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.

Giving Thanks for Friends

Mike and I have so many things to be thankful for particularly this year. We continue to have wonderful experiences in France, plus, throughout the year we’ve had the opportunity to share those experiences with friends who have come to visit. Some friends were veteran travelers and others enjoyed their inaugural trip to Europe, but this week was the first time we had two friends visit who didn’t know each other before they arrived. None of us knew how that would work but, as it turned out, it was perfect. And I received yet another gift just in time for Thanksgiving – the joy of watching my two dear friends become friends with each other.

Dan arrived first. I’ve known Dan for years, first as a consultant, then as a co-worker, and ultimately as a friend. We’ve gone through several job and career changes together and through it all, he has been a constant source of inspiration and a voice of wisdom. Plus, he can fill the room with laughter!

Felicia arrived a couple of days later and stayed for a few days after Dan left. I have literally known Felicia all her life. Our mothers have been friends for decades. Although Felicia’s family lived in Chicago, we saw them regularly when they visited her grandparents in Smithville. Somewhere along the way, Felicia grew from being the youngest kid among our families into a wise and happy woman who also happens to be a successful designer in Chicago. While we’re not related, it feels like we are. Her mom, Kay, even let me see their basement!

And so, it was the four of us, me, Mike, Dan and Felicia, who spent Thanksgiving week together in Cotignac. We traveled through Provence together but it was the evenings sitting around the table next to the wood stove laughing and talking that will be my favorite memories of the week. It was so much fun to watch these two friends connect with each other, swap stories, exchange advice on life and love, and laugh long and loud.

Dan had not traveled in this part of France so we loaded he and Felicia in the car and hauled them through village after cute village. We went to a Marche de Noel (Christmas market) at Chateau de Berne outside Lorgue. We went once with Dan and again with Felicia. None of us bought much – well, except for food, of course – honey, chocolates, macaroons, and jam, but it was fun to see the people, hear the happy chattering in French, and soak up the festive atmosphere. Even the dogs were dressed for the occassion. Felicia had the added treat of going to the Christmas market in Flayosc. It was a tiny event filled with handmade crafts. I bought a cookbook assembled by the local grade school children. It has a watercolor cover with gold star stickers made by the children. The kids were selling them as a fund raiser for their ski trip. How could we pass that up? I discovered later that the book is filled with their moms' favorite French recipes. I think this may be a winner! There was another fund raiser at the entrance door just past the mulled wine. This one involved guessing the weight of a huge loaf of bread - like guessing how many M&Ms are in a jar. Mike took a shot but we haven't heard anything about our winnings. I think we'll have better luck with the recipe book!

When we collected Felicia at the airport, we drove to Cannes for a lunch overlooking the Mediterranean. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we sat outside soaking up the sun. We watched the wanna-be beautiful people stride by looking neither right nor left but clearly expecting the rest of us to watch them. We giggled at the women with orange hair, artificially puffed lips, and needle-thin 4” heeled boots (how do they walk in those?). We window shopped at the high-end stores along the promenade – Gucci, Chanel, Bulgari, Hermes. Sorry, no one received Christmas gifts from Cannes!

In a shopping extravaganza that was more our speed, we hit the market in Cotignac. The market is much smaller now and many of the souvenir vendors are gone for the season, but it is still our favorite weekly event. The market is busy but in a casual way. The locals are out early, carefully selecting chard and pumpkins while they visit with friends. It is a leisurely amble down the street buying as we go. We’ve been here long enough that we have our usual vendors who know us, so we are part of the neighborly ambiance, too. I love that. We loaded up on food – you’d think we had an army to feed! But it all looked so good there was no point in trying to resist. Plus, Felicia – who lived in Milan for six years – offered to make salads for both lunch and dinner (endive with egg for lunch, baby artichoke with parmesan reggiano for dinner). We ate VERY well!

With all the eating, we had to do some walking, too. Mike and I toured them through the sites of Cotignac – both in and around town. We walked over roots and rocks to the waterfall – always a beautiful stroll. It looks different this time of year; lit by more sun due to the now-bare trees. The chilly temperatures didn't stop us from a morning walk along Lake Carces, bundled up with hats and gloves, with hard, brown acorns crunching under foot. We choose a warmer excursion for the afternoon and drove through the beautiful gorge outside the village of Correns. We stopped to admire the unusual, moss-covered fountains in Barjols, too. They both exclaimed over the sites – which made us feel good. Dan particularly loved St Paul-de-Vence – a perched medieval village outside of Nice. We visited there the day we took him to Nice for his flight home. St. Paul is charming with its narrow winding streets that form concentric circles until you find your way to the church at the very top of the hill. In summer, the streets are so packed with tourists that you have to push your way through. This time of year it was blessedly empty. The shops were still open and proprietors were VERY happy to see us. Mike and I were there twice before, but we saw more this time than in any previous visit. It’s hard to see vistas and notice the details of the jumbled, stone buildings when you can’t see around the tour groups. While Dan continued his explorations of St. Paul, Mike, me, and Felicia went to the Foundation Maeght – a modern art museum outside the town walls set on a hill among the tall pine trees. Vistas of hazy hills are visible between the trees and provide a stunning backdrop for grand-scale sculptures.

