Friday, September 28, 2001 -- Departure

It has been a time of extreme emotion. Lili, our first grandchild, is born -- thousands perish in New York – so much joy and sorrow at the same time. Our plans to travel to France seem trivial by comparison, and in the days before our departure, almost surreal. Yet, somehow, we make it through the last minute packing and the tension at the airport. There are still a lot of people traveling in spite of the airplane hijacking scares. Most of the traveling public is older than us or are young couples with pre-school children, which makes sense at this time of year. Soon, we take off onto another adventure.

Saturday, September 29 – Welcome to Languedoc

It is cloudy when we arrive in Toulouse. The airport lacks the bustle of Nice-Cote d'Azur. Armed militia in the departure area remind us one last time of the 21^st century as we prepare to enter a world where medieval and modern coexist in harmony.

We have a minor celebration as Barry discovers how to get the Renault into reverse gear. We leave Toulouse. At the outskirts, we are confronted by yet another reminder of recent events as we pass the devastation from the previous week's massive chemical plant explosion. What is left is a mass of twisted steel and windowless buildings extending over a mile away in all directions.

The area around Toulouse is flat, more so than anything we have seen in France. There is little left in the ground in the patchwork of farms in the early autumn. We move quickly through the plain, there is very little traffic. We pass farm houses that have been standing for hundreds of years -- the tile and stucco, sometimes revealing the stone underneath, and paint weatherbeaten. Barry mentions that houses like that would be considered as fixer-uppers in Canada. Denise sees it as a sense of permanence that permeates the European landscape.

Soon we pass the fortified town of Carcassonne, looming in the distance, and we notice that there are vineyards everywhere around us. The rows of grape vines extending in all directions trigger a sense of familiarity, of being at home. Home is 18 rue des Auberges, in Ornaisons, a little town in the Corbières regions of Languedoc. The modest two-bedroom house, a retirement project of our friends Daniel and Nicole, will be our home for the next two weeks. This is an unadorned stone and cement structure with red tile roof and blue shutters, fronting on the street. There is a garage with a small driveway separating it from the house, and a small green space on the other side of the garage. Like virtually all buildings in Languedoc, it is painted a sandy colour, stands right on the street with no yard in front, and is attached to the neighbours' properties, giving the impression of solid walls of cement and shuttered openings lining the streets of every village and town.

We are greeted by a large living room on our left and the kitchen on the right of the entry door, both rooms opening up on each other to create a large downstairs space interrupted minimally by a small open vestibule area. In one corner of the living room is a dining area; in another a fireplace. A photo of Daniel and Nicole’s snow-covered Canadian home is displayed prominently above the mantle. The kitchen is modern with a large pantry. Beside the dining area, we follow Nicole’s collection of chicken figurines up the narrow staircase to the second floor, where we find two bedrooms and a modern bathroom. The house is neat and simply decorated with our friends’ modern and antique finds. We sense immediately that we will be comfortable in our two weeks here.

A bottle of rosé awaits us with a note – our hosts offer it to us as a "starter" from the local wine cooperative. It is an easy drink, and goes well with the baguette and goose rillettes and cheese we picked up on the way in. Languedoc is supposedly the biggest producer of unremarkable wines in Europe, however, this wine is pleasing ... so far, we are not disappointed.

A knock on the door -- it is M and Mme Pauc, the neighbours from across the street. Daniel has advised them of who would be visiting his house, and the Pauc are eager to meet the new Canadians. They remark that the Canadians come "in waves". The Pauc are a kindly, elderly couple who look much younger than they are (he is 79, she 80). They speak in a local accent which is flavoured from the Catalan or Occitaine ("pays d'oc", or eastern region) language. It reminds Barry of Spanish immigrants learning French in Montreal (“demain” sounds like “demañ” – pronounced like “mañana”). Denise disagrees, and says it is French and she can tell Mme's accent (Minervois) from M's (Corbières). We would love to have them in for an apero, but jet lag has consumed us…

Sunday, September 30 – Scouting

On our first day out, we head out towards Narbonne, a small city about 15 kilometers from the house. Narbonne was founded by the Romans in 118 BC, and has been considered a crossroads of Europe ever since. Roads lead to Spain, Marseilles, and the Atlantic. The canal de la robine, a branch of the canal du midi, ends here in its muddy green splendour. The old section of the city's narrow streets are lined with the typically plain Languedoc cement houses, but the 13^th century cathedral dominates, its vaults towering 12 storeys above the ground. Much of the artwork inside the cathedral had fallen into disrepair, but a massive project is underway to restore the gigantic jig-saw puzzle of stones to their original glory.

