Final Days Under the French Sky

Mike and I stood on the patio last night looking up at the full moon. It glowed round and bright behind the bare branches of the tilleul tree. We both knew that it was our last full moon under a French sky. We are sad but there’s not much time for sadness as we sort through clothes to give away, return borrowed items, parse out remaining food in our pantry to friends, and clean the house. We are to the point where we're counting rolls of toilet paper, dish washing tablets, and, for me, glasses of wine. But with all that preparation, we love each remaining day. And the days have been glorious – blue, sunny skies, temperatures in the high 50s, lunches on the patio, and long walks through vineyards along back country lanes and across the hilltop behind us.

Come along on our walk today. It is not anything particularly special and yet, it is everything that is special.

As we leave the house, our narrow, stone staircase curves steeply down to the road below. One wall is covered with ivy. We pass our tall cypress tree and a rosemary bush that threatens to overtake the outdoor light.

Down the road into the village, the sun hits the side of the church tower and the rock cliffs behind. The relief is so striking that it looks like a 3D movie without the funny glasses. We meet the owner of the Café de Cours on his way to work. He sings out, “Bonjour, Monsieur-Dame! Ça va?” In town on the Cours, all is calm. The shop owners prepare for their day, sweeping and serving coffee to the early risers. The plane trees, empty of their leaves, look like they did when we arrived. The lack of leaves accentuates their patterned trunks of dappled white, grey and tan.

Today, we’re walking up the hill to the Notre Dame Sanctuary and across the ridge line of hills behind our house. The Sanctuary is one of my favorite places to walk. It is a lovely climb, there is a wonderful view over the valley with the distant hills beyond, and the vineyards laid out in their organized rows below. Mostly, though, it is peaceful.

On our way up the hill, we run into a charming, elder gentleman who I affectionately refer to as “my little man.” When we first arrived, I saw him almost every day as I walked the hill to the Sanctuary and he walked, with his cane and sometimes his black Cocker Spaniel, into town for a baguette. Eventually, I said hello and did my best to introduce myself. Over the months, we continued to speak as I told him where we traveled in France. He is always gracious and polite. I have no idea his name. I am told that he is typical of the old-style Provençal gentleman. He will always be pleasant and I will always be a foreigner to be kept at a friendly distance. At Christmas, we gave him one of our homemade Christmas cards with the note inside thanking people for their hospitality - our best memory. Today, we meet him on our walk. This time, however, a smile lights up his face, he says, “ma belle American!” and I get a kiss on each cheek. How special is that?

We continue on our walk where the stone pathway in the hillside leads up to the Sanctuary. We pause to look out at the view and soak up the calm. We continue along the gravel road across the hilltop. The hills are covered with tall pine trees that whisper in the wind. Short oak trees grow between them and the underbrush is wild rosemary and thyme. We had some rain which seems to make the rosemary sprout pale, gray-blue flowers. The road becomes narrow with low stone walls on either side. The ground and walls play host to bright, green mosses and lichen. The stones are covered with these cushions of green that, on close inspection, are made of tiny stars. It is the perfect compliment to the rough, old stones, carefully stacked. A few birds twitter overhead but the only other noise is the occasional, distant gunshot (it is still boar hunting season).

We walk along the gravel road until it intersects with the path to St. Joseph’s Monastery. Today, however, we will turn onto the paved road that takes us past the glacier, the Source St. Martin (a natural spring under two, huge plane trees), and past Chapelle St. Martin. The small vineyards in front of the unoccupied chapelle are quiet and bare. They have been cut back to the main branches in preparation for new growth in the spring. The trimming is done by hand, gradually, over the winter months (yes, by hand).

We go down a slope, back along the road to where we can see a waterfall that feeds the stream and the better-known waterfall below. This time of year, without the leaves, the waterfall is more visible and audible. It is a sight that always causes us to pause for a few minutes.

No matter how many times we do this or another walk, there is always something to surprise or delight. Today as we return through town in the bright sunlight, we notice someone drying their sweater.....four floors above, hanging on a beam. I guess, you use whatever space is available!

At last, we walk along the steep road to the house (Mike will NOT miss that road!), and back up the narrow staircase. And, so goes our day in Cotignac. Like I said, it's nothing particularly special but, then again, every day is special under the French sky.