After Dan left us for home, Felicia and I continued our art and architecture theme by driving to Marseille to see Le Corbusier’s Unite Habitation. Felicia discovered that the building was close by, and since neither of us had seen a Corbusier building “in person” we set off to explore. It was exciting to drive up to a building that we’d both seen in architecture books – Felicia more so than me. On the wall were the classic symbols of Corbusier. The “Corbusier man” guided his proportions so that all was designed for a human scale. The building, built in 1952, was clearly aging and in need of restoration but the forms retained their sculptural quality and the textures were still evident. Felicia is particularly drawn to textures so much so that we teased her for taking photos of manhole covers for their stamped-iron patterns. Even with the classic architecture, it was our constant chattering and laughter that I will remember most from our day together. We share a similar sense of humor and it was the perfect therapy to spend hours laughing. And, I’ll remember the snow. Yes – snow! It snowed in Provence. On our drive home, the vineyards were coated in a layer of white – a thin layer of white. The pine trees along the narrow road into Cotignac were lightly frosted as if for the holidays. It was unexpected and beautiful – and gone the next morning.

Of course, the highlight was Thanksgiving Day. The French don’t celebrate Thanksgiving so it was just us four who knew there was a special something in the air that day. For everyone else the special something in the air was the scent of truffles. It was the season’s first truffle market. It seems this part of France is the center of the truffle industry – if “industry” is what you call it. Truffles are harvested in the late fall and winter and auctioned in nearby Aups. We had no idea what to expect, where to go, or what time the market started. We headed for Aups mid-morning and arrived at exactly the right moment. A cluster of people were huddled around the small square in the center of Aups bundled up against the chilly air. They were politely listening to barely audible speakers–the local politicians and truffle association president – standing on a stone porch, using bad microphones, but providing the necessary preamble to officially open the market (some things are the same everywhere!). About a dozen little tables were set up around the square and on each sat a small scale and basket – both empty. Once the officials welcomed everyone and thank whomever needed thanking, they blew a shrill whistle and the place was suddenly hopping with activity. The truffle farmers poured bags of rough, dirty, black truffles into their baskets and buyers began frantically pawing over them. Piles of large and small truffles were carefully arranged on the scale as 50 Euro notes were whipped out. Every little table had a crowd around it. The truffles were going fast! We had to get in on the action. Mike and Felicia picked out a tiny truffle which turned out to be 6 Euros worth – so we got another one! With our two little bags of truffles in hand, we exited the market for the warmth of a brasserie, coffee and tea. The bags of truffles ended up in my purse so that each time I opened my bag the aroma of truffle rose up. They soon went into the trunk of the car! We browsed around the main street of Aups taking in yet another quaint village. Two local men out for their daily baguette accidently ended up in one of Felicia’s photos. They thought she was photographing them but and they wanted their picture with her. Nothing like a couple of “French kisses” to get Thanksgiving morning off to a good start!

Once we returned home and warmed up, we took a stroll through Cotignac to burn off some of the food we would be eating later. Mike stayed back to start preparations for dinner. He got the ball rolling but everyone got into the act. After a round of phone calls to all our family and friends, everyone ended up in our compact kitchen. Felicia had the honor of cleaning the truffle that would be used in her famous risotto. She stood in the kitchen stirring for 45 minutes and then personally grated the truffle onto each of our servings of risotto. It was superb! (Later in the week, she taught me to make her risotto with porcini mushrooms. Yum.) Dan helped me peel apples for dessert that we popped into the oven just as Mike took out the roasted duck. Wow. A fruit and nut stuffing, pumpkin puree, and broccoli rounded out our Thanksgiving in Provence.

Yes, we all went to bed that evening feeling stuffed from a wonderful meal, but, at least for me, I was even more full with feelings of happiness for the friendships that I enjoy, the richness that they bring into my life, and the wonder of love and laughter. It was indeed a Thanksgiving filled with thankfulness.