We stroll along both sides of the canal where the Sunday morning hard goods market is teeming with activity. Les Halles, a large warehouse building proudly proclaiming 100 years of service, houses food vendors selling fresh fruits and vegetables, rotisserie chickens, patés, confits, and so on. We stock up for the day and, as we exit Les Halles, notice that the streets are strangely empty. It is 1:00 PM, and market hours are over.

Back home, we decide to explore Ornaisons by bicycle. Daniel provided two new bicycles with the house. We ride the streets of the village to the outskirts (a mere 5 minutes on bicycle), stopping to taste the grapes still hanging on the vines -- sweet -- some starting to ferment. The townspeople greet us as we drive through the town: bonjour m'sieur et 'dame. We stop to call home -- there is a pay phone -- but it does not accept credit cards. At the bar across the street, we are told that this town is still a bit primitive -- everything still uses coins. Indeed, we manage to obtain the operator, who promptly hangs up before dialing Canada once our 1 franc timed out.

Back home, Mme Pauc invites us to use her phone. We enter her house through a bamboo forest, which, she claims, grew all by itself. The house, a large boxy concrete building, is the old family home of Henri (M Pauc) and the large living room is the old remise (tool shed). Henri offers us a glass of his homemade fortified wine. He has several vineyards outside the village which he still works. The government gives him an allotment of pure alcohol to fortify limited quantities of wine. He shows us his wine press behind the house. Denise tries it -- it requires much strength. "I thought I was going to dislocate my shoulder", she later muses. Henri squeezes out the grape juice with little effort. (Remember, he is 79.) We have another glass or two of Henri's fortified wine. The Pauc's apero turns into an evening's entertainment. Fortunately, we only have to cross the street to reach home.

An old man rides by on his bicycle. He passes the house frequently during the day. We regularly hear him talk to the Pauc. His patois is thick and garbled, But, as we reflect on our aching buns from our first bike ride in decades, we do not wonder how life here has kept the elderly hale and hearty.

Monday, October 1 – La dégustation

What better place to start our wine ration than the Maison des Vignerons des Corbières, in the Chateau de Boutenac? It is a short ride from home to the chateau, but the tasting room is closed. A woman emerges from the side door; she tells us to go to the rear to enter. These are the offices that control the AOC A girl there tells us that someone will open the tasting room for us. We wait several minutes, but no one shows up. Barry returns to the offices in the rear -- apparently the girl went up front and no one was there -- finally, we get to taste a few mediocre Corbières. We purchase a so-so rosé.

We weave through the hills and the fields of grapes, arriving soon at the Chateau de Vaugelas. It is lunch hour, but the owner is decidedly friendlier to us than at the previous place and seems to enjoy our visit. He is interested in the prices we pay for wines in Canada and is particularly intrigued by how bulk wine is sold on the retail market in Quebec. He knows every Languedoc vintner by name as we mention the wines we have tried. He makes only red wine, 600,000 bottles a year. His cuvée prestige is delicious, and we purchase some.

We head towards the medieval town of Lagrasse, several kilometers away. It is a pretty town, its main street buildings uncharacteristically set back from the road behind rows of plane trees. After a little lunch, we wander through the narrow back streets, lines with artists' studios, and, across the bridge, arrive at the abbey of Ste Marie d'Orbieu. This massive structure, which has, at times, served as abbey, fortification, and hospital, has portions dating from the XI^thcentury. The abbey was not used for many years, and much of the artwork has disappeared; however, the soaring gothic arches remind us that these buildings were made to last. We climb the 150 steps which spiral to the top of the bell tower, giving us a commanding view of the town, its bridges crossing the Orbieu River, and of the surrounding countryside.

Back home, we dine on some divine paté of duck liver, and cheese, and chive and ham cake. Mme Pauc drops by and uses the occasion to inspect our accumulated wine purchases. We do not seek, indeed, we do not get her approval. In Corbières, wine is everyone and everything. One does not criticize.

