The French Journal

Beyond the usual in Poitiers and Béziers with Peregrine

In reseaching items for this blog over the past two years, I have learned to anticipate articles by Anthony Peregrine, who contributes to a number of English newspapers. A chief reason for my appreciation: he doesn't cover the usual spots.

For example, this morning I'll line up two of his articles from The Times (U.K.). The first is a visit to Poitiers, in Poitou-Charentes. This town is not the least bit trendy; its moment in the sun was several hundred years ago. Yet from that time as a medieval center, when Eleanor of Aquitaine ruled, much remains to do and see. And as Peregrine notes, for lovers of France, there's no greater pleasure than being in a French town, early in the morning, watching it come to life, "...as people open up food shops, swab pavements, take a first coffee of the day and leg it for work. There’s a rooted sense of purpose abroad."

About a month ago, Peregrine wrote another consideration, one of the town of Béziers and the Languedoc. New airplane routes to Béziers have made it a starting point for a tour of the region. Peregrine guides tourists around local ports, beaches, ruins, parks, vineyards; this is a "great place for wandering." A favorite stop is the city of Sète: "There’s a salty atmosphere of honest labour and, as in all ports, shadowy skulduggery...(T)ourism has added sprightlier shops and blow-up dolphins to the mix of ships’ chandlers, classic frontages, cranes and fish soup. ...(Y)ou’ll bump into memories of Georges Brassens, moustachio’d chansonnier and Sète’s most famous son. Say you like him or face the consequences."

Ruins in depth

There are advantages to off-seaon. The weather may be cool, but the tourists are fewer, a great compensation. In an article from The Washington Post, our guide travels around Cathar country in the Languedoc, mostly, concentrates efforts on viewing the many castles that remain, and enjoys the feel of having the area almost to oneself. The article is meaty, featuring historical background and descriptions of castles at Les Baux, Aigues-Mortes, Sete, Carcassonne, Alet-les-Bains, as well stops at wineries, spas, and a falconry show at Peyreperteuse.

The Canal-Midi, DIY

Cruising down the Canal-Midi in Languedoc-Roussillon is something I've covered in the past (like here), but there's always an opportunity for a different twist, and in this article from The LA Times, three couples sail their own (rented) pleasure boat through the waterway. Do-it-yourself. It's a journey of locks (which they at first find adventurous, then a bother, and then a respite); waving acquaintanceships with fellow sailors; three- hour, wine-laden lunches at ports of call. The passing villages are sometimes more enchanting when viewed from the river than when experienced by foot.

The story itself is a little disjointed; the reporter indicates the menus from village to village are interchangeable, but that isn't really demonstrated. And there's plenty of space given to interactions with the French, which are probably more meaningful to the travelers than the reader. (The reporter pats himself on the back for being able to translate the word for "peanuts.") But, it's Monday, so we can dream of this:

"It wasn't just the slowness of the boat that transported us...We were getting a backyard view of rural France, from which highways, factories, used-car lots, billboards -- all the depressing clutter of modern life -- had magically been deleted. The world was reduced to its ancient elements: village, vineyard, farmhouse, tow path. The straight lines of plane trees on either side painted our passage in a dappled light. It was like sailing through the 17th century..."

Six writers, six escapes to southern France

Dream fodder. The Guardian (U.K.) asked six writers, living in France, to name their favorite places to escape to when they want to go far from the madding crowd. Here are their selections; take your pick for a quiet Monday morning.

• Gigaro, Provence. Chosen by Stephen Clarke, who begins by trashing St. Tropez -- the man can't help himself. When he writes of the nearby town of Gigaro, however, his tone (almost) changes: "...in one corner of the bay is the start of a coastal path that winds for 10km through fragrant pine forests. If you don't fancy a long hike, you can stop at one of the rocky coves that might just turn out to be your private beach."
• Buoux, Provence. Jamie Ivey, who keeps the blog Extremely Pale Rosé, says that "Buoux is a small hamlet set amid towering pine-crested cliffs. The shape of the valley contrives to drive traffic away, and only the curious discover the untouched heart of the Luberon."
• Banyuls-sur-Mer, Languedoc. Chosen by Rosemary Bailey, Banyuls is a "modest Catalan fishing village of Banyuls-sur-Mer. I love its old town with its steep whitewashed streets with shady patios filled with palms and bougainvillea..."
• Vence, Provence. A neighbor of Saint-Paul-de-Vence, Vence is the selection of photographer Tania Cagnoni. "Vence's forte is daily life: sipping rosé in dappled sunlight under the plane trees in the square, buying freshly baked bread from the boulangerie and punnets of Carros strawberries at the daily market."
• Eugenie-les-Bains, Aquitaine. Emily Barr, a novelist, reveals that the "test kitchen" of a popular, nearby three-star restaurant is a "sublime experience," and a bargain.
• Northern Ardeche. Correspondent Jason Burke says, "Here there are fewer gorges, fewer people, fewer caravans and fewer German school parties. Instead, you can enjoy a landscape like a warmer, drier Scotland, with high moors, plunging valleys, sheep galore, rushing torrents and superb walking..."

