Probably the most
sensational and thrilling thing that happened today, happened first
thing in the morning. Fresh bread, butter and jam for breakfast. It
was ambrosial, like a rapturous, fantastical encounter with a
delicious memory long thought forgotten. I couldn’t have been
happier, shame our coffee was crap, but there is only so much
pleasure a human mind can cope with at once. I guess I should have
been grateful I wasn’t spazzing out on the stone floor, after my
brain was overloaded by such arresting tastes.
So after that mind
blowing opener to the day, we capitulating to our unfulfilled
obsession, and headed to Siassac, again, to see if we could get a
decent picture of the castle, again, but of course we couldn’t, the
light just wasn’t right, again. After that, it was on to Montolieu
to get a picture of the village from the bridge, which was OK but,
using our commanding solar and meteorological mastery, and an app
I’ve got on my phone, it looked as if the light would be at its
best in the evening. We would return.
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| Montolieu in the morning light |
Made our way to Marsellete to see if we could get a decent picture of the Canal du Midi, there are some beautiful stretches along this man made, tree lined waterway and we were hoping to get some decent shots in the bag. Unfortunately this wasn’t one of those stretches, looked a bit scrappy and not really the ticket at all. So we followed any roads or tracks we could see on the map that would take us to the canal, but they either stopped before the canal was reached or they led to farms, or they led us to wild staring old women who glared menacingly (as if there can be any other way of glaring) at us until we retreated in trembling silence. So we gave up in the end, but on the plus side, I did find a suitably barren stretch of road to enable me to use the facilities i.e. a tree.
We soon found ourselves
in more urban surrounds as we rolled into Olonzac, the capital of the
Minervois region, in search of coffee and perchance a tarte au pomme or two. The first
boulangerie we found was closed, as is often the way, but we saw
signs for another one and like a flash, Sarah was off. The
procurement of a tarte au pomme had been somewhat of a desire for
Sarah since we got to France, well to be honest it was an all
consumptive mania, bordering on lunacy. Something to do with her not
being able to find one the last time she was in France and never
really getting over it. But, after four fruitless days, (fruitless
heh heh) she was on the threshold of fulfilling a strange and
slightly skewed dream as we stepped into the welcoming arms of the
Boulanger, and she presented us with two perfectly formed apple
pastries. Euphoric derangement hardly described the atmosphere as
Sarah tore frenziedly at the hapless tart, like a modern age Jack the
Ripper indulging in an orgy of fruity mayhem. Bystanders stopped in
fascination and fear as pommes were shamelessly gorged upon, and
pastry was wantonly ripped asunder. I myself had to engage in flaky,
sticky hand to hand combat to fend her off from the remainder of
mine, such was the power of the patisserie fuelled madness that had
enveloped her.
Thankfully though, with
her need for apple delicacies sated, we got on with our day in as
normal a manner as possible. So after stopping for a coffee in an all
day bar whose patrons made me think of a town centre Wetherspoons, we
jumped in the car and drove to Narbonne.
This medium sized town
is situated near the east coast of Languedoc and is a fairly lively
place, compared with what we’re used to of course. We drove into
town looking at some of the attractive buildings on the way, then we
drove around looking for a parking space, and at the attractive
buildings as we went, then we drove around trying to extricate
ourselves from the one way systems in place, whilst looking for a
parking space and at the attractive buildings, albeit the same
attractive buildings we had seen many times before. By this time we
thought we had seen enough of Narbonne, so we promptly headed off.
Quite possibly the
shortest visit anyone had paid to Narbonne with a view to seeing the
sites but we felt we’d covered all the bases. So we pointed our
roaring steed towards the Abbaye de Fontfroide and lurched into the
distance.
We arrived at the car
park and strolled towards the entrance, as we perused the information
board we realised they had rather optimistically priced it at 12
Euros per person to get in. So we had a good look at the photograph
of it and then left. It seems we were engaging in some kind of drive
through tourism, where every historic or cultural feature of an area
is only superficially absorbed via the window of a car, just so the
passengers can tick it off a list before pressing their pale,
gelatinous faces against the glass in preparation for the next item
to roll past their apathetic gaze.
I think it’s the way
forward to be honest, and I hope the research we carried out that day
helps bring this idea to fruition.
Next up was Lagrasse, which is a lovely
medieval town nestled in the foothills of the Pyrenees in the valley
of the river Orbieu. So once again, in the baking heat, I believe it
was even hotter than the day before, we made our way through the
village, stopping at the Abbaye St Marie d'Orbieu, which is still a
working abbey, with its inhabitants strolling through the well
manicured grounds in their flowing white robes, contemplating this
and that. We walked through La Porte de L'eau, or Door of Water, one
of the ancient city gates. this one, rather aptly enough, led down to
the river. And onwards through the old streets and to various
viewpoints, before sitting down for another ice cream, it was that
kind of day.
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| La Porte de L'eau or Door of Water |
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| A closed down Boulangerie |
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| Abbaye St Marie d'Orbieu |
After that we drove
past Lagrasse on an elevated road which gave us great views of the
village with its old abbey ruins and 13th century bridge,
plus a rather picturesque windmill behind us.
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| Lagrasse from above |
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| A sail-less moulin overlooking Lagrasse |
On the way back, we
stopped in Chateau Villerouge Termenes a picture perfect
castle with the village arranged right against its walls. By this
time is was getting late so the place was closed, but we walked
through the deserted streets in the quiet evening light, next to the
trickling streams and ancient bridges feeling very peaceful. We read
that the castle itself was actually inhabited up until the ’80, the
1980’s. People had created their apartments in the building. Which
seems kind of odd, but when you think about it, these structures were
built as places to live, albeit, very secure and grand ones, just
that now days they are only thought of as empty relics of the past,
rather than effective shelter. But of course when the place was
classed as a historical monument and opened to the public, it was
probably thought unseemly for visitors to have to pick their way
through peoples living rooms. All this contemplation came to end
however when large group of French OAP’s turned up and became loud
and excitable, so we left.
Stopped in Montolieu
for those late evening pictures, and we were right about the light
being better, then, and I hardly even need say it, we alighted in
Saissac for another round of shutter action, but it still wasn’t
great so I think we’ll give up on that one.
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| Montolieu in the evening light |
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| Saissac - a very familiar view to us |
We decided to head back
to the gite and take a shower before getting something to eat in the
local café, as we knew they served late, and it would be so good to
sit down to eat and not feel sticky and grubby from sweat and sun
cream. So after freshening up we headed over to grab a table, only to
be told the kitchen had closed, I had visions of a dinner consisting
of stale bread, which I didn’t find appetising, even with the
addition of our newly acquired condiments. We made do with a glass of
wine each, to offset the forthcoming dreariness, but our crestfallen
appearance obviously touched the proprietor in no small way, as she
offered us some salad and mixed meat platters as recompense, which we
readily accepted. And not since that spine chillingly diabolical
incident earlier with the tarte au pomme, has food been consumed with
such gusto.
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