A New Year Begins (and Ends) in France

We only have a week left in France. How do you enjoy the New Year when you know that it is almost time to leave? The answer is – you don’t think about it. You simply enjoy every day. And that’s what we’ve been doing. Each week has brought something new.

We rang in the New Year in Paris where we met up with Linnea. Our few days together were filled with wandering the streets of Paris, attending a concert in St. Eustache, and watching the Eiffel Tower twinkle and sparkle at midnight as we exchanged hugs in the shadow of the Louvre. The New Year ’s Day concert was lovely – an ensemble of seven stringed instruments – under the dome of St. Eustache. They played seasonal music like Strauss’ Ave Maria, Mozart’s A Little Night Music, Franz Gruber’s Silent Night and a stunning version of O Holy Night. For me, the music now is richer. Only a few weeks ago we saw the statue of Strauss in Vienna, Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg, and drove through the village where Silent Night was written. Listening to the strings play, images of these places filled my mind. The music was soft, airy and hypnotic. Wonderful – but perhaps not the best choice after a very late night celebrating New Years Eve. Of course, Paris without a stroll past Notre Dame wouldn't be Paris. There was a huge Christmas tree in front with people galore taking photos. There are hundreds of us who have photos much like the one Mike took of me, but few have arms coming out their ears! (Click on the photo if you can't make it out.) And Mike had a touchy moment with a rather angry angel with a pitch fork. He recovered and we ventured on our way for the long walk along the Seine to the Eiffel Tower. Thanks to a birthday present from my mother, we made an excursion to the Hermès store in Paris where I bought my last souvenir – an Hermès scarf. While the scarf is beautiful and a work of art, it is layered with so much more – a birthday gift from my mother, Paris with Michael, anticipation of the new year, and our last trip in France. (By the way, having learned to creatively reuse most everything, the Hermès bag was later filled with our recycling. That’s probably NOT what Mr. Hermès had in mind for his distinctive orange bags!)

Shortly after returning from Paris, the French celebrated epiphany on January 6th. The boulangeries were filled with gateau de roi (king’s cake). There are two types. In Provence, the traditional cake is brioche with decorative candied fruit on top. In Paris, their cake is a rich, flaky pastry filled with an almond paste. In both cases, there is a tiny figurine inside the cake. It is a lucky person who finds the prize – unless they bite down too hard and chip a tooth. Mrs. Poulliard warned us to be careful. We chose the Parisian type so that I could at eat the filling. Mike was the prize winner when he discovered a little, baby Jesus – with a foot kicking in the air – in his slice. Just in case you didn’t recognize Jesus, it was thoughtfully labeled on the back.

The Christmas lights have been taken down in Cotignac although they are still up in nearby Carces. Some decorations at individual homes are also still around. We had seen outdoor decorations of stuffed Papa Noels (Santa), complete with his red suit, on many houses. But there was something different. We finally figured it out. Here, Papa Noel doesn’t come down the chimney. Indeed, the chimneys are typically pipes or small openings with vented covers. It would be very difficult to get into a house that way. The small, stuffed Papa Noels are climbing ropes or ladders into windows – a much better approach.

Next was Mike’s birthday. He was very excited to collect his first Social Security check as we sat in France enjoying a perfect day. In fact, the weather has been exceptional the last week – sunny and warm. We have been sitting outside to eat lunch and hanging clothes on the line to dry. It’s as though it was spring again. With such beautiful weather we took a long walk on Mike’s birthday to soak up the landscape AND to work off the wonderful dinner that he made that evening. A few weeks ago we bought a capon which is a traditional holiday food in France. Mike roasted it stuffed with garlic and an orange, and covered with herbs de Provence. As those smells wafted through the house, we had an appetizer of foie gras. I also had a treat of an aperitif of vin d'orange. I just learned of vin d'orange from my friend, Irene. This is a wine made from oranges and rose wine that is aged for at least 40 days. Irene gave me a sample of her homemade vin d'orange and it was wonderful! Dinner was great and was finished off with a chocolate macaroon with a match on top!

With the beautiful weather, we’ve taken walks every day. Today, Sunday, everyone was out enjoying the sunshine. A group of guys were on a hilltop jamming. Sounds of drums and guitars were unexpected and happy. A mother walked down a dirt lane with her two small children dancing to the music. Others strolled past as well. A farmer on his tractor plowed between the rows of grape vines. Kids on tiny bikes rode past us calling out, “Bonjour!” And, somehow, it all seems like a fitting way to start the New Year.