Enjoy. I'm off to speculate whether I'll ever visit any of the hundreds of places in France that I write about and other ironies.

A kissing festival in Roquemaure

There's something in the atmosphere this week at The French Journal, I guess, because we start off the day with another post about -- if not l'amour, exactly, than the happy romantic feelings that people express with one another. We're dipping into the archives over at the Sydney Morning Herald for a story about La Fête du Baiser, the Kissing Festival, in the village of Roquemaure. In the town are kept the bones of St. Valentin -- more accurately, the few bones of St. Valentin that still exist -- and this affiliation is celebrated the weekend after the saint's holiday by people dressing in costume and kissing a lot. Given freely. To whomever. The generous consumption of wine helps to reduce inhibitions. With this powerful combination -- wine and kisses -- "By the end of it you have lost all feeling in your lips and the power of speech."

The writer has done his research in other ways, as well, so you can pick up information about the legend of St. Valentin and the worldwide recognition of his name day. "St. Valentine was bludgeoned to death and then decapitated in 268 by the Roman emperor Claude II the Cruel. He had been caught performing illegal marriage services for Roman soldiers...He became the official patron des amoureux in 1496...'the custom of sending Valentine cards and messages comes from the Roman pagan fertility festival of Lupercalia, which was held on Mont Palatin.'"

HT to mon amie Blue Vicar for the tip!

Tavel: La vie en rosé

There's a big, pink reason to visit the village of Tavel in the Languedoc (NY Times). The town of under 2,000 is dedicated to rosés, a wine that's an afterthought in many other locations. Here, however, it's the source of passion; the first A.O.C. designation given to a rosé was that to Tavel.

For Americans, the wine can seem exotic, as less than 200,000 of the region's production of 5-million bottles is exported to our shores. Tavel's terrain undoubtedly contributes to the wine's character:

"Then there are the rocks. A single journey through Tavel’s roughly 10-mile Route du Vignoble is like a geological field study. On the western loop, the vines force their way through slate covered with chunks of chalky limestone, while on the east they bake in “galets roulés” — smooth, round stones formed by the centuries of floodwaters that poured through the Rhône Valley after the last ice age. The southernmost vines stretch lazily in the sun over a fine, sandy soil."

Should you need reasons besides wine for vacationing in this particular French village, you'd most likely need to get into a car to find them, but those willing to do so -- in the summer, anyway -- would find festivals and celebrations not far away, many with bulls or saints. Tavel is close to the Camargue, the town of Uzès, and other pleasures. The NYT article has a slide show with lots of wine and scenery to make you weep with longing.

A minor annoyance: why do travel writers always play up the proximity to Provence when writing about the Languedoc? No disrespect intended to Provence, but most of us have accepted the idea that there's more to France than Peter Mayle.

Five "intriguing" French castles

France is lousy with chateaux, and while it's probably an exaggeration to say that most of them are a worth a visit, they nonetheless enrich the patrimoine enormously. Since seeing them all would be a formidable task, for our Monday morning escape we'll just go to five of them, chosen by France Magazine for their mysterious, or notorious, pasts. They include:

• Château d’If - Prisons don't get too much bleaker than this, where you could be dropped into a hole that was accessible only through an opening in the roof. Located off Marseille, it's claim to fame is that it held the fictional Count of Monte Cristo -- the only person to escape its horrors.
• Montségur - The site of a massacre in the thirteenth century, when 200 Cathars were martyred for their beliefs.
• Rennes-le-Château - A modern day mystery (or is it)? The puzzle: how did a priest in the late 19th century, serving the poor parish where the chateau is located, get the funds necessary to restore it magnificently? Was it hidden treasure? Or a lot of hooey? (There's a video visit to the chateau at the top of this post.)
• The Château at Lacoste is the home of the famed Marquis de Sade. (You've been very bad lately, haven't you? And you know what happens to people who've been bad...)
• The Castle at Tiffauges once claimed Gilles de Rais as a resident, a rouge who inspired the story  of Bluebeard.

