ON OUR WAY TO AVIGNON, ALONG THE GARDON
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| Tornac and its vineyards |
Sweat was pearling on our foreheads as we looked back to get an overview of Saint Jean du Gard through the branches of Aleppo pine trees. It was perhaps 10 AM but the sun was already as unforgiving as the slope of the road we followed towards the village of Mialet which is located in the valley where the Gardon de Mialet flows. We were unmistekanly in the Midi, dry bush on the hills, green oak, thyme, an so on... all plants were accustomed to the hot and dry Mediterranean climate. At this time of year rivers have a lot of water, but in a few weeks that may be a different thing.
We reached Mialet whose the main square was all abuzz with preparation for the Fête de la Musique, a National Music Party celebrated everywhere in France every June 21st. On that day bands and individuals are invited to play music on the street. Three men, the youth of the village, were busy building a stage and a sound system. We descended the main street which had in its middle a rivulet for rain or washing water to flow.
After village the track went in unnecessary loops to make sure we wouldn't miss le Mas Soubeyran and its museum about "Le Désert", the period in the Cévennes following the outlawing of the Protestant cult by Louis the XIVth in 1685. We decided not to stop and instead we crossed the valley and moved up to the opposite hills, enjoying the shade of every single leaves. Near Corbès we saw vineyards and fields of olive trees on a plateau. Many villas were already in holiday mood with their occupants about to kick-off aperitif before lunch.
We left the hills to cross yet another Gardon river and make our way to Anduze, famous for its hot and humid micro-climate and its botanical garden specialized in bamboo. There is also an Eiffel railway bridge crossing the river. Anduze is also known for its fancy ceramic flower pots in blue, green or red-brown. We had our lunch break on a bench in front of the city hall. A good way, in the shade, to escape from the heat. The fountain had a special tap for drinking water in its middle, quite useful. We left the animation of this lively village to continue over the hills to Tornac, a hamlet that once had a silk factory by the riverside. And we landed for the fete de la musique in a cowboy-styled burger place. It had prepared a special jazz evening with two trumpet players who played jazz as per the score and had a dreadful music box for the accompaniment of drums and strings. It was OK for a while but on a cheerier note the restaurant served beef rib on the occasion with local wine from the village next door. Indeed, the whole region, with this amount of sun, is a big wine production place with different types and qualities. Numerous young people experiment with biological wines or natural wines.
We left the hills to cross yet another Gardon river and make our way to Anduze, famous for its hot and humid micro-climate and its botanical garden specialized in bamboo. There is also an Eiffel railway bridge crossing the river. Anduze is also known for its fancy ceramic flower pots in blue, green or red-brown. We had our lunch break on a bench in front of the city hall. A good way, in the shade, to escape from the heat. The fountain had a special tap for drinking water in its middle, quite useful. We left the animation of this lively village to continue over the hills to Tornac, a hamlet that once had a silk factory by the riverside. And we landed for the fete de la musique in a cowboy-styled burger place. It had prepared a special jazz evening with two trumpet players who played jazz as per the score and had a dreadful music box for the accompaniment of drums and strings. It was OK for a while but on a cheerier note the restaurant served beef rib on the occasion with local wine from the village next door. Indeed, the whole region, with this amount of sun, is a big wine production place with different types and qualities. Numerous young people experiment with biological wines or natural wines.
A storm had broken out late afternoon shortening our refreshing dip in the hotel swimming pool. The hotel was alright, it was built like an American motel. Next to the pool, three German bikers were sunbathing, one of them wearing a very tight yellow bathing suit to make sure his private parts were conspicuous enough. At breakfast the next day he would wear a t-shirt with a blonde women drawn with a voluptuous pair of red lips. Two of the bikers had driven down all the way down from Germany and the third one had driven down with his car with the motorbike on a cart at the back.
The next day, a bright blue sky escorted us to the ruins of the Tornac castle and then further through the vineyards and olive trees. The lovely Sainte Baudile church was on the way with severe cypresses guarding its round shapes. We had lunch in Lézan, a nice village on a hill which made us realize one more time how cars have changed the way people shop and affect the organization of life in a village. All shops have closed in the old part of the village on the hill. There is just one restaurant left at the foot of the hill. In contrast, a supermarket, a bakery/ snack have opened on the outskirt of town. The city hall has also moved there because it easy to park.
We continued our walk under the hot sun. In the lovely village of Cardet we learned in the dusty window of a shop, closed because it was siesta time, that François Hollande, the former French President, and Julie Gayet had got married secretly (a scoop on the first page of France Dimanche, a people's magazine). Some strange white clouds, looking as if they had just been painted on the blue sky by an absent-minded artist, were adding a surreal feeling to the news. On top of that, we saw a signboard advertising for the "gold-digger" camping a few hundred meters down the road. We traversed fields along the Gardon river. Some were plantations of kiwi fruits.
