The Better Late Than Never Post

7/4/07
Today is July 4, but it’s not exactly picnic and barbeque weather where I am. Today Vienna is cold, rainy, and strangely quiet for such a big city. Thus it is a perfect day to write about what I’ve been up to for the last week or so.

Last Thursday, after climbing up the St Nazaire cathedral steps at Beziers and enjoying the dizzying view (later to be paid for with sore thighs), my friend Cathy picked me up and whisked me away to the countryside north of the city in the Herault department. This area combined with the rest of the Languedoc region is the biggest wine-producing region in France, a fact which became very obvious as we drove through rocky hills covered with vineyards. Every few minutes we passed another vigneron offering tastings of their wines and other local products like olives, tapenades, flavor-infused olive oils and vinegars. The area was very green, but more of an olive or sage green – one completely unlike the near iridescent emerald greens of the tropics, and one that reminded me of some of the hilly parts of Arizona.

It didn’t take long for us to reach our destination, Herepian – a village of about 500 located at a crossroads. Its two main streets, one leading to the larger town of Bedarieux and the other to the more picturesque medieval hamlet of Villemagne les Argentiers, meet at a little roundabout by the “new” town square. The spot is marked by a crooked “H” about five feet tall, which is lit up with white fairy lights at night. In Tucson we have “A” Mountain, in Herepian they have the H traffic circle.

Herepian is known mostly – or wants to be known mostly – for its bell foundry, said to produce bells of the clearest tones. There is a museum about it and one can see the foundry in action. At least, that’s what they say – we never did figure out when it was open. Besides that, it is also home to one of the best restaurants in the area, bringing in residents and tourists from all surrounding villages. Its old town square is quite charming, surrounded by four-story homes with rows of window boxes and a small church of an age that is indeterminate but certainly far older than anything one can see in the US. There is a small fountain on the square and another on the main road near the other restaurant, Sergio’s Pizzeria. There are two bakeries, a tobacco shop, a tiny grocery, and a bar called Le Chantier that seems far too large for the five drunks usually in residence. That about covers its amenities.

For about four years now Cathy has been the occasionally proud owner of an 18th century house in the middle of this village, down a side street barely wide enough for one car just a block from the old town square. Because she is only in residence for a short while each year, however, during the rest of the year the spiders take control, and our first task upon our arrival was to de-cobweb and sweep. Surprised, they scurried off to hide in the yet-to-be-renovated basement and attic. Then we aired things out and discovered a leak in the terracotta-tiled roof, which meant we’d have to get in touch with the handyman named Pierre.

It was by then late in the afternoon, and after doing our grocery shopping at Lidl, the Euro Trader Joe’s, it was time for wine and cheese (there was still wine in the cellar, and we bought manchego, some kind of blue, and some kind of Corsican white at the store). For dinner, we went into “town,” Bedarieux, which has an impressive selection of restaurants to choose from: Chinese, pizza, kebab, crepe, pizza, or McDonald’s. We chose a pizza place that was full of French people, which seemed like a good sign, although it also meant that it was full of smoke. It was also full of carved wooden cat models apparently collected by the owner, an aged crazy cat lady with hair dyed too dark a black, which ranged all the way around the place on several shelves. Behind the counter were photos of cats she had known (and one dog). The pizza was good, though, and the chef was from Martinique. He brought us a special homemade chili oil to spice things up.

On day 2 we had to figure out something to do with all that wine and cheese, so we decided to take it on a picnic. Following the Orb river through the hills we made our way to Roquebrun, a village built up the side of one hill. Rafting and canoe trips start here, and we watched some adventure travelers getting suited up from our picnic spot on the pebbly river beach. It was a hot day but pleasant in the shade, though some pinkish looking Brits were instead spending their time baking in the sun. From there we continued our driving tour towards St-Chinian, a region with a wide assortment of nice red wines. A store on the town square functions as a clearing house for all of them, so we stopped in for a tasting. Some are still made by monks! There were even a couple of good whites although the area isn’t known for them. I bought a bottle and would have bought a lot more if I’d had any room in my suitcase.

Back on the road, as we passed through the town of Fontcaude we noticed a sign for a medieval abbey and thought we might as well take a look since we were there. IT ended up being more of a detour than one might have thought, becoming rather comical as we made turn after turn following one sign after another and never seeming to get any closer. Eventually, however, we pulled into a parking lot on a meadow, walked into another tiny village with a tiny square where the town gossips sat around with a little dog who ran up and yapped at us. The abbey itself had been mostly destroyed at the time of the Revolution, but archeologists had turned up a few bits of ancient sculpture, an old bell foundry, coins of various types dating back to Roman times, and an oil mill, and had rebuilt a few walls – not spectacular, but an interesting bit of local history. Apparently there is also a menhir standing in a field out there which one can walk to, but it was hot and we didn’t. We did, however, pull over at the town of Olargues, which, signs told us, was one of the most beautiful in France. It was pretty darn scenic, built from garden plots along the River Jaur upwards to the bell tower that once was part of an 11th-century fortress.

Then it was time to hurry back, for we had reservations at the town restaurant and needed to change for the occasion. It was not cheap but incredibly good and lasted 3 hours or so, in good French style, with an appetizer, main dish (salmon), cheese course, and desert, all accompanied by local wine. And though we were a little overloaded afterwards we were still up for a night on the town. Normally a night on the town would consist of drinking with the drunkards at Le Chantier, but there were bigger things afoot that Friday.

All through the summer, each village puts on a party in its main square for one weekend. Bands are hired, carnival-type games put out, and a bar set up. Teenagers and young families for miles around come in to take advantage of the rare opportunity to have a nightlife – as do your stray tourists, although we seemed to be the only representatives of that group on that night.

The road into the village itself was closed off for the evening, so we left our car near the bridge over the river and walked from there. An ungodly racket was emanating from the water, which turned out to be hundreds of frogs in chorus. And as we passed through the arched and crumbling brick gate or Barbacane, past a urinating man, and into the village proper, a different kind of racket was going on. A racket that sounded strangely like… The Pointer Sisters.

As it turns out, today’s French villager’s favorite type of music is US Top 40 hits of the ‘80s. Later they also did Madonna and Michael Jackson, which was the funniest because the beefy male singer had only moments before been singing in a Barry White deep voice, making the falsetto quite the surprise. On the bright side, they were very good at what they did – the guitarist, bassist, drummer, and synth player all had chops, the singers knew their stuff, and they replicated the recordings nearly exactly. On the minus side, they replicated the recordings nearly exactly. The focus was mostly on fashion, it seemed, as the two female singers and two dancers changed clothes nearly every number from one skimpy 80s outfit to another. Tres amusant.

[I wrote this much a month ago and have had time neither to finish the entry nor to post it. Life has taken some interesting turns. Will try to finish one day soon…]