actually the colour they are; it isn't always the case with flowers bought in the market.
Eating Outside
Eating out side is always one of the big pleasures here at this time of the year, morning noon and night. Had Hallie round for a meal on Sunday and we ate on the balcony around 9.00 in the evening. Lent Hallie my DVDs of The Jewel in the Crown and those are now occupying a large part of her time.
Translation
My first success with translation work apart from the guided tour of Mollans. Going to pick up some Viognier which I had heard they had in bag-in-box at the Rieu Frais vineyard in St Jalle, I also picked up the Ehnglish translation of their brochure. The woman who gave it to me said to let her know if there were any mistakes. Well, it was a brave effort but trying to make changes was a hopeless job; it was easier to translate from the French again, which I duly did. Took to the vineyard and said they could have it for free as long as they acknowledged my translation work. They were very grateful and insisted I take a couple of bottles of wine: a Viognier and a Cabernet sauvignon.
Rieu Frais is a good example of a vineyard that produces very good wine but is outside the AOC area and so has to classify all its wines as Vin de Table. It really makes even more of a nonsense of the AOC system.
The fruit season is now in full swing. Even the strawberries, which were first, are still going strong although the markets haven't yet started offering several kilos for a few euros for jam making. The cherries, which were second are also still around and the village man who sells his own stuff opposite the Mairie is selling a white variety for a euro a kilo. Apricots the size of peaches are plentiful and the peaches themselves are now fully ripe. Add the Charentais melons to that lot and there really is a cornucopia of fruit. Jam making is definitely just around the corner.
Rose Identified
I gave a rose to friends Steve and Jo several years ago to plant by their pool and it has bloomed magnificently and repeatedly. However, I had forgotten which variety it was although I knew whom I bought it from, a man in the Nyons market. I've now tracked down the name: it's Pegasus. I shall get one for myself if I can find one.
Watering
Watering is now a constant chore with the weather consistently in the 30s. As Steve and Jo are away there is their garden to look after too, as well as my own, although there is Hallie to help with the former. Two of my clematises still haven't bloomed so I have yet to discover whether the colour it said on the ticket (blue in each case) is actually the colour they are; it isn't always the case with flowers bought in the market.
Eating Outside
Eating out side is always one of the big pleasures here at this time of the year, morning noon and night. Had Hallie round for a meal on Sunday and we ate on the balcony around 9.00 in the evening. Lent Hallie my DVDs of The Jewel in the Crown and those are now occupying a large part of her time.
Translation
My first success with translation work apart from the guided tour of Mollans. Going to pick up some Viognier which I had heard they had in bag-in-box at the Rieu Frais vineyard in St Jalle, I also picked up the Ehnglish translation of their brochure. The woman who gave it to me said to let her know if there were any mistakes. Well, it was a brave effort but trying to make changes was a hopeless job; it was easier to translate from the French again, which I duly did. Took to the vineyard and said they could have it for free as long as they acknowledged my translation work. They were very grateful and insisted I take a couple of bottles of wine: a Viognier and a Cabernet sauvignon.
Rieu Frais is a good example of a vineyard that produces very good wine but is outside the AOC area and so has to classify all its wines as Vin de Table. It really makes even more of a nonsense of the AOC system.
Sunday, 31 May 2009
Garden, lierature and supermarkets
Water, water......
It's been a couple of weeks of intensive watering as temperatures in the sun have been well into the 30s. However, most of the plants in the front, as well as the rose I planted across the road, seem to be doing well. The greatest success is clearly going to be a late-flowering clematis that has made its way out from the pot by the front door up to the porch roof and out and up the grapevine which ends up over the balcony. Also, the trachelospermum jasmoinides in a pot on the balcony has got about two thirds of the way along the balcony and is now covered in bloom. The pansies are finally giving up; however, as I planted them in November and they have given a brilliant display for most of the time since, they don't owe me anything. I shall plant pansies again next November.
I had spotted one or two interesting wild plants by the roadside and was about to go and dig up some samples but the local commune has been round clearing the verges so that is that for another year. I've had a real bonus from the poppy seed I scattered on the back ground last year, though; poppies popping up all over the place. Against that, there is a wild yellow poppy that I snaffled from the roadside last year that didn't look as though it would take but survived long enough to produce seed; the seed clearly hasn't taken yet. I say “yet” because Jo had admired some wild sweet peas I had tumbling over a fence in my garden in Reading and I brought out lots of seed for her garden about three years ago. Nothing......until this year when several plants have appeared. Sometimes you can't hurry nature.
