Pink Flamingos, White Horses, Black Bulls & Salt

Now that we’ve picked up our Renault Clio, we can get out of town! [BTW, if you’re planning a trip to France and need a car, three French car manufacturers – Renault, Peugeot, Citroen – have a nifty program where you lease the car instead of renting it. We’ve done it twice and it works as smoothly as any car rental we’ve ever done.]

We head east out of Montpellier. Bob (my brother-in-law) has warned us about the driving in Montpellier and the drivers don’t disappoint us. Yikes. This topic is worth a separate post later.

Aigues-Mortes (“dead waters” in Occitan) is a medieval walled town, about 30 minutes east of Montpellier. It’s famous as a source of sea salt, harvested from shallow saltwater ponds fed from the Mediterranean. The saltwater evaporates naturally from the ponds, leaving a layer of salt that is harvested. The ponds also provide a natural sanctuary for waterfowl, like flamingos.

I’m sure that the Aigues-Mortes is usually appealing, but by the time we get there, the sun has disappeared, the temperature has dropped to 15 degrees, and the skies have turned to a steady rain. It wasn’t raining in Montpellier, and I’m dressed in shorts and sandals. Oops. We duck into a few shops and buy some sea-salt and wild red rice, which they grow in the shallow waters around here. It’s looks sunny further east, so we get back in the car and move on. As we leave Aigues-Mortes, we see enormous mountains of harvested salt. Hmm, I’m thirsty.

We head southeast towards Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, just inside Provence. Taking the ferry to cross the Petit Rhone river is a reminder of how life is lived in the south of France: unhurried. Things happen when they happen. The ferry, which takes 5 minutes to cross the river, runs every half-hour, no matter how many cars (or horses) are waiting. We’re still not quite in this rhythm, but what can you do but relax….

Crossing the river, we find the Parc Ornithologique (bird sanctuary) de Pond de Gau. The sun is out again and we stop for a hike along the sanctuary’s trails. Camargue is famous for its pink flamingos and, no surprise, the bird sanctuary has lots. Among the marshes, we also find the white Camargue horses, famous for their endurance, agility, and intelligence. The ranchers who raise the black bulls from Camargue (used in bullfighting) use these small horses.

Afterwards, lunch is on the patio at La Régie de Frigoulès in Pioch Badet, just up the road from the bird sanctuary. I try the local specialty, Taureau a la Gardianne. It’s essentially a beef stew, but made with the meat from the black bulls raised locally. I don’t know whether these are bullfighting victims. The meat is dense, flavourful, and juicy. Delicious! We try a local wine (of course): Coeur de Camargue, Vin de Pays Bouches du Rhone, from Patrick et Jean-Paul Michel, Mas de Valeriole in Gageron. It’s a fruity (the winemakers used carbonic maceration), medium-bodied red with great tannins that complement the beef.

On the drive back to Montpellier, we pass through vineyards marked, Vins de Sable. It’s just as it sounds, the winemakers grow these vines in the sand close to the shores of the Mediterranean. The wines made here are predominately rosés. It’s fascinating to see the different types of “poor” soils in which grapevines can thrive.

To see photo highlights, go to: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=8788&id=100000148392134&l=e095534cfd  

Petit Vegas

We had some time to kill before taking the shuttle bus back out to the airport to pick up our rental car, so we explored a new part of Montpellier called Antigone.

Back in the 1960s, the city acquired a 40-hectare area of land that had been an army base. It’s about a kilometre long, sitting between the Place de la Comédie (at the south entrance to the old city centre) and the river Lez to the east. The city hired a Catalan architect, Ricardo Bofill, to design what grew to be an immense complex of 4,000 apartments, and 20,000 square metres of stores, offices, restaurants, schools, hotels – a real mixed community.

The curious choice is the architectural themes: ancient Greece mixed with elements of the Renaissance and traditional French urban planning: courtyards, squares, and boulevards. Built between 1979 and 1997, it’s physically impressive and consistent from one end to the other. Does it work? Well, it seems more like Las Vegas with its obviously fake architecture, a Greek theme park plopped down in the middle of the south of France. That’s not a compliment.

Is it a community? Hard to tell. It’s all very busy during the day with office workers, but when we went back for a walk at night, only the theme restaurants along the river were open and busy.

Trying Something New

We went for dinner at L’Artichaut in the old city centre. Modern design. For aperitif, I asked the waiter for a dry white wine from the region. Was it because of my Anglo-Canadian accent that he served us Chardonnay? Definitely an example of an oaky chardonnay from a warm climate: peach and butter aromas. But a disappointment. We didn’t come all this way to drink chardonnay.