In retrospect, these stories make for a grim way to start the week, but given my home team's loss in the Super Bowl last night, grimness is appropriate.

Another chef's tour: Provence (sort of) this time

You should know the routine by now if you read this blog regularly, but it's a good one. Find an old farmhouse, gather together a handful of tourists, put a chef in charge, serve them to-die-for pastries for breakfast, teach them some cooking tricks, tour the local producers of specialties, and make sure you visit as many great restaurants as is possible. Drink wine.

The only thing that changes is the locale. Travel + Leisure has an account of a cooking class run by chef Carole Peck at her manse in Montfrin, not far from Avignon. "Days pass in a mellow haze of sunshine and sated appetites." While there are those of us who might not want to take a tour of France, preferring to manage ourselves, there is something very appealing in any case about this structure for a visit.

Try this for a first night:

"The menu on our first night exemplifies the best of Provençal home cooking: simple, savory, soul-satisfying. We are preparing confiture d'oignons, a sweet onion relish jazzed with red pepper flakes; caviar d'aubergines (an eggplant caviar); salade composée, a mixed salad with artichokes, hard-boiled eggs, potatoes, and green beans; aigo boulido, a classic Provençal garlic soup said to cure everything from a hangover to the flu; grondin rouge rôti, a bonito-like Mediterranean fish baked with lemon, olive oil, and herbs; a Swiss chard tian baked with feta, preserved lemon, and fennel; and, for dessert, plum-and-almond clafouti."

A quibble. The ever reliable Villorama, which I use when researching towns and their locales, says that Montfrin is really in the Languedoc.

Here's a link to Carol Peck's website.

Twice-told tales: Cassoulet, Armagnac, Tati, No smoking, the Sarko show

For the weekend, I have a bunch of articles which cover subjects of past posts. In other words, old topics, new articles:

• On the road in search of cassoulet. Time offers a story about the history of the hearty French dish, cassoulet, made of beans, pork, duck, and whatever local tradition holds. The prize quote: "When a cassoulet arrives at the table, bubbling with aromas, something magical happens — it's Communion around a dish." For the devoted, there's even a Route de Cassoulets.
• Armagnac, Part II. The NY Times visits a producer of Armagnac, the French brandy that lives in Cognac's shadow. The difference? "If Cognac is feminine...Armagnac is masculine, dense, powerful, individualistic, reeking of terroir." Connections: The Darroze family, the producers profiled in the piece, also claims famed Parisian chef Hélène as one of their own.
• Tati the dancer. Also from The NYT: A "Dance of Film" festival is the pretext for an examination from a different vantage of Jacques Tati, the French film comic whose acting was largely non-verbal. The reason to consider his work "choreographic"? He used movement expressively.
• Defense de fumer: As far as the world is concerned, the biggest news from France this week is that smoking in cafés is now verboten. Here's a sample story, this one from Business Week. There are hundreds of others.
• Nic + Carla, BFF. Second runner up: 'kozy's romance. Charles Bremner has the latest in his Times (London) blog, along with news of a recent book about last year's election, one which highlights how much Chirac and de Villepin loathed Sarkozy. There seems to be a new "sensational" book like this every month -- Reza, Royal, La femme fatale, Jospin, Eric Besson...who says the French don't like political gossip?

Snooping around the vineyards of the Languedoc

It's still the holiday season at The French Journal, which is my excuse for posting late today. And although there are interesting articles -- from a Francophile point of view -- to choose from, none of them quite meet my delusional requirements for a Monday morning escape. (In my fantasy world, several people are wondering "Where will he send us this morning?" It's a rich life I lead in my head.)

At the risk of making you believe I'm spending too much time with the bottle, I turn to an article from The Toronto Globe and Mail from about a month ago, in which Michael Redhill (once shortlisted for U.K.'s Booker Prize) writes about learning the terroir of his new Languedoc home, with a particular interest in understanding the local attitudes about wine and its production. Redhill is an engaging observer: "And there is so much Corbières around (you could squeeze a handful of wet dirt in your backyard and get a decent glass of red out of it) that you needn't think of drinking anything else!"

His efforts take him (as all such investigations inevitably must) to a Domaine Rimbert vintner who has a vision of building respect for the bottles from the Languedoc, and who is making a wine, Carignator II, which blends juices from different vintages. Gotta love the name; Redhill suggests you gotta love the wine as well. It's an oft-told tale, but rarely told this well.