The back garden is in full flow. I've eliminated some of the plants I didn't know but have discovered I don't want but most of the perennials I have bought this year seem to be taking. It'll be a year of wait and see. The stocks I grew from seed are all planted but haven't got very high or robust; the compost they sell here seems to be quite poor (mostly chewed up wood) and quite expensive. Will bring more back from England when I take the car over.
Literary Festival
Daniel has been helping to organise a literary festival, Lire en mai, in Nyons and so I went along to sample it. The main sessions are by authors invited to discuss their work. The setting was superb: the walled garden of a house right in the centre of Nyons. The talks I heard were, however, disappointing. The microphone being used seemed to scramble what was being said to the point where it often defeated my command of French. Also, I was reminded that people who can write well can't always speak well (or interestingly). The French do love their theory and “philosophy” but when the discussion turned to “the necessary tension between the author, his characters and the reader” I gave up. Still it was a pleasant way to pass an afternoon.
Supermarkets
The English, or Anglo-saxon, “model” for driving the national economy is much criticised here, for some good reasons, although I'm not sure model is the right word (muddle, maybe?). There is much more emphasis here on quality of life, although also much anguish at the persistent unemployment rate. About three months ago, one of the supermarkets in Vaison, Intermarché, decided to open on Sunday mornings, totally against the prevailing work ethic. I went soon after it started and found the place heaving with customers. I thought then that the other supermarket, SuperU, would have to follow suit. Sure enough, it has now happened. The tensions between customer focus and free market forces on the one hand and sensitivity to workers quality of life still have to be worked through. I find the common French knee-jerk reaction to favour the quality of life of workers encouraging but quality of life also requires having an income (i.e. job) and there are too many French people without the latter. Over time, perhaps there will be a way to resolve these tensions better.
It's been a couple of weeks of intensive watering as temperatures in the sun have been well into the 30s. However, most of the plants in the front, as well as the rose I planted across the road, seem to be doing well. The greatest success is clearly going to be a late-flowering clematis that has made its way out from the pot by the front door up to the porch roof and out and up the grapevine which ends up over the balcony. Also, the trachelospermum jasmoinides in a pot on the balcony has got about two thirds of the way along the balcony and is now covered in bloom. The pansies are finally giving up; however, as I planted them in November and they have given a brilliant display for most of the time since, they don't owe me anything. I shall plant pansies again next November.
I had spotted one or two interesting wild plants by the roadside and was about to go and dig up some samples but the local commune has been round clearing the verges so that is that for another year. I've had a real bonus from the poppy seed I scattered on the back ground last year, though; poppies popping up all over the place. Against that, there is a wild yellow poppy that I snaffled from the roadside last year that didn't look as though it would take but survived long enough to produce seed; the seed clearly hasn't taken yet. I say “yet” because Jo had admired some wild sweet peas I had tumbling over a fence in my garden in Reading and I brought out lots of seed for her garden about three years ago. Nothing......until this year when several plants have appeared. Sometimes you can't hurry nature.
The back garden is in full flow. I've eliminated some of the plants I didn't know but have discovered I don't want but most of the perennials I have bought this year seem to be taking. It'll be a year of wait and see. The stocks I grew from seed are all planted but haven't got very high or robust; the compost they sell here seems to be quite poor (mostly chewed up wood) and quite expensive. Will bring more back from England when I take the car over.
Literary Festival
Daniel has been helping to organise a literary festival, Lire en mai, in Nyons and so I went along to sample it. The main sessions are by authors invited to discuss their work. The setting was superb: the walled garden of a house right in the centre of Nyons. The talks I heard were, however, disappointing. The microphone being used seemed to scramble what was being said to the point where it often defeated my command of French. Also, I was reminded that people who can write well can't always speak well (or interestingly). The French do love their theory and “philosophy” but when the discussion turned to “the necessary tension between the author, his characters and the reader” I gave up. Still it was a pleasant way to pass an afternoon.