For our mains, Michèle ordered salmon and I ordered a mixed seafood grill. Learning my lesson, I then asked the waiter for a wine that was more specific to Languedoc and that would match our food choices. He suggested a Terret Blanc, which I had never heard of. Yes! I love trying new varietals, so of course we had to try it. It turns out that Terret is an old varietal from Languedoc that comes in Gris, Blanc, and Noir. (Terret Noir is one of the 13 varietals allowed in Chateauneuf-du-Pape.)  This medium-bodied Terret Blanc had flavours of tree fruit and ginger, with good acidity and was slightly (deliberately?) oxidized. It was a good match with both the seafood grill and the salmon.

One of my favourite rules when ordering wines:  If you haven't heard of it, try it!

Très Beang!

Today was another day with beautiful blue skies. Bob (my brother-in-law) took us on a tour of the golf course where he works. Looks like a tough course with lots of blind shots. Oh boy. The golf course uses llamas (!) to graze the grass and trim some of the bushes.

Languedoc has its own language: Occitan, which gives the region its name, la langue d’oc.  “Oc” means “yes” in Occitan. I like that, the language of yes!  It’s related to Catalan, which is spoken in Catalonia, where Occitan is also an official language. Occitan went through many years of suppression in France, but I saw some efforts underway to revive it, including schools offering classes in Occitan and television newscasts in Occitan, although these were only once-a-week for 15 minutes.

We had dinner at Bob and Nathalie’s. Also joining us was Olivier, who works with Nathalie. Olivier comes from Carcassonne, about 150 km southwest of Montpellier and he has what I’m told is a classic Occitan accent. It’s like an extra syllable is added to every word, like French spoken by an Italian. So, école becomes écola, voiture is voitura. With consonants at the end, there’s often a hard “g” sound added: bien becomes be-ang. To my ear, it’s like he’s got a mouth full of marbles, or just came back from a visit to the dentist and the freezing hasn’t worn off yet. The words get a vigorous massage before they come out. So around the table, we’ve got the accent from the north of France, the accent from Québec, the accent from Languedoc, and my strong anglo accent. To me, it’s a wonder we can all understand each other, but we do, over a great dinner and wine.

Napoleon's Revenge?

OK, I’m not this clumsy...or that tall (six feet).  A couple of days in Montpellier and I keep hitting my head on things. There’s a ceiling light fixture in the middle of the living room of the apartment, about 4 inches too low for my head. After whacking my head against it a couple of times first thing in the morning, I’ve removed the bottom third of the fixture. I’ve also had to learn to duck through doorways of stores. Our apartment building has balconies that jut over the sidewalk at the front and yes, the base of these first floor balconies are about 5 ¾ feet above the sidewalk. No real damage so far but I feel hunched over. Hmmm, Quasimodo was French wasn’t he?

Our first trip to the beach. Intensely blue sky, 27 degrees, no wind. We’re only a 15-minute drive from the Mediterranean so this will be a regular place to visit if the weather holds up. The Mediterranean is almost completely enclosed by land and, with the intense sunshine, the water evaporates quickly. With the evaporation comes a higher salt level and buoyancy. You just lean back and float. With that, plus the lack of tides, swimming seems effortless.

Like wine, my skin comes in three colours: white, rosé, or red. So, with the intense sun, I make sure I slap on the SPF 5000.

Shopping

After 12 hours of sleep, we woke up to a gloriously sunny day. Breakfast on the balcony, with a view to the north and east of the city.

Now that we’re fully awake and have a good look at the apartment, wow, it needs a cleaning. We’ve learned over the years that although you’re required in the rental contract to leave the apartment clean for the next renter, this just never happens for us. I guess the apartment doesn’t need to BE clean; it just has to LOOK tidy. It reminds me of when I first moved to Germany in the ‘80s. Everyone had a putzfrau (cleaner) but mine just seemed to move the dirt around my apartment, instead of removing it.

Need to get some groceries (and cleaning supplies) and Nathalie – my brother-in-law’s girlfriend – offers to take us to a Carrefour outlet. (Carrefour is one of the major grocery shopping chains in France.) Although grocery stores in Canada and in France are laid out in the same way, the products are different and it’s fascinating just to wander up and down the aisles to see the stuff. The glorious diversity that you can find at the cheese counter in almost any chain grocery store in France fascinates me. So much to try! But, of course, the BIG difference is the wine. Always a good selection of affordable regional wine (~5 Euros, or $8), some wines from other regions in France, and a few wines from other countries if the store is a larger one. So, first wine that I buy on this trip? Valpolicella! We’re going over to my brother-in-law’s place for an Italian-themed dinner, so it’s an Italian wine. OK, I also bought a Picpoul de Pinet.