Tuesday, October 2 – A visit to the coast

The Mediterranean is a few kilometers from Narbonne, but the drive seems much longer as we weave around the stone outcroppings and hills of the Massif de la Clape, through valleys covered with scrub (garrigue), and vineyards. The winds pick up as we reach the water and we catch our first glimpse of the sea in Narbonne-Plage. This is a modern resort town on one side of a peninsula jutting out from Narbonne, with houses and a few hotels lining the roadside across from the beach. The winds are blowing in strongly from the sea, and the waves are churning at the beach’s edge. A few hardy German tourists are bathing; there are almost no others here today except for a few local fishermen. We venture ankle-deep into the water. It is cold, but not too cold to swim. Nevertheless, we are satisfied to wander the water’s edge, to smell the salt air and soak up the autumn sun on our faces.

We continue on for several kilometers to Gruissan, a coastal town built around the ruins of a tenth century castle at the other side of the peninsula. (The Corbières region is renowned for having more vineyards and castles in ruins than any other area of France.) The town is modern and neat, its main road lined with hedges and palm trees reminiscent of some of California’s prettier beach towns. The scenery changes as we reach the old village center, characteristically crowded with plain houses fronting on narrow streets. The cement-on-stone houses are painted a sand color, with wooden doors and shutters dotting the two or three storey fronts in bright colors, mostly lavender and blue. We climb the rough path to the top of the tower ruins to get a view of the town – the port with its sailboats, and the low lying coast area. Gruissan is in a marshy area, and one can see vineyards and lagoons stretching out in all directions.

The town has many artist and craft shops, but it is lunch hour and everything is closing. We stop at a little café for a moules-frites and calamars-frits before leaving. The rosé is, to be polite, undistinguished. Barry christens the wine ”Entre deux orteils”. What can one expect for a few francs?

Our coastal tour takes us back from the peninsula to Narbonne. We head south towards Bages, a fishing town perched on a bluff. The town is built around a small central square at the top of the bluff and the streets drop steeply down to the sea in every direction, each lined with shuttered, cement-covered houses. We are not surprised that people live old and fit here as they have to climb the steep hills for their daily bread.

The road takes us through the marshes. Denise mentions this area is known for a wide variety of interesting birds. We look hard, but see none. Then, around a bend, we come face to face with a large flock of flamingos, wading in the shallows. We pass several kilometers of flamingo habitats, and reach Peyriac-sur-mer, a quiet, nondescript town. We continue through Peyriac, three times in fact, until we finally find the road out of town. The landscape becomes slightly rolling, and the mountains soon come into view again. We pass a hillside covered with many modern three-blade windmills, used commercially for generating electricity. We surmise that it is normally windy in this area.

Our day ends with a dégustation of Fitou, and coffee in the pretty coastal town of Leucate. We pick up a baguette in Leucate, and learn from the lady at the boulangerie how the crustiness of the bread varies with the winds. Today, the bread is not as crusty as it should be because of the strong winds coming in from the sea. But, we think as we head back to the house, it will still make a fine accompaniment to some cheese and wine.

Wednesday, October 3 – Of markets and Minèrve

One of the pleasures of village life in France is market day. Farmers and other food vendors set up every Wednesday in the middle of Lézignan-Corbières, about 6 kilometers from the house. We pick up fresh fruits and vegetables, sausages, olives, cheese, and bread, the staples of life. There are a handful of tourists in the market; it is odd to hear English spoken, however, as this is really a place for locals. A man is selling puppies out of a small trailer. The Provençal fabric seller is set up at one end, bras and panties are offered at the other. It is nearly noon, and the vendors are beginning to pack up. With the vendors leaving, we see that the park adjacent to the market area is one of the prettiest ones we have come by.

We leave Lézignan and head into the mountainous region north of the Corbières. The road climbs quickly, winding along mountainsides high above valleys we can barely see in the thickening fog. We are following the signs to Cité Minèrve, the center of the Minèrvois winemaking region. In spite of the rugged mountain slopes, we notice the abundance of vineyards wherever planting is possible.