Supermarkets
The English, or Anglo-saxon, “model” for driving the national economy is much criticised here, for some good reasons, although I'm not sure model is the right word (muddle, maybe?). There is much more emphasis here on quality of life, although also much anguish at the persistent unemployment rate. About three months ago, one of the supermarkets in Vaison, Intermarché, decided to open on Sunday mornings, totally against the prevailing work ethic. I went soon after it started and found the place heaving with customers. I thought then that the other supermarket, SuperU, would have to follow suit. Sure enough, it has now happened. The tensions between customer focus and free market forces on the one hand and sensitivity to workers quality of life still have to be worked through. I find the common French knee-jerk reaction to favour the quality of life of workers encouraging but quality of life also requires having an income (i.e. job) and there are too many French people without the latter. Over time, perhaps there will be a way to resolve these tensions better.
Monday, 11 May 2009
Aix, Veggies and Pizza
Aix and the Var
Daniel was going to Aix to see his son Kevyn and then both were going on to a vineyard in the Var so he offered to take me along with him. I accepted gladly. The 2-hour drive to Aix passed quite quickly with Daniel pointing out sites of interest and, particularly, a three-span suspension bridge over the Durance just outside Cavaillon which is now by-passed and has a wooden roadway. It would have been interesting (probably in a Chinese sense now) to have been able to cross over the wooden roadway.
Lunch at Kevyn's flat, then on to the obligatory boules, then an apero watching the world go by at a cafe on the Cour Mirabeau, the Champs Elysée of Aix, and then on to a wine tasting evening that Kevyn had helped organise in a seminary. The seminary was built around a large courtyard in the middle of Aix and included a chapel, the chapel of the Oblats. The Oblats were apparently a sect of lay people who wished to observe a quasi-religious lifestyle. The peace and quiet in the courtyard, after the bustle of Aix just outside where we had had the apero was striking. And the wine tasting was informal and enjoyable; a really good evening.
The following morning we were up early to go to the Terre Promise vineyard, about 40-minutes drive away in the Var, which had provided two of the wines at the tasting, a rosé and a red. Kevyn and a number of his student friends work there in the summer helping to get in the grape harvest. It turned out that Jean-Christophe, who bought the vineyard a few years ago and is a wine enthusiast, had sold all his stock of rosé but hadn't got all of it bottled, so needed help with the bottling. We duly piled in and, after a longish but very enjoyable day, had managed to bottle and package 4000 bottles and around 200 magnums. The work was done, by a half-dozen of us, in a great atmosphere: focussed but relaxed and joky with a short sampling break and a leisurely lunch. I came away with half a case of bvery good wine for my pains.
On the journey back, Daniel did a detour to show me more of the Var countryside and the St Victoire mountain, oft-painted by Cézanne. The countryside surprised me in that, being significantly farther south, I had expected it to be more arid than that around Mollans. In fact, the opposite was the case: the greenery was generally much softer, more like southern England or the Morvan in Burgundy.
Vegetables
My terrace is now beginning to look like a nursery. The veggies I've sown primarily for Steve and Jo's veg. garden have needed potting on and there are now myriad pots of tomatoes, aubergines, courgettes, peppers and cucumbers cluttering it up, plus trays of perpetual spinach, broccoli, stock seedlings and sprouting dahlia tubers. This is all very satisfying but the plants in the wall at the back of the terrace are blooming and it's difficult to see them for all the pots around. I've resolved to get most of this sorted by the end of the month so that I can enjoy the terrace. The vegetable plants that Steve and Jo don't want will go to neighbours; Monique has already said she wants some perpetual spinach and Jean-Marc and Florence next door have a new veg. garden with only tomatoes in it so far.
Pizza Evening
The pizza evening tonight was outside on the terrace of the Bar du Pont, the first time this year. Barring rain, it should be outside now until the end of September at least. Even Mt Ventoux has been losing its snow. There's still some on the north side but the south side is clear. To be exact, it wasn't entirely a pizza evening as Roberto came with a huge supply of mussels and chips as an alternative. Whatever.........as my friend Steve commented, it's evenings such as this that remind me why I came out here. “Balmy” is the English word that best describes it and I love such evenings. Also, for the past week I've had the door from the balcony into the living room open most of the day and can now enjoy breakfast and lunch on the balcony. And the flower show out front has started to attract the camera enthusiasts who pass by. That's summer.