We were soon in sight of the medieval village of Vézenobres, perched on a hill overlooking the surrounding fields of crops and vineyards in the plain of the Gardon. The village had three or four restaurants to accommodate all the tourists coming there, but for shopping one had to drive out of the village. However, there are a few residents living there all year-round. The bar was an interesting place in the center of the village. It had a few collector's chairs on the pavement and was helping local villagers by distributing fresh bread (avoiding them to drive a few kilometres to get it).
We stayed in the cellar of an old stone house converted into an apartment with an arched ceiling and a tiny terrace overlooking the roofs of the village. The place had served as an art gallery a long time ago, judging by the posters of some exhibitions in early 2000.
From Vézenobres, we moved through the countryside to Moussac, another hilltop village with a bar opposite the city hall that was run by a friendly retired lorry-driver. It was noon and a few regulars were standing at the counter with pastis or beer. One of them confiding, I need to run because my wife is expecting me for lunch. Half an hour later he was yet to run!
We continued our walk under the hot sun. In the lovely village of Cardet we learned in the dusty window of a shop, closed because it was siesta time, that François Hollande, the former French President, and Julie Gayet had got married secretly (a scoop on the first page of France Dimanche, a people's magazine). Some strange white clouds, looking as if they had just been painted on the blue sky by an absent-minded artist, were adding a surreal feeling to the news. On top of that, we saw a signboard advertising for the "gold-digger" camping a few hundred meters down the road. We traversed fields along the Gardon river. Some were plantations of kiwi fruits.
We were soon in sight of the medieval village of Vézenobres, perched on a hill overlooking the surrounding fields of crops and vineyards in the plain of the Gardon. The village had three or four restaurants to accommodate all the tourists coming there, but for shopping one had to drive out of the village. However, there are a few residents living there all year-round. The bar was an interesting place in the center of the village. It had a few collector's chairs on the pavement and was helping local villagers by distributing fresh bread (avoiding them to drive a few kilometres to get it).
We stayed in the cellar of an old stone house converted into an apartment with an arched ceiling and a tiny terrace overlooking the roofs of the village. The place had served as an art gallery a long time ago, judging by the posters of some exhibitions in early 2000.
From Vézenobres, we moved through the countryside to Moussac, another hilltop village with a bar opposite the city hall that was run by a friendly retired lorry-driver. It was noon and a few regulars were standing at the counter with pastis or beer. One of them confiding, I need to run because my wife is expecting me for lunch. Half an hour later he was yet to run!
After crossing large expanses of fields topped by a wide blue sky and rapidly traversing the village of Saint-Chaptes, which had an old nightclub for sale (the Club Baccarat, Disco Light Club and Restaurant), we arrived in the village of Russan, which is right next to the gorges of the Gardon river where people can go climbing.
It was Saturday. We sat for dinner at the terrace of the Castellas, a snack bar run by a couple from Eastern Europe. The table was one among four set in the shade of the village square's plane trees that had been planted around the fountain.
A gathering was taking place in one of the nearby houses, somewhat loud enough not to be missed from the square. A guy walked out uneasily and jumped on a motorcycle which probably had its own self-driving soul for him to reach home safely. Another one zigzagged to his car but drove relatively well around the square and gathered enough composure to stop opposite the Castellas to wave at some friends. Now was the turn of two women to jump into their cars. The first one was not able to start hers so she requested the assistance from the second one to attempt a jump-start in second gear. This involved one car pushing the other one smoothly and in fact looked more like one car repeatedly bumping into the back of the one in front. The show took them halfway around the square and then off down on the right towards the bridge crossing the Gardon river. The jump start apparently succeeded because the two cars came back in reverse order, the one that had been pushed puffing black smoke copiously. The two ladies came back walking shortly afterward and sat down with other people at the storefront terrace of the Castellas.
The second one was the owner of a Caramel.