We reach Minerve, a town immaculately preserved for a millennium, perched above the gorge that is the River Cesse. A massive arched bridge links the town to the road. We wander the streets of Minerve, but, at lunch hour and out of season, this little gem of old houses, boutiques, and art galleries is very quiet. We sample the confit de canard at a little family-run restaurant at the foot of the bridge. It is the best duck either of us has ever tasted.

Heading home, we stop at l’Oulibo, a local olive cooperative in Bize-Minervois. We see the 4000 kilo granite wheel used to extract the oils, and sample various types of olive oil, preferring the Luques, produced from a local variety of crescent-shaped olives. Olives and grapes – these are the essence of this part of France – is there a clue here why there are so many active elderly people in this region?

Thursday, October 14 – discovering around Narbonne

An outdoor market is set up on Thursdays in Narbonne, and we wander lazily among the vendors of clothing, fabrics, and household goods. This is the first really sunny day since our arrival, and Barry basks in the warmth, watching people of every stripe hustling and bustling while Denise pokes through antique lace piled high on a table.

We scout out restaurants in case we decide to dine out here in the evening. Alas, Narbonne does not have a quartier de restaurants, but we find a few that are promising. How odd, though, for a city so close to the sea, that very few serve seafood.

Returning homeward, we stop at the Abbaye de Fontfroid, which dates from the twelfth century. The guide intrigues us with the story of the growth and might of the Cisternians and how the abbey, as it grew, sported medieval, gothic, and Renaissance Roman features.

We return home, pleasantly tired, however, we do want to eat out, so we have to hunt for a restaurant. We stop at the wine coop in Ornaisons and the woman at the counter gives us a list of recommended restaurants in Lézignan. They are difficult to find, as Lézignan does not have a restaurant quarter nor are any two streets parallel to each other. We do locate one, but it is closed. We finally give up, wondering if people in this area eat out -- we have spent many past trips in touristy areas where restaurants are abundant. As we return home on the main highway, we see two of the listed restaurants and stop at one. An ordinary meal of grilled salmon fills the bill. We note that at French prices, this is still more reasonable than at home, and they change the cutlery between courses.

Friday, October 5 -- Carcassonne

The day starts cool and overcast, and we decide to tour Carcassonne, about 35 kilometers away. We saw the walled fortress looming over the countryside on our drive in from Toulouse, and are eager to visit the Europe’s reputedly largest and best example of a medieval city.

Arriving in Carcassonne, the double walled and drawbridge entry to “la cité” is impressive. We learn later that Carcassonne was once nearly in ruins and served as a source of quarried stone for people who wanted stone to build their houses. The restoration of the fortress, started a century ago, took the better part of 50 years, and gave France and its tourists a good look at what life might have been like in the walled city. La cité is alive with hotels, restaurants, boutiques, a church (closed today to tourists because of a funeral), and a castle (now a museum). We tour the castle walls, and learn that the soldiers did not pour hot oil on the enemy because oil was too expensive, and that Carcassonne was undefeated as at its height as a border fortress.

We have lunch in one of the many restaurants offering cassoulet – the local baked beans with sausage and duck. Rich and delicious, accompanied by a spicy fish soup, the meal wards off any feeling of cold and humidity in the air.

We cross the river into modern Carcassonne, which is also old in the center. Here, for the first time on this trip, we get a sense of familiar French city – boutiques, restaurants, cafés line the streets in the center. We stroll up and down the streets, looking at baby’s clothes for our new granddaughter, and pause for a coffee before returning, stomachs still full of cassoulet. We cannot imagine having supper.

Saturday, October 16 – away for dinner

Today we decide to take a side trip to the Camargue, the Rhône delta area famous for its wildlife. We leave Ornaisons, passing Béziers, its massive abbey and medieval city poised at the top of a hill, Sète, who endless beach is virtually deserted under the October clouds, and Montpellier, which we bypass.

As we pass through villages, we notice the plain exteriors of Languedoc giving way to the slightly more decorated Provençal look. Fewer ruined castles, more Renaissance-style hotels.

We arrive in Nîmes and plan to spend the night. We had been in Nîmes two decades earlier, but only have vague recollections of Roman statues and fast food horse-burgers. We visit the old Roman amphitheater dating back to 80 AD, and marvel at the ingenuity of the Roman architects in planning massive crowd control, and building structures that last, which are still used today, in fact. We learn that the infidels were not fed to lions – lions were too expensive to import – so they were fed to wild boars instead. A few blocks away, the remains of an old Roman temple remind us of the graceful proportions of the Roman era of architecture. In between, the narrow streets are teeming with people in the shops, bars, and cafés of the old quarter of Nîmes.