Daniel was going to Aix to see his son Kevyn and then both were going on to a vineyard in the Var so he offered to take me along with him. I accepted gladly. The 2-hour drive to Aix passed quite quickly with Daniel pointing out sites of interest and, particularly, a three-span suspension bridge over the Durance just outside Cavaillon which is now by-passed and has a wooden roadway. It would have been interesting (probably in a Chinese sense now) to have been able to cross over the wooden roadway.
Lunch at Kevyn's flat, then on to the obligatory boules, then an apero watching the world go by at a cafe on the Cour Mirabeau, the Champs Elysée of Aix, and then on to a wine tasting evening that Kevyn had helped organise in a seminary. The seminary was built around a large courtyard in the middle of Aix and included a chapel, the chapel of the Oblats. The Oblats were apparently a sect of lay people who wished to observe a quasi-religious lifestyle. The peace and quiet in the courtyard, after the bustle of Aix just outside where we had had the apero was striking. And the wine tasting was informal and enjoyable; a really good evening.
The following morning we were up early to go to the Terre Promise vineyard, about 40-minutes drive away in the Var, which had provided two of the wines at the tasting, a rosé and a red. Kevyn and a number of his student friends work there in the summer helping to get in the grape harvest. It turned out that Jean-Christophe, who bought the vineyard a few years ago and is a wine enthusiast, had sold all his stock of rosé but hadn't got all of it bottled, so needed help with the bottling. We duly piled in and, after a longish but very enjoyable day, had managed to bottle and package 4000 bottles and around 200 magnums. The work was done, by a half-dozen of us, in a great atmosphere: focussed but relaxed and joky with a short sampling break and a leisurely lunch. I came away with half a case of bvery good wine for my pains.
On the journey back, Daniel did a detour to show me more of the Var countryside and the St Victoire mountain, oft-painted by Cézanne. The countryside surprised me in that, being significantly farther south, I had expected it to be more arid than that around Mollans. In fact, the opposite was the case: the greenery was generally much softer, more like southern England or the Morvan in Burgundy.
Vegetables
My terrace is now beginning to look like a nursery. The veggies I've sown primarily for Steve and Jo's veg. garden have needed potting on and there are now myriad pots of tomatoes, aubergines, courgettes, peppers and cucumbers cluttering it up, plus trays of perpetual spinach, broccoli, stock seedlings and sprouting dahlia tubers. This is all very satisfying but the plants in the wall at the back of the terrace are blooming and it's difficult to see them for all the pots around. I've resolved to get most of this sorted by the end of the month so that I can enjoy the terrace. The vegetable plants that Steve and Jo don't want will go to neighbours; Monique has already said she wants some perpetual spinach and Jean-Marc and Florence next door have a new veg. garden with only tomatoes in it so far.
Pizza Evening
The pizza evening tonight was outside on the terrace of the Bar du Pont, the first time this year. Barring rain, it should be outside now until the end of September at least. Even Mt Ventoux has been losing its snow. There's still some on the north side but the south side is clear. To be exact, it wasn't entirely a pizza evening as Roberto came with a huge supply of mussels and chips as an alternative. Whatever.........as my friend Steve commented, it's evenings such as this that remind me why I came out here. “Balmy” is the English word that best describes it and I love such evenings. Also, for the past week I've had the door from the balcony into the living room open most of the day and can now enjoy breakfast and lunch on the balcony. And the flower show out front has started to attract the camera enthusiasts who pass by. That's summer.
Friday, 1 May 2009
May = Summer
May = Summer
It's been a good few days. Today is muguet (lily of the valley) day in France (and celebration of workers, etc, of course). But driving the short distance into Buis I saw several roadside vendors of bunches of lily of the valley. Traditionally, you give it to your beloved on the 1st May here. And Chelsea got a good result in Barcelona!
Steve, Jo and Mana came round to eat a curry and that reminded me that the French have no taste for chili. I put none in it but the cloves and ginger had Mana gulping glasses of water although she declared the curry to be very good. When I cook a curry here, I hold on the chili and put a little bowl of cayenne pepper on the table for those with more tolerant and chili-friendly palates. I think Indian cuisine is still something the French as a whole have to discover.
