Tag Archives: montelimar

Fontaine de Vaucluse

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We were deliberating where to go for a few days, as G had 4 days holiday from work. We decided Italy would perhaps be the best holiday destination, as it’s only a few hours away and a country I’m dying to explore. Then G had an idea – why not holiday right here instead. I could get to know the area better and we could save Italy for a month long train trip. I liked his thinking.

The first day of our French holiday we toured Provence, going back to my favourite village, Rousset Les Vignes. Driving through Provence is like driving through a landscape picture but as the light changes it becomes more beautiful. Winding roads take you up small hills where Medieval stone villages are found. In Provence, the countryside has a gentle ripple. The fields are packed with rows of vines and signs that let you know which grape for which wine is slowly being created in front of your eyes. I recognised quite a few that I’d tried already. Rousset Les Vignes is one of my favourite places because of the serene beauty which surrounds it. Leaving Montelimar and all that is urban and modern behind, we headed out past lavender, sunflower and corn fields, towards some tree covered stone-bearing hills in the distance. The landscape, complete with stone walls, cultivated land and colourful nature is exquisite. Rousset Les Vignes is nestled between an impressive stone hill and undulating fields of crops, and as you turn the corner there are olive trees and a small bridge to pass over before the road winds back to show you the impressive view of the fields below.

Source: google.com via Lenxy on Pinterest

Source: google.com via Lenxy on Pinterest

Source: google.com via Lenxy on Pinterest

 

We continued to drive towards the direction of Avignon, on no fixed road. We took the long, scenic route through the vineyards. We came across the occasional tractor and the occasional camper van but apart from that the peace added to the idyllic nature of the place. Next time, we shall take a convertible through the countryside. Not only to be surrounded by the natural beauty but because with the windows wide open on our little car, G burned all of his left arm! I asked G about living here and he wasn’t sure whether I could cope with the solitude. The small communities which look so beautiful to visit, may be too lonely for a social person like me. He did reassure me that it’s not far away though and we can visit when we want. As we got closer, we took the Routes Touristiques, which I heartily recommend. Weaving towards the big cities, we had the impression to be alone on an adventure through Provençal France. If you have the time, always choose aesthetics over efficiency.

Source: google.com via Lenxy on Pinterest

 

G pointed out that we’d almost arrived at our destination on seeing an impressive Roman bridge. A river ran alongside us and I could see that the water was a different colour to usual. It was emerald green. The algae, swaying within it, gave it it’s tropical colour. It was stunning. Entering the small tourist village centred around the shining green waters was like unwrapping a present. Tucked away, like all good French villages, the scene unfolded into a postcard place, begging to be explored.

At the top of the town, there’s a water source which gives the small department it’s name. We walked up towards the spring which fills up and empties with the seasons. Tourists before us had rebelled against the restraints and partially destroyed the safety barrier to get a better look at the basin of water. We had a quick look and then paddled our feet to cool down. The temperature was 36°C. The spring is a seemingly calm manifestation of water but in reality it is the river gushing up from underneath the rocks. The river’s current is visible with the frothy white spray it creates as it hits rocks. Further down, through the town, as the river deepens, there’s an opportunity to canoe and kayak over the clear, fresh water. An opportunity we will seize in the future. For now, admiring the emerald swirling mass was enough.

We visited the grotto and the paper mill and have planned to come back to visit the caves, which I’m very excited about. Here, even the loos were quaint, hosted by an old lady, shading herself from the hot sun. Ice-creams stalls were lining the pathways and I managed to resist a huge Italian ice-cream, knowing bikini season has arrived. There are many restaurants and cafés – even Michelin-starred places – but one in particular caught my eye, as an inside- outside restaurant.

We ate lunch by the green river side in a city close by. I had goats cheese in filo pastry followed by salmon and summer vegetables with a drizzle of basil oil, G opted for aubergine and basil mousse followed by asparagus and parma ham risotto.  It’s a place I know my mum would appreciate and I look forward to bringing her to Provence for all of its sophisticated yet quaint charm. Provence is a place for people who like to indulge in good food, good weather and good scenery.

We had a wonderful, charming day out and on the motorway back home we arranged drinks on the terrace – the perfect way to wrap up our first holiday-day among friends.