Dinner is promising. Nîmes offers many restaurants, including some 4-star ones. We check out Le Magister (4-star), but find the menu limited and uninteresting, especially considering its high price. Next door, la Table d’Auguste (3-star), adjacent to the Porte d’Auguste, offers more appetizing fare. Alas, there is only an answering machine when we call in the afternoon, so we just show up. But by 7:30, the chef has not arrived and the door is still locked, so we make our way to Le Lisita, the other 4-star restaurant across the old quartier. We have no reservation, so we are seated in the middle of the room, but the fine food and personal service soon brings a certain intimacy to our table and we feel right at home.

An amuse-guele of red peppers, black olive tapenade, and green olive tapenade accompany us through the menu. Our appetizers are preceded by a potage de lentilles et sa crème fraiche, served in tiny bowls with tiny silver spoons. We muse how this would appear to people more accustomed to American-style fare. Indeed, 2 ounces of soup do not fill, but every sip is a delight. We order wine by the glass, selected by our sommelier, Stéphane (1992 winner junior sommélier of France). A Costières de Nîmes white ’95 accompanies Denise’s écrevisses avec son remoulade de legumes dans son coulis de cumin and Barry’s fois gras de canard demi-cuit (melt in the mouth indulgence). Our main courses – filet of rouget on caramelized shallots and roasted peppers and a piquant sauce for Denise and grilled filet of taureau (tender wild bull with no fat) with girolles (little mushrooms) for Barry -- continue to please, even though the fish is a bit spicy. The tuxedoed waiters fawn over every little request, our sommelier makes sure that every sip of wine is just right, and we feel luxuriated. The cheeses follow – St-Félicien, a soft chèvre, a nutty hard cheese, a Roquefort, and another hard cheese – we do not remember all the names; the slightly sweet Côte du Rhône accompanies it perfectly. Alas, Denise finds a little black fly on the rim of her glass, and inadvertently flicks it into the wine, so Stéphane swiftly offers her a glass of Limoux as a replacement. No scandals here. A pre-dessert of sherbet with fresh pineapple and Poires-William is served while we await Denise’s apple with cinnamon ice cream (heavenly) and Barry’s raspberry layered something (fresh raspberries in October!). Coffee follows with mini-madeleines, tuiles, ground cherries dipped in vanilla fondant and meringues. This is French cuisine par excellence, a caliber of quality and service that few, if any restaurants at home can meet. A short walk away, past a few cafés and bistros, the Novotel’s fine accommodations lull us to sweet sleep.

Sunday, October 7 – into the Camargue

We awaken to the din of thunder and flashes of lightning brightening our room, even with the curtains drawn. When we are ready to go out, the rain has stopped and the sun is coming out, but, we learn later, there was more rain overnight than had been received in the last six months in the Nîmes area.

We leave Nîmes and head for the Camargue. In the small town of Vauvert, we stumble on a lace-making exhibition. We mingle with the French, English, and Belgians who are demonstrating their ancient art of lace-making, antique lace, and carved tatting tools. The women who are making lace mix precision and patience to create beautiful, intricate patterns with their fine threads. Barry asks if they ever get their threads mixed up – of course, but they recover their work and go on. Denise buys an antique bonnet top woven into a circle for framing from an Englishwoman.

We continue our drive through the Camargue, aka the Bouche de Rhône. The land is flat, flatter than anything we have seen yet. There are still vineyards in every direction. At one point, the road is lower than the fields. We notice the dirt road in the vineyard overflowing with water, gushing out of the rows of grape vines. We find our shortly afterwards that the road we are driving on had to be closed after we passed due to flooding. The excessive rains from Nîmes have caught up with us where the Rhône empties into the sea.

We stop in Aigues-Morte, a city built around a preserved medieval fortress and walled city. We had heard that there were “courses Camargues” (non-violent bullfights) scheduled for today, but we are not prepared for the frenzied activity we encounter. The town is overflowing with people celebrating the end of a week-long festival which marks the moving of the taureaus through the town from their summer to their winter grazing grounds.