The weather, after a spell of being changeable but dry, has really started warming up and the roadsides have begun showing their full range of colours. The coronilla are still providing a blanket of yellow on the slopes and the broom is about to join in. Judas trees (I've never seen one in England, don't know if they have an English name) and tamarisks are joining in as also are amalanches, which grow wild as small bushes rather than trees here, and the early valerianne which generally seems tot be coral red rather than the more pervasive pink which shows later. At closer to ground level, poppies are now abundant and show well against the type of euphorbia, with lime green bracts, that grows all over the place. The purple salvias are out and I first saw today the blue wild chicory. White campions are everywhere (I've never seen the pink variety here, which is much more common in England) and irises of course. Ladies slipper is abundant as also is vetch and star of Bethlehem, which again I have never seen in England. A few are now residing in my back garden. Against that, the show of blossom on almond, cherry, apricot and peach trees is now over and I'll have to wait a month or two to see the results of that in the market; cherries first and then peaches and apricots.
I haven't done a lot in the garden other than water, prick out some seedlings and plant the star of Bethlehem. However, I did dig the little trench needed for one side of the arch I want to put in. It really needed to go down 18 inches but, a foot down, I hit solid rock. So a foot it is going to have to be, with some concrete around; it should do the job as there won't be much growth up it this year.
And I've started playing around with possible formats for the brochure that will contain my English translation of J-F Colonat's guided tour of the village. Single rather than double column, the column running ~2/3 across a landscape A5 page with French and English pages facing one another seems to work best and I think it can be all made to fit, with photos and maps, on 16 pages of A5 but.................On decent paper, people will probably pay a couple of euros for that, which will get the production money back. Double column A5 portrait, will require 24/32 pages, which is what Daniel originally had in mind, so I may have a persuasion job on my hands.
It's been a good few days. Today is muguet (lily of the valley) day in France (and celebration of workers, etc, of course). But driving the short distance into Buis I saw several roadside vendors of bunches of lily of the valley. Traditionally, you give it to your beloved on the 1st May here. And Chelsea got a good result in Barcelona!
Steve, Jo and Mana came round to eat a curry and that reminded me that the French have no taste for chili. I put none in it but the cloves and ginger had Mana gulping glasses of water although she declared the curry to be very good. When I cook a curry here, I hold on the chili and put a little bowl of cayenne pepper on the table for those with more tolerant and chili-friendly palates. I think Indian cuisine is still something the French as a whole have to discover.
The weather, after a spell of being changeable but dry, has really started warming up and the roadsides have begun showing their full range of colours. The coronilla are still providing a blanket of yellow on the slopes and the broom is about to join in. Judas trees (I've never seen one in England, don't know if they have an English name) and tamarisks are joining in as also are amalanches, which grow wild as small bushes rather than trees here, and the early valerianne which generally seems tot be coral red rather than the more pervasive pink which shows later. At closer to ground level, poppies are now abundant and show well against the type of euphorbia, with lime green bracts, that grows all over the place. The purple salvias are out and I first saw today the blue wild chicory. White campions are everywhere (I've never seen the pink variety here, which is much more common in England) and irises of course. Ladies slipper is abundant as also is vetch and star of Bethlehem, which again I have never seen in England. A few are now residing in my back garden. Against that, the show of blossom on almond, cherry, apricot and peach trees is now over and I'll have to wait a month or two to see the results of that in the market; cherries first and then peaches and apricots.
I haven't done a lot in the garden other than water, prick out some seedlings and plant the star of Bethlehem. However, I did dig the little trench needed for one side of the arch I want to put in. It really needed to go down 18 inches but, a foot down, I hit solid rock. So a foot it is going to have to be, with some concrete around; it should do the job as there won't be much growth up it this year.
And I've started playing around with possible formats for the brochure that will contain my English translation of J-F Colonat's guided tour of the village. Single rather than double column, the column running ~2/3 across a landscape A5 page with French and English pages facing one another seems to work best and I think it can be all made to fit, with photos and maps, on 16 pages of A5 but.................On decent paper, people will probably pay a couple of euros for that, which will get the production money back. Double column A5 portrait, will require 24/32 pages, which is what Daniel originally had in mind, so I may have a persuasion job on my hands.
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