Leisurely Days in the Autumn Sun

I’m curled up on the sofa in front of a warm fire after a morning of rain that made a cool day feel even cooler. As I sit here with my glass of wine, I think about our last couple of weeks and our days in the sun.

While we’ve had to move our breakfasts and dinners inside now, lunch is still outside on the patio sitting in the warmth of the sun. Most of our days have been filled with sunshine which makes the yellow-tinged leaves glow. I’ve been delighted to discover that I enjoy being outside even in the cooler temperatures as long as I’m in the sun – so that’s where I stay.

Several times last week, we wandered into the village on a sunny afternoon to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee and tea. The Cours is strangely quiet with just the locals and the same dogs patrolling. Last market day, we loaded our baskets with fall produce, a pastry treat, and sat in the sun at our favorite spot, Paulette’s Café. Kids run and play while parents shop. Last week we particularly enjoyed watching a group of kids who appeared to be about eight years old. They were having a great time but a little five year old boy was struggling to be included. Finally, he simply crawled under a sign board and made it his personal fort. He was too cute.

And we took a day trip to Frejus. Frejus is an old Roman town established by Caesar in 49AD. It’s the oldest settlement close by. It used to be a port but now it is 8 km from the sea. Roman ruins are scattered about the town in a jumble – a wall here, a tower there, and the remains of an amphitheater that is today under restoration. After a stroll around town, a visit to the church and cloister (we are at the you’ve-seen-one-cloister- you’ve-seen-them-all stage), a visit to the amphitheater, and a marvelous lunch, we decided to drive the few kilometers to St. Raphael. We visited there on our honeymoon eleven years ago but hadn’t been back since. After parking the car we walked along the waterfront with the Med glistening bright blue. After soaking up the sun at a sidewalk café and relishing in our good fortune, we headed home.

The clear highlight of our days in the sun was our two night excursion to Hyeres and the Ile des Porquerolles. Hyeres has a history as a resort community in the 1800s particularly for the British; however, as people gravitated to beach communities, Hyeres lost favor since it is a couple of kilometers inland. Nonetheless, it has a tropical climate and is fringed with date palms and a wide variety of tropical plants. The roads leading into Hyeres are landscaped with palms and verbena that are still blooming profusely in large clumps of color. It was a lovely, sunny day and we enjoyed a lunch in a charming square before our walk around town. We visited the villa where Robert Louis Stevenson wrote “A Child’s Garden of Verses.” That brought back memories of my mother helping me memorize “The Swing” which I was still able to recite for Michael (all but the last stanza which I could never remember anyway). The villa was later purchased by the writer, Edith Wharton. Today, it is a public park available for strolling through the gardens that are extravagantly terraced along the steep hillside. The gardens are so large that we got a bit lost in our wanderings. Our walk took us up the hill (Mike says that every street is up) and through another botanical garden before heading back to the car. We were in time to catch the 15 minute ferry to Ile des Porquerolles late in the afternoon.

The minute we stepped off the ferry we were captivated. The island is very small (about 3 km by 10km) with no cars, covered in umbrella pine trees, and surrounded by blue-water coves. Crisp white sailboats were returning to the picturesque harbor. After rolling our luggage to the hotel, we found a warm, sunny spot at a friendly bar and stopped….just stopped. What could be better – sitting in the sun, with my husband, the sea sparkling behind him, sipping a kir, and almost no one else around. It was the perfect start to our weekend.

But when there is a new place to explore, sitting can only last so long – at least for me. I was up with the birds to watch the colors of the sun play across the harbor in the early morning. After breakfast we embarked on a walk to the point Langoustier. The island has 51 km of walking and biking trails and we tried about 17 kilometers of them. The trail to Langoustier was lovely. In addition to the umbrella pines which I love, there were these delightful shrubs with bell-shaped white flowers which perfumed the trail with sweetness. Some of the flowers had become green, then yellow, and then red berries about the size of large marbles. They had a pebbly texture and almost glowed with color. It looked like Christmas ornaments hanging from the bushes. Later we learned that they are arbrousier – a fruit that is not eaten here but is similar to an Asian fruit that is edible. As we walked, we were serenaded by twittering birds. As I tromped into the trees for a photo, I startled a large bird that, to my surprise, was a ring-necked pheasant! I could see the ring around his neck and the flicker of blue on his long tail feathers. How fun is that?! We saw several others on our walk that morning and learned to recognize their ruckus cries.