There is much drinking and carousing in the streets of the old city, but the festival attracts people of all ages. The youth sport t-shirts advertising their local sponsors and clubs. A marching band strikes up Spanish music. The Spanish influence, especially around bull-fighting, seems very strong here.

The courses Camargues begin in the bull ring, where there are bales of hay and rubber tires in the center. A few young men try to entice the bulls to charge and they seek safety in the hay. Success brings cheers from the crowd. Sometimes, the bull goes out of the central ring and charges spectators hanging over the ends of the stands. This is all part of the entertainment. One bull jumps the fence from the inner to the outer ring – no one knows which way he will turn. The same bull jumps right over the haystacks to the shrieks of the crowd. But no one is hurt, except for one bull that seems to have broken a leg charging the rubber tires. He is taken away immediately and tended to. He may be back next time.

We return to the town. Festivities are still in full swing. A game of chance in the main square offers prizes of freshly killed rabbit, pigeon, or duck. A rock band entertains in the open air – first an Edith Piaf song followed by some a BeeGees disco cover. The crowd loves it all. We meet a couple who have just bought a house near Béziers and plan to rent it out. She is from Los Angeles, he New Zealand. Neither speaks a word of French, but they are busy renovating their property. Now, there is an adventure!

We move on to Les Ste-Marie-de-la-mer, a seaside resort town further down the road. Les Ste Maries, the patron saints of this town, are two women who appear in religious art in a boat, representing the maritime nature of this town. Even this late in the October afternoon, the Mediterranean sun warms the town. Some people are swimming in the sea.

The streets are lined with white stucco buildings, brightly shuttered and decorated with palm trees, giving the town a warm, tropical feel. We notice that the streets are immaculately clean. We find a room in a quaint, clean hotel in the center of town. There are many restaurants to choose from in this resort. Our hotel host recommends a place for seafood. We feast on Bézique oysters (a dozen each) and a rather ordinary but satisfying marmite de poisson (bouillabaisse with lobster) before calling it a day. Our room faces the sea, and the sound of the waves lulls us to sleep.

Monday, October 8 – out of the Camargue

We have breakfast in a glassed atrium of the hotel overstuffed with palm and other indoor trees. We chat with a Dutch couple sitting at the next table. They tell us that they heard that the US has started military action against the Taliban in Afghanistan. Now, we have spent over a week with no television and little more than local radio. We feel a sudden emptiness, as our security bubble bursts. Barry reasons that, should anything happen in the coming week to affect international travel, we are probably in a very good situation, in the middle of the world capital of mediocre wine. So we continue our vacation …

We leave Les Ste-Marie and venture into the less settled areas of the Camargue. Driving through a swampy area, we see flocks of flamingos in each lake. The road takes us through grazing land, protected by dikes along the roadside and lagoon sides. We pass fields of grazing horses – the white and gray small horses of Camargue – and taureau, the wild bull of the south. We do not see the animals in the wild; the free ranges are not along the road.

We head towards Arles, another city known for its Roman ruins, 16 kilometres away. We had visited Arles two decades earlier, but neither of us recalls it. The city is laid out in a typical French style, with treed boulevards lined with Renaissance-style buildings on both sides giving way to the narrow streets of antiquity. We turn into the old city, and find ourselves climbing the narrow, twisting streets to the Roman Amphitheatre. We stroll the center of town – it is pretty but not as vibrant as Nîmes. We relax in the main square in front of the city hall. Denise pulls out two wrapped candies she picked up at breakfast. We each bite into them – they have a spongy texture and an odd taste – not sweet – they are dry sausage to be eaten with breakfast!

Ready to leave, we discover that our car is parked in front of a school, and the lot is now teeming with young teenage students. They do not move as Barry attempts to manoeuvre the little Renault out of the lot. There is a delicate balance of space usage in these medieval towns which we still need to practice before being totally comfortable. Barry drives out of the center in a sweat, looking for the broad avenues out of Arles.

We continue south towards home. We pass the oyster beds of Bézique and recall the salty sweetness of last night’s treat. We attempt to stop in Béziers for coffee, but it is late afternoon and the town is traffic-jammed, with no parking available anywhere near the center. Anyway, it is just another city with a well-preserved medieval center. We can visit it anytime, so we return home for the night.