Meanwhile, on the square, Caramel was looking intently, but very courteously, at a woman eating a pizza at a table next to ours. Caramel was in fact looking straight at the pizza, but as a good strategist knowing his terrain, after all he was the only dog of the square, he knew that the opportunity in front of him had to be handled tactfully. Caramel, a young and plump Labrador elegantly wore a grey harness as a waistcoat - I thought, at first, that Caramel was a guide dog - and stood on his four legs at a respectful distance of the table as if accustomed to the alchemy of nudging customers to share their food with him without being forceful. Well, his female owner seemed to think differently. When she noticed that Caramel was standing next to the guest table, she first called him from the other side of the street where she was indulging in a pastis with her friends. Caramel was perfectly deaf to her calls, he continued his charming conversation with the pizza and the people eating it, by gently wagging his tail. His absence of reaction to his owner's call triggered the next course of action. The owner came with the aim of grabbing him by the harness and carrying him away by the collar. Caramel took it placidly, as she grabbed the handle of the harness, he just moved back with his head pointed to the ground so that he could free himself from the harness and ran away in a mischievous sprint to hide behind the fountain. Fuck, it is over, said the owner, we won't catch him any time soon. She attempted to run after him in a playful mode, but it was probably just another hopeless remake of a scene that had happened many times before. Caramel ran happily, like a young dog, around the fountain, always out of reach. The owner's son, a little overweight like Caramel, came to the rescue but he did not have either the stamina either to run after the dog. Another attempt was made by a younger boy who held a piece of paper in his hands like a piece of food. The Labrador came very close but as soon as he found out he was being tricked, he ran away very far in the village. Everyone went back to the pastis table and Caramel was forgotten for a while.
He came a little later, soon enough for some pizza to be left and repositioned himself next to the table in the same posture as before. Unfortunately the woman and her husband did not buy into giving any piece of the pizza which was cleared rapidly by the waiter of the Castellas.
It was Saturday. We sat for dinner at the terrace of the Castellas, a snack bar run by a couple from Eastern Europe. The table was one among four set in the shade of the village square's plane trees that had been planted around the fountain.
A gathering was taking place in one of the nearby houses, somewhat loud enough not to be missed from the square. A guy walked out uneasily and jumped on a motorcycle which probably had its own self-driving soul for him to reach home safely. Another one zigzagged to his car but drove relatively well around the square and gathered enough composure to stop opposite the Castellas to wave at some friends. Now was the turn of two women to jump into their cars. The first one was not able to start hers so she requested the assistance from the second one to attempt a jump-start in second gear. This involved one car pushing the other one smoothly and in fact looked more like one car repeatedly bumping into the back of the one in front. The show took them halfway around the square and then off down on the right towards the bridge crossing the Gardon river. The jump start apparently succeeded because the two cars came back in reverse order, the one that had been pushed puffing black smoke copiously. The two ladies came back walking shortly afterward and sat down with other people at the storefront terrace of the Castellas.
The second one was the owner of a Caramel.
Meanwhile, on the square, Caramel was looking intently, but very courteously, at a woman eating a pizza at a table next to ours. Caramel was in fact looking straight at the pizza, but as a good strategist knowing his terrain, after all he was the only dog of the square, he knew that the opportunity in front of him had to be handled tactfully. Caramel, a young and plump Labrador elegantly wore a grey harness as a waistcoat - I thought, at first, that Caramel was a guide dog - and stood on his four legs at a respectful distance of the table as if accustomed to the alchemy of nudging customers to share their food with him without being forceful. Well, his female owner seemed to think differently. When she noticed that Caramel was standing next to the guest table, she first called him from the other side of the street where she was indulging in a pastis with her friends. Caramel was perfectly deaf to her calls, he continued his charming conversation with the pizza and the people eating it, by gently wagging his tail. His absence of reaction to his owner's call triggered the next course of action. The owner came with the aim of grabbing him by the harness and carrying him away by the collar. Caramel took it placidly, as she grabbed the handle of the harness, he just moved back with his head pointed to the ground so that he could free himself from the harness and ran away in a mischievous sprint to hide behind the fountain. Fuck, it is over, said the owner, we won't catch him any time soon. She attempted to run after him in a playful mode, but it was probably just another hopeless remake of a scene that had happened many times before. Caramel ran happily, like a young dog, around the fountain, always out of reach. The owner's son, a little overweight like Caramel, came to the rescue but he did not have either the stamina either to run after the dog. Another attempt was made by a younger boy who held a piece of paper in his hands like a piece of food. The Labrador came very close but as soon as he found out he was being tricked, he ran away very far in the village. Everyone went back to the pastis table and Caramel was forgotten for a while.
He came a little later, soon enough for some pizza to be left and repositioned himself next to the table in the same posture as before. Unfortunately the woman and her husband did not buy into giving any piece of the pizza which was cleared rapidly by the waiter of the Castellas.