Picpoul is a white grape varietal that’s native to Languedoc and Picpoul de Pinet is an AOC. We had a bottle recently in Ottawa and I’m anxious to try a bottle that hasn’t travelled across the ocean. (Travel is no friend to wine.)

These big grocery stores seem to be very popular. I’m curious to know how much shopping patterns have changed in France. I keep hearing that the traditional way of life is disappearing. Neighbourhood bistros and cafés closing; local butchers, bakers, fishmongers, cheesemongers gone (monger, a favourite word). All pushed to towards extinction by national grocery and restaurant chains. We know this phenomenon in Canada. Is it so in France? There isn’t the same automobile culture in France that we have in Canada, so in a society that relies more on public transit and walking, is there still room for local shops and restaurants to thrive? I mean to find out.

Settling In

Montpellier is our home for the next four weeks. We’ve rented an apartment  in the Beaux Arts quarter, just outside the old city centre.

Unpack our bags and it’s time to get some lunch and discover the old city. We love to walk a city at first to get to know it better. No tour-buses for us. Michèle is a more of a “follow-the-map” person and I just like to wander the streets and see the busyness of the locals. OK, so I do get lost every once in awhile.

The old city is about 700 x 800 meters so it’s easy to cover. Ah, but it’s built on a hill so it’s a good workout to get to the centre. It has a great feel to it; many university students. It's a warren of narrow streets...you turn a corner and, voilà, a square full of restaurants, cafés and bars. We’ve found Les Halles, a small market right in the centre of the old city with butchers, fruit and vegetable vendors, and cheesemongers. It’s great to be back in France!  Ah, there's also McDonald's in the Place de la Comedie, the main square.  And it's packed!  I read recently that France has become the second-most-profitable market in the world for McDonald’s.    The jetlag makes me feel as if I'm wrapped in cotton wool. I need sleep.

To see photo highlights, go to http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=8121&id=100000148392134&l=eec1420183

Off to Languedoc!

We’re off for a 4-week trip to the Languedoc region in the south of France. Of course, we’re excited because it’s a wine region that we haven’t visited before. It’s even more exciting because Michèle (my wife)’s brother recently moved to Montpellier, which will be our base for the 4 weeks that we’re there.

This year, we’re trying Air France -- instead of Air Transat, which we used last year when we went to the Rhone Valley. Air France picks us up at the train station in Ottawa by bus and takes us to the airport in Montreal. We fly to Montpellier, changing planes in Paris. The connection times are just right, giving us (and our luggage) just enough time. Air Transat doesn’t fly into Montpellier yet (hint).

Taking the bus from Ottawa to Montreal, I’m reading a newspaper and Michèle and I are eating some fruit and nut granola. This is exactly what we were doing when we met on a bus on a ski trip to Switzerland. Instead of skis, we now have our golf clubs with us. It’s perfect.

Going through an airport these days reminds me of white-water rafting. It’s all calm when you first arrive and then – bang – you enter this swirl of chaos and stress. You pass through the first set of rapids, known as the check-in counter, where you at least can get rid of your luggage (Bye! Hope to see you soon!). Then there’s the second set of rapids: the security check. This time, for the first time in Canada, the metal detector doesn’t like my shoes! I’ve travelled around the globe in these same shoes, through countless airports.  The C in CATSA does not stand for consistency.  Finally, you’re spit out of the security area into the calm of the departure gates.

The flight is actually as pleasant as these things go. Air France turns out to be generous with the wine (at no extra charge!), even offering champagne before dinner to ALL. Vive la France! The passenger across the aisle wanted Chivas instead. Uh, that would be a no. Next time, try Air Hebrides. The downside to Air France? They've got the seats so close together that I’ve got my knees absolutely jammed against the seatback in front of me. I cannot move my legs. Soon, I cannot feel my legs.  Worse, the seat pocket where they put all the magazines and stuff is right at knee level, making it even tighter. What tiny person thought of this? Up in the overhead compartment go the magazines. So maybe the trade-off between Air France and Air Transat in flying across the Atlantic is good service or more legroom? After dinner, we pop our OTC sleeping pills and grab a few hours of sleep before landing in Paris, where we do the zombie walk until we hop on the connecting flight to Montpellier. We come into Montpellier over the Mediterranean, and we can see the beaches. We land just before 9 in the morning. It’s already warm and sunny; a brilliant blue sky. The apartment that we’ve rented is just a 15-minute cab ride away.