Tuesday, October 9 – it’s a beautiful day in the neighbourhood

Today we bicycle around Ornaisons. Our first stop is a house on the road to Bizanet – this three storey Renaissance style bastide is for sale. Is this going to be Denise’s B&B? We take the number of the Century 21 agent in case. (We later e-mail them but never receive a response.)

We cycle to Luc sur Orbieu, the only adjacent town we have not seen. It is even sleepier than Ornaisons. It is lunch hour, so the boulangerie and la presse are both closed. But so is the café. In fact, nothing is open. So we turn around and return to Ornaisons. We stop alongside one grape field that has not yet been harvested, and sample the sweet grapes, the sticky juice running down our fingers. We return home for lunch. The 10 kilometer bicycle ride was already a shock to our tender buns.

“Au plaisirs de la table” – the name of the restaurant says it all. Hidden away in a little square behind the canal in Narbonne, this warm little restaurant and its congenial host offers us the kind of simple, serious fare that we return to France for again and again. Denise’s huitres de Gruissan are delectable over a bed of caramelized leeks and sabayon sauce; this was an even match for Barry’s salade Gersoise with sautéed duck breast, giblets sweet and succulent, and foie gras of duck whose soft rich texture tickles the tongue at every bite. Tagliatelle aux langoustine follows along with a wonderfully poached salmon filet.

The restaurant is quiet. We engage the owner on the topic. He says that business is down since the New York bombings and the explosion at the Toulouse chemical plant, that the French and Americans have stopped travelling for amusement, and that they are feeling it in Narbonne. We are touched and saddened by learning about how widespread is the impact of these events.

Denise continues with the spiced poached pears in caramel sauce with cinnamon, pepper, and vanilla. The chef tells us they are cooked slowly for four hours. Delicious! Once again, a typical French meal has satisfied.

Wednesday, October 10 – off to the Pyrenees

Le petit train jaune – the little yellow train – is a popular way for tourists to visit some of the Pyrenees, but we opt to drive it ourselves (“le petit auto gris”, as Barry explains to M. Pauc). We drive an hour south to Perpignan, which is about 40 km. from the Spanish border, and then turn inland. The road is deceptively smooth as it snakes through the foothills that very quickly give way to mountain valleys. We see the Força Real looming on the right and the Massif du Canigou on the left, its rocky tops hidden in the clouds. The road narrows to two lanes as we approach Villefranche-de-Conflents, an eleventh century walled city and fortress with a second fortress built high on a mountain top above it.

We continue inland and upward, ascending towards Mont-Louis, a fortified town one mile above sea level. The mountain peaks become higher and more frequent as we climb through the increasingly rugged mountainscape. The road hugs the mountainsides, twisting and turning wherever it can find a footing. Every turn brings a new and more awesome vista. We pass through millennium-old villages as we proceed, marvelling at the tenacity of the inhabitants of this rough land.

We arrive at Mont-Louis, about 40 km from Villefranche. The temperature is about 10^o cooler than at the coast and the arduous drive has made us hungry. We eat in a little restaurant whose mountain décor is reminiscent of the Alps or the Laurentians. A Belgian couple is seated next to us. They are amazed at our courage in taking an airplane after the recent hijackings. We say that life must go on. Denise has the boudin; it is not like the blood pudding from home. Barry’s bavette is tender and delicious.

Our drive takes us to the Cerdagne valley, a former lake which is now a lush farming region in the heights of the Pyrenees. The towns lining the valley boast modern hotels and facilities for skiers. At the western end, we reach the old town of Bourg-Madame, as well as the Spanish border. We cross into Puigcerda, a modern city on the Spanish side. Alas, everything is closed – siesta lasts until 4:00 PM here. We stroll around the city center and drive through a lush, modern residential area. Aside from the obvious language differences, we notice that the houses are more colourful and more highly decorated than on the French side. This becomes obvious when we cross back into France and see sandy colored cement houses, flush with the streets, a look that has become very familiar to us now.