Our walk took us past cozy coves of blue water edged by rocky cliffs – calanques – and the occasional beach. I don’t naturally gravitate to sailing but this is the perfect place to be a sailor. We hiked to the ruins of an old fort perched on a slender spit of land. It took little imagination to understand why this was a perfect spot for a fort. We stopped for a break along a narrow beach that was covered in a wall of seaweed. Apparently, the seaweed washes ashore this time of the year, piles up and forms a natural barrier against the erosion of the waves. My darling husband is always on the lookout for great photo ops. He's particuarly accomplished at searching for the best angle for photographing me. I hope he continues his search!

We continued our walk through the center of the island through pine needled-covered trails with pines bent to the wind into a snug cove surrounded by rocky calanques. Mike tried to coax a seagull into eating from his hand….when there was nothing to eat. The gull figured it out.

After lunch (and a nap), we rented bikes to explore the other part of the island. That’s when we learned that the economy of the island revolves around the ferry schedule. It was 4PM and the shop was closing at 4:45PM because that’s when the last ferry left. The nice young man allowed us to keep the bikes overnight and drop the key in the door slot the next morning – all without a deposit or credit card. There seems to be no end to the generosity of spirit and trusting nature of the local people.

So, with our bikes we set out for the other side of the island. The trail was perfect for mountain biking – a wide, flat, dirt road. The roads were shaded by eucalyptus trees with their shredded bark falling around them like a grass skirt. They made the air smell like a spa. We must have stopped six times in three kilometers. Around every bend was another beautiful cove with sail boats anchored peacefully. The scenes exuded restfulness.

We sat on a rock in the sun to absorb the tranquility. After returning and relaxing with another drink sitting in the sun at the bar, we returned to the hotel, had a light dinner and slept well.

I couldn’t resist exploring one final trail before we left on the morning ferry. I got up early and set out for the opposite side of the island for sunrise. The trail was dark and I had to pick my way carefully. As I got closer, a bright beam of light appeared – a lighthouse with its circling strobe. I reached the rocky cliffs as the sun was streaking the sky with blues, pinks and oranges with the colors reflected off of the cliffs. What an inspired start for the day. It was worth the early morning trek, but then, seeing Mother Nature at work is always worth it.

We returned to Cotignac in time for the quince festival. Yes, quince. Yes, a festival. For those who may not be familiar with quince, it looks like a large, yellowish green and very hard pear. The festival was a big production and included a big lunch and entertainment such as a strolling dixieland jazz band. (We've heard more dixieland in the last six months than we've heard in the last six years!) And they had a female vocalist who rolled her grand piano into the street and performed. As we walked past, she started into "Tonight, Tonight" from "West Side Story." This is Mike's favorite song...although, if you listen closely to the video you'll hear that he doesn't quite know all the words.

But quince was the star of the show. There were booths set up along the Cours with homemade quince pates, jellies, confitures (natural, with apple or ginger), cakes, tarts and pastries. There were even duck terrines with quince, quince and salmon toasts, quince paella, and foie gras topped with quince.

It reminded me of the Spam-o-rama in Austin with all things made from Spam. Or the scene in Forest Gump where his friend rattles off all the types of shrimp dishes. We sampled everything – and it was yummy – even better than Spam Bolognese! (I am not making this up.)

With all the enjoyment we’ve had soaking up the sun in Provence, a day by the fire is just fine. Although – I’ll still look forward to sun tomorrow!

Shopping at the Gourmet Spar

As most of you know, my darling husband, Mike, is a wonderful cook. When we arrived in France we already knew about the weekly fresh markets, but we knew much less about your garden-variety grocery stores. We assumed that a village the size of Cotignac (roughly 2,000 people) would have limited grocery shopping opportunities. We were prepared to – and, in fact, - did drive to larger towns for our shopping. The longer we live here, however, the more we have come to appreciate the availability and variety of grocery stores in the village.

Here’s the inventory: three bakeries, a butcher shop, a gourmet market, a small produce shop and the Spar. I’ve written about the bakeries but not about the others. It’s time they had their names in print!