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Bon Carnival

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As the afternoon came, things started getting livelier outside my window and it was then that I realised the carnival may not have been a let down after all.

What I initially thought was the ‘carnival’ was in fact just a friendly group of people performing music through the streets. How lovely.

I decided to leave the house when I heard trumpets. Lots of trumpets. I don’t think there’s any instrument as fun as a trumpet. As I walked onto the high street I saw swarms of people gathering alongside the tree-lined road. Venturing further into the crowds, I was cheerfully surprised by the festivities and the heat of the afternoon sun. Adults and children in fancy dress, were joyously throwing confetti everywhere and the tropical music of steel drums was encouraging people to dance. No carnival is complete without costumes, calypso and confetti.

Weaving through crowds, blocking sun from my eyes, smelling pink candy-floss and hearing happy music – it felt like a summer festival.

After the parades, the musicians let Rhianna take over on the stereo, to get ready for the finale. Rather oddly, the finale was burning a wooden horse which had been stationed on the roundabout for the last week or so. I say ‘oddly’ because when I asked people why this happened, nobody could answer. To the ducks’  dismay, the horse was pushed out onto the lake, in the centre of the park. Fireworks shot up into the air, glittering against the golden blue sky, before flames started devouring the colourful structure. Everyone cheered as the bright orange blaze reflected in the water.

Then it was all over. Exhausted children were carried to their cars and exhausted parents looked ready for an afternoon drink and a bbq.

Bon carnival Montelimar!

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Cycling Crazy

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Yesterday it was beautiful, it stayed around 27°C for most of the day and was still warm and bright at 7pm. Thanks to technology, the hour change didn’t affect us at all. Our clocks re-set themselves and we carried on as usual. Daylight saving had begun, the long continental summer was ushered in.

We had a barbecue to celebrate the sunshine and there’s nothing quite like duck breast with salad and dauphinoise to say happy Sunday.

St. James Velo Club was welcoming in the start of the French cycling season under the sun’s warming rays. The town was alive with lycra-clad cyclists of all ages.

Around 2000 cyclists from all over France, had come to race.

I looked to G, “Why didn’t you tell me, we could have done it.”

“Yes darling, and which course, the 50km? The 104km? Or the 138km?”

“How many miles is that?”

“Well, the shortest is over 30 miles I think…”

We decided it was too long and set our aspirations on riding a tandem bike around the lake next week. The lake’s circumference is about a mile.

We walked around the stalls by the stage area, “admiring” the lycra outfits on offer, flabbergasted at the price of the equipment. The arriving cyclists looked understandably exhausted; wobbling, drained of colour and ill-looking. I hopped out of their way as they slowly cycled through to find their friends and family. One man was almost defeated by a stone, as his thin tires stumbled and faltered over a wobbly path.

“That wheel’s abut £3000″, G said, watching me watch the struggling man.

“No, what?!”

“Yeah, each wheel and then the rest of the bike… that’s another couple of grand.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s more than your car.”

“Cycling is serious in France – altogether, I think his kit is worth around £10,000.”

I carried on watching him slowly navigate around the stoney path. He was obviously too tired to engage his logic and veer off onto the tarmac. Each stone meant more energy to be exerted. He made each little climb seem a lot more exaggerated than it would usually be, clearly eeking out the last drops of energy. Part of me wanted to get behind and push him the last little bit, part of me wanted him to fall off – mainly for spending so much on a bike. I refrained from taking pictures of people at their weakest moments, at the time it seemed cruel.

I know what it’s like to be so exhausted that you don’t want to talk. So I was surprised when G’s colleagues invited us to sit with them to drink coffee at a restaurant terrace. Apparently one had fallen off their bike because a woman had cut him up on the circuit. “Luckily” he had been filming the race from his bike and had decided to report her number. As I was learning, cycling’s serious business here, just look at the ferociously long “Tour de France”. As it was a sunny day it was ok that there wasn’t a lot of talking. People were happy to sit peacefully in the warm glow, so I did a lot of observing.