Thursday, October 11 – more of Narbonne

The early morning is warm and sunny, and we decide to visit the market in Narbonne one last time, as we will be leaving France in a couple of days. The Cour de la République and the Place Mirabeau, lining opposite sides of the canal, are abuzz with activity as usual, with vendors set up for a full day of selling. We don’t really need anything, but we pick up a few art books (the vendor is willing to bargain) and antique fabrics (the vendor gives Denise one as a present for being a regular customer).

After lunch, we wander into the Cathedral’s Archaeological Museum, and browse the remains of Roman era paintings discovered in Narbonne. This is truly a labour of love, taking the colourful fragments and re-assembling them into classical designs which decorated the homes of Roman era citizens. We see mosaic floors virtually intact, and elements of plumbing and ventilation as effective as some in our recent history. We learn about the major role that Narbonne had as the easternmost protected harbour for the Roman empire in its conquest of Spain and England. A remnant of the Via Domitia, the main road from Rome, is still visible in front of the cathedral.

We go next into the art museum, with its collection of 16^th and 17^th century European paintings in the splendid setting of the Archbishop’s residence. Unfortunately, time has caught up with us, and the museum is closing, so we will resume some other time.

We have dinner at Le Coq Hadi, a grill-restaurant in old Narbonne. Fois gras and pigeon for Denise, anchoïade and lamb chops for Barry. The red Corbières à volonté is smooth and satisfying. They do not offer café au lait (they have no milk), so Barry gets an espresso with a bowl of crème chantilly (whipped cream). A crème brulée, burnt in front of us with the traditional metal disc heated in the wood fire, and real French pistachio ice cream put a sweet end to a delightful day.

Friday, October 12 – the last time around

Our last day of holiday starts sunny and warm again. It is mid-October and the leaves have changed on many of the trees and grape vines, yet the warm air still feels summery. A fellow we met the previous day in the marketplace told us this is normal, even though it has been known to snow on Christmas or New Year’s Day.

We head out for a short drive into the Minervois, a few short kilometres away. Mme Pauc had told us of a septagonal church in the town she lived in for many years -- Rieu-Minervois. We find it – it is a Roman style church in the round, with seven interior arches completing a circle. Unfortunately, the church is undergoing major restoration and we cannot enter the construction site. Barry asks a worker the age of the church. He says he has only been there a short while -- we suspect that it is much older than the fellow can remember. We later find it dates to the eleventh century.

We head back to Narbone to finish visiting the museums and enjoy a lunch of moules-frites. Sitting in the Narbonne café alongside the canal, we reflect on how endearing this city has become, with its friendly people and its history, so different from many of the touristy places we have passed through on our trips.

We are invited for an aperitif with les Pauc before leaving. We sip his homemade fortified grenache, and then some Blanquette de Limoux “Aimery” as they recount their misadventures camping in Sweden and Norway, and his travels to Budapest. We get the full tour of their house. It is a large structure on three floors with enlargements of M Pauc’s photos of flowers and animals everywhere. Unfortunately, we do not see M. Pauc’s attic – Mme Pauc is too embarrassed of the disorder in there. We embrace for a fond farewell – we have enjoyed the time we have spent with them.

Saturday, October 13 – shuttering up

We are packed and preparing to go home. We are not rushed as there is plenty of time to get to Toulouse airport for our late morning flight to Amsterdam and then home. As we close the shutters on the windows, we reflect on how comfortable this little nest has become over the last two weeks.

We have managed to cram our purchases into our suitcases; but there are many other things we are taking away, too. There is the smell of fermenting grapes everywhere on the highways and byways of Languedoc. If the wine is unremarkable, surely the lack of snobbery and pretence more than compensates. There are the ruined castles, dotting the hilltops, bearing witness to the passage of time for many generations. There is Narbonne, a delightful city, rich with history, not spoiled by tourists, and generally warm and friendly wherever we go. There are the Pauc, the two delightful ex-professors whose early morning chats in the street became a daily ritual, whose pride in their southern French heritage is balanced by their interest in our lives. And, of course, there is Daniel and Nicole’s charming little house, which was our home for two weeks, with its smell of fresh paint, tile and cement, its dank garage, its shiny bicycles, its funky European washing machine, its French-version Scrabble game (with its overwhelming number of vowels!). As we leave this house, we sense that we have also left a little bit of ourselves behind – just enough for us to come back someday and pick up where we left off.