Walking into Uzès felt like entering a large and powerful city because of the amount of historical buildings, witnesses of a long and rich history. The old town underwent a complete renovation program in the 1990s to address foundation issues which were threatening all buildings to collapse. As a result the old town is looking bright, as if created yesterday. It is a legitimate tourist attraction. It was noon when we arrived on the busy Places aux herbes (a square in the medieval center) under the lush cover of plane trees. We decided to have lunch at one of the many restaurants. We visited the medieval garden created in 1995 in what used to be the castle Raynon back in the 11th century. At that time, Uzès was owned by two Lords who each had a castle: Raynon and Bermond. The castle of Bermond was the residence of the Duke of Uzès, it now belongs to the Crussol family. In 1242 and 1280, the bishops bought parts of the Raynon properties, including a tower which is now known as bishop's tower. In 1493, Charles the VIIIth, King of France, acquired another part of the Raynon castle, with a tower as well, to serve as a temporary residence. Until 1789, the three towers, next to each other, were representing the three powers running Uzès. When the French Revolution broke out, the King's and the Bishop's towers moved under ownership by the State and were used as a prison until 1941 when they were acquired by the city of Uzès. From the King's tower, one has a fabulous view over the city and the nearby hills, but also on the Duchy and its Bermonde tower. A couple of days can easily be spent to visit Uzès and enjoy its flair, but we were eager to see the famous Pont du Gard crossing the Gardon river. This Roman construction was part of a fifty kilometre long aqueduct designed to bring water from a source near Uzès down to the city Nîmes, which was key for the Roman administration at the time. In itself, the light orange stone bridge is impressive with its forty nine meters height and two hundred seventy five meters length. It is classified as a UNESCO site.
We crossed the village of Castillon du Gard where old men played pétanque in the shade of trees and stopped for the night in Saint Hilaire d'Ozilhan. We met Michel, to whom we rented a room, her place is called Sinti. Not easy to find if you have not been warned that you should look for an armchair on the side of the street next to a jungle of flower pots to signal the entrance of her house. Michel was very kind to introduce us to an unusual place for a village like Saint Hilaire. A few meters away from the village's church, on a tiny square, tables and chairs are inviting the village's socialites at "Chez Christophe". Christophe, the owner of the place, has managed to create in a village of the size of Saint Hilaire what would have the appeal of a trendy wine bar in a larger city. It is opened for coffee in the morning and for aperitif between 5 PM and 9 PM.
He is serving very moderately priced local wines, some produced in the village itself. He also has plates of cheese, tapas and cold-cuts of the delicatessen type which are also for sale in a grocery corner (I was only puzzled by the presence of Titus sardines in his selection, my recollection of those for sale in Nigeria is not impressive, but it could be a different sort).
Michel told us that Christophe saw his place as part of a mission to create a social link between villagers who might otherwise spent their time between work, watching TV at home and shopping by car to the nearest supermarket.
He might have been helped in his project by the fact that some of the villagers can afford going out but also see it as part of their lifestyle. For the amateur, Christophe has a few wine bottle from the domain of Garance, belonging to Jean Louis Trintignant, a French actor.
Before leaving Saint Hilaire, Michel prepared for us some coffee resuming the philosophical conversation we had had the day before around finding happiness, managing desire and brain plasticity.
It was the last day of walking before reaching Avignon. Not a fancy one though, whose highlights were passing under a motorway and a high-speed train bridge then traversing a commercial suburb packed with malls (Les Grands Angles) before finally discovering the Rhône valley with its hedges of cypresses to protect fields from the Mistral. We were just a few kilometres away from Avignon.
He is serving very moderately priced local wines, some produced in the village itself. He also has plates of cheese, tapas and cold-cuts of the delicatessen type which are also for sale in a grocery corner (I was only puzzled by the presence of Titus sardines in his selection, my recollection of those for sale in Nigeria is not impressive, but it could be a different sort).
Michel told us that Christophe saw his place as part of a mission to create a social link between villagers who might otherwise spent their time between work, watching TV at home and shopping by car to the nearest supermarket.
He might have been helped in his project by the fact that some of the villagers can afford going out but also see it as part of their lifestyle. For the amateur, Christophe has a few wine bottle from the domain of Garance, belonging to Jean Louis Trintignant, a French actor.
Before leaving Saint Hilaire, Michel prepared for us some coffee resuming the philosophical conversation we had had the day before around finding happiness, managing desire and brain plasticity.
It was the last day of walking before reaching Avignon. Not a fancy one though, whose highlights were passing under a motorway and a high-speed train bridge then traversing a commercial suburb packed with malls (Les Grands Angles) before finally discovering the Rhône valley with its hedges of cypresses to protect fields from the Mistral. We were just a few kilometres away from Avignon.
images:
1/ Tornac and its vineyards
2/ Anduze, next to the clock tower
3/ Russan, the plane trees on the village square
4/ Uzès, view from King's tower
5/ Pont du Gard
6/ Chez Christophe in Saint Hilaire d'Ozilhan
1/ Tornac and its vineyards
2/ Anduze, next to the clock tower
3/ Russan, the plane trees on the village square
4/ Uzès, view from King's tower
5/ Pont du Gard
6/ Chez Christophe in Saint Hilaire d'Ozilhan
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| Anduze, next to the clock tower |
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| Russan, the plane trees on the village square |
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| Uzès, view from King's tower |
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| Pont du Gard |
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| Chez Christophe in Saint Hilaire d'Ozilhan |
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