Mike loves the butcher shop. That's saying a lot since he spent time working as a butcher during his college years. He’s very particular about his meat and how it is cut. The butcher shop here is like the butcher counter I remember as a kid at Shirocky’s Grocery in Texas. The meat is laid out in the case and neatly labeled. The assortment is broad including the usual chicken, pork and beef but here we also have duck, rabbit and an assortment of terrines and pates. It’s a tiny shop – as are all of them – but it’s also a bit intimidating. We can't hide in the corner while we figure out how to ask for what we want. It took awhile for us to warm up to it and be brave enough to attempt an order, but once we did, we were hooked. We met the butcher and his wife who jointly run the shop only to discover that they sold the shop to new owners who took over in September. We were in the shop last week and were graciously introduced to the new owner. Mike was thrilled to discover that the quality and attentiveness was the same. So, here’s how it works.

We tell them generally what we want. They ask how we will prepare the meat and then he cuts it for us. Right there. In front of us. Take something as simple as ground beef. Mike orders 300 grams of “steak hache," the butcher picks up a piece of beef chuck, carefully cuts off any fat as though he is doing intricate surgery, and grinds it as we watch. Then there was the turkey. Turkey is not as prevalent here but they had a filleted turkey breast in the meat case. We told him that it was to be roasted so he went to the back, brought out a larger breast and, before we knew it, he had carefully rolled it and tied it into a neat bundle for roasting. How nice.

We do most of our produce shopping at the weekly market – another blog to come on that - but if we forget something at the market, the small produce stand or the gourmet market is a great option. I particularly like the husband and wife team who run the gourmet market. They have a nice assortment of terrines, pates and cheeses. They also carry big bowls of fresh butter and crème fraische. Not a bad option to have at your doorstep. They are on vacation for a couple of weeks and so missed having their picture taken.

But the shop that amazes us is the Spar. The Spar is smaller than a typical 7-11 in the U.S. and half the size of the Royal Farm Store down the street in Annapolis, and yet the Spar has the variety of a small, gourmet supermarket. The Spar is two aisles wide and maybe 150 square feet including the exterior. Each morning at 7:30AM I see Sebastien, Remi or Julien wheeling out their produce carts which line the entry into the Spar. The Spar is family run and is a small miracle of efficiency. They have literally floor to ceiling products carefully organized and displayed. Every inch of space is accounted for. Like any major grocery store, they have all of the departments. The produce department is outside and you walk through the colorful fruits and vegetables to enter. Inside, there is the meat section and the cheese section with a wide variety of cheeses from the Camenberts of northern France to locally produced cheeses. The dairy section includes six types of butter, a variety of yogurts, milks and packaged desserts like flan, and pots du chocolat (their version of chocolate pudding). There is the hardware section with everything from straws to corkscrews; the paper goods section, the cleaning section and the house wares section. Mike is particularly enamored with the canned meats. There are nine types of canned tuna alone. This doesn’t include the sardines, anchovy or mackerel. There is a broad range of coffees, cookies, biscuits, and chocolate. Mike even found tortilla chips! Lurking behind the cash register is the spice section – floor to ceiling glass bottles of spices. But the wine section may be the largest part of the store. There are red, rose and white wines from all over France including the Cotignac wine from the local cooperative. They also have liqueurs and liquor. All of this, squished into two aisles. The checkout counters are barely big enough for a few items and shopping carts don’t exist. It’s BYOB – bring your own basket, or carry your products in your arms. If we have any problem finding something, usually it is Julien or Sebastien who will literally stop what they are doing – even checking someone out – and come to our aid. They are great. They always have a smile and cheery “bonjour” whenever I’m in the shop. Once, I stopped in for a few green beans that we’d forgotten but that were essential for our salad nicoise. It was only a small handful of beans and they refused to let me pay. Julien said it was “pas probleme” and “c’est normale.” To me – it was far from normal; it was extraordinary. These three young men, Julien, Sebatien and Remi, along with Carole, are a delight. I’ve grown to look forward to going to the Spar just for the experience. I can’t say that for the Farm Store with its empty, sterile shelves, overpriced goods and surly staff. Unfortunately, that’s “c’est normale” for convenience stores in the U.S.

So, grocery shopping at the Spar in Cotignac may not be exactly like Whole Foods, but…you know, it’s not that far off either. With good quality meats, cheeses and a variety of products, topped off with a smile and friendly service, well - we think, it’s a winner. Thanks to Sebastien, Remi, Julien and Carole for making grocery shopping fun!