The race raises money for the charity “Un Fauteil A La Mer” which organises wheelchair trips to the coast. It is jointly organised by the local Rotary Club and supported by local enterprises. I didn’t know this until I looked it up, I thought the race was about elasticated, padded cyclists, spending loads on bikes and exhausting themselves pedalling around closed roads in the heat.

I walked around the stalls once more. There was a man stirring a big pot of a thick creamy looking mixture. He was by the nougat stand so I assumed it was some sort of nougat cream. How I wanted to try some! I approached him, his sign said “degustation”: “taste”, so I waited. And I waited some more. I looked right at him. He didn’t look back at me. I tried to get his attention. He didn’t want to be interrupted. So I went without. G was laughing at me. “He wasn’t very friendly”, I explained. I still need to learn how to engage with shop assistants it seems, even those at a friendly afternoon fair.

The official website explains that apart from a couple of broken collarbones, the event yesterday was full of “bonheur”: “happiness” and “soleil”: “sunshine”. The winner of the 138km race was Mr. Lionel Genthon, completing the track in 3 hours, 43 minutes and 8 seconds, at an average speed of 37.11 km/h. The first woman, Ms Daniele Troesch, came in at 4 hours and 18 seconds, at an average speed of 34.46. I’ll time how long it takes me to complete one lap of the lake next week to compare.

Overall, it was a lovely Sunday and it was exciting to see so many people around. Life in France is an outdoor one and now the summer’s officially here, Provence is just so much better. Talking or watching, the golden light makes everything feel better. With a little bit of colour to my cheeks, it doesn’t feel like March at all. It feels like the height of an English summer, bike race and gratin aside.

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Real Estate in La Drôme

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Real Estate in La Drôme

An article I very much enjoyed reading on my département (county).

Covering the countryside and the ambiance, as well as the reputation, I was happy to read an article that understood the beauty and charm of this stunning, overlooked region in France.

We were driving to Dieulefit the other day when the sun was shining, and I was so happy to be here, with the tumbling hills, lavender fields, olive groves and vineyards. The countryside is wonderfully provençal – postcard  perfect – and we discussed the benefits of living further out in a stone farmhouse rather than in a town centre apartment. Until I get a bike, scooter, or car, we decided it was best to stay in the centre, so I can enjoy a little independence. Now that the sun is heating up it won’t be long until we can picnic again and generally enjoy being outside and we shall be visiting the countryside often… it’s only a ten minute car journey away after all. As Suzanna Chambers sums up in this article, it’s an almost perfect location.

I just hope that it can be kept relatively secret – for those in the know. The French love a staycation and have bought many houses in the beautiful villages we have visited. Spending an afternoon wandering around artist studios in Mirmande, we were sad to see that the majority of houses were empty. Locals explained to us that since it’s been voted one of the most beautiful villages in France, rich people from Paris have bought many of the houses and only stay in them a few weeks of the year. Sat having afternoon drinks on the terrace we saw many houses all shut-up and empty. As such an aesthetic, inspiring place to live, I could see why so many of the residents that did live there year-round were creative. It’s just a shame that they miss a better community spirit.

As this region develops, touristically and residentially, I hope a balance can be found that encourages the existing charisma of La Drôme, without it being exploited and bought up as temporary residence. The natural beauty may make it a great holiday destination but it is the life and soul of this place which makes it what it is.

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A walk through town

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I was admiring the style of passersby, the windows full of treats and the smell of crêpes cooking on street corners today when I joined the locals for a spot of window-shopping.

I picked up some jeans in Mango to try, as I only have one pair with me. Looking at the vendeurs, I felt very badly dressed, which was confirmed by the dressing-room mirror. I thought about how strong the desire to belong and look good is. I felt like I had a lot to learn and wondered how I’d learn it. I’ll need to rearrange my wardrobe somehow, I’m determined to look as stylish as the rest. I may have found a place for sewing lessons which will be great and I’ve yet to visit the yoga centre.

I’ve made mental notes of decorations I’d love to buy/make for the house and I managed to resist some delicious looking ice-cream, knowing I’m making dessert tomorrow. I’m learning to take time and appreciate things. There’s a grace to simplicity; doing things well and appreciating them – something I’ve found difficult with my attention span. Maybe the lack of stimulus here is exactly what I need to be inspired.

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Montelimar

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Have a look…

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