 |
| Un Suffisance de Baggage |
You can tell when you’re down south – the D-roads are narrower and there’s no centre line any more. But there’s plenty of sunshine and fresh air, and the eau de fag has been replaced by the earthy smell of eau de poo (of the bovine kind) and the fragrance of freshly-cut hay. Along the verges there are still some heads of cow parsley, determinedly thrusting upwards in defiance of the farmers slashing them to the ground in late spring. Here and there a few poppies still bloom, but it’s a bit late for them. Across the patchwork of green, golden yellow and brown fields, the towering peaks of the Pyrenees rear up, some still with the remains of their white mantles of snow clinging to their tips. The corn is just reaching knee-height, while every now and again yellow saucers pop up in a sea of green. Another week and the fields of sunflowers will be bright yellow … The wheat is almost ready to harvest; you can see the breeze ruffle its surface, leaving the heads nodding gently as if in agreement. In the distance raptors wheel and float, taking advantage of the warm updraughts, while scanning the fields for an easy prey. In the villages, despite the closed shutters and the slight look of abandonment, tall hollyhocks bloom profusely in the most inhospitable places, making a mockery of my futile efforts to grow them in my perennial border, while carefully tended plots of vegetables show an early promise of a bountiful harvest.
 |
| Déja Vu dans le Salon |
It’s here at Camon where this adventure started twelve months ago, where, sitting after dinner in the 18th century salon and feeling rather mellow, we hit upon the idea of travelling en famille one more time. And what a pleasure it has been – to sit and have dinner together each night is such a precious luxury. And for us to share some of the things we love about Camon - A visit to the weekly market at Mirepoix, where everything imaginable is offered for sale. The rumpled looking leather worker with the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth who makes belts to measure on the spot, while next door a wiry cutler bicycles away furiously on his wooden grinder, the rhythmic thump of the pedals accompanying the whine of a knife on the stone. And then there’s the most wonderful fragrances wafting through the air – the smoked saucisson and air-dried hams, the ripe cheeses and the divine flat peaches, and the sweet, sticky smell of huge, thick wheels of nougat, spread out in a rainbow of pastel shades, bursting with fruit and nuts and sold in huge wedges, wrapped carefully in waxed paper.
 |
| Le Bathroom des Parents |
 |
| Transfixed by Le World Cup |
 |
| Roquefixade |
There was also a visit to La Roquefixade, where somehow we got tangled up in a serious bike race – with a few hair-raising moments for the driver and some expletives from a couple of riders
…. But the stress and the subsequent climb in the sticky heat were worth the view …
And finally a long march in the freezing cold, pitch black caves to see the magical prehistoric paintings again.
 |
| James surveys the peak at Roquefixade |
 |
| Our Niche Goddess |
 |
| Château de Foix |
We never fail to be surprised by the treasures we unearth, or the stories behind them – usually found quite by accident, and very much enjoyed. In this case it was the Château des Fiches, one of life’s pleasurable surprises. Not far from Camon, but off the beaten track, at the end of a curving pot-holed drive, it was not clear that we had indeed arrived anywhere but at a ruin. A small, quite plain two-storey building, desperately in need of repair, with two small wings of indeterminate age stood before us. A door that had seen better days opened on to a tiled hall, where a woman, who had perhaps also seen better days, was waiting for custom. We were it. She turned out to be part of the family, and took us on a wonderfully personal tour of first the library, with its travelling commode shaped like a pile of books on a small table and the earliest book dating from the early 1500’s; then the spacious kitchen from the 1600’s, still with its original fireplace, complete with attachments for the spit and a potager – a stove for making soup. And then upstairs via the oak stairs to see the pièce de résistance– a room with the most amazing painted ceiling we have ever seen. Picture a vast room, with all but one of its windows shuttered, with dusty terracotta tiles on the floor, stained plastered walls and a few decidedly shabby pieces of furniture dotted forlornly about the room, and above, an almost mediaeval ceiling made of many huge beams running across the room, with narrow spaces between them. On every beam, beautifully painted, with almost perfect detail, there was an unbelievable menagerie of all kinds of birds and beasts, with a unicorn and some dragons adding a few touches of fantasy. They were all linked together by rococco swirls and curlicues and interspersed by cartouches showing everyday country scenes. There are no clues as to the provenance of the master painter (and most likely an assistant), other than an over-sized snail that appears in some of the cartouches and it seems that there are no other ceilings in existence like this one. But what is even more amazing is that in the room next door where the ceiling fell down, another ceiling has been revealed, this time done in the style of Delft ceramics … and there are perhaps others in the house waiting to be revealed, although sadly, due to lack of finances, they are not likely to be found.
And so it’s back to Paris (because as we all know, all roads lead to Paris – going cross-country here is not allowed), so we can all go somewhere else … Katja to München, James and Estee to London and we will explore the Île-de-France …
À bientôt,
Su
No comments:
Post a Comment