Sunday, May 31, 2009
Good book, that
Oh, and congratulations to the huggably ecstatic Neil Gaiman for finally winning Audies :)
Lazy day forecast
The washing was hung out just before it became necessary to use sunblock. The sky is perfectly clear and the sunshine reflected from the pale stone walls is so bright that I can't look out of the window without sunglasses.
You can tell exactly how often the parents are feeding the chicks on the terrace now because five chicks make a very loud noise when they see their snack arrive. I'd like to read out there, but the sofa will do just as well. It's certainly not a day for cleaning the kitchen floor, as originally planned.
You can tell exactly how often the parents are feeding the chicks on the terrace now because five chicks make a very loud noise when they see their snack arrive. I'd like to read out there, but the sofa will do just as well. It's certainly not a day for cleaning the kitchen floor, as originally planned.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A hitchhiker's guide to Vitrezay
On the way home from St Dizant, there was a hitch-hiker standing forlornly at the Port Maubert crossroads. I smiled apologetically as I turned left to Grande Motte, and then turned back. There was no other traffic at this time of day, and at least I could offer a lift to Mirambeau or somewhere else on the main road. It turned out that she was heading for a ferry across to the Médoc to meet her family, and she showed me on the map - Vitrezay near St Bonnet which is less than 10 miles away. Another new place! I've seen the car-ferry at Blaye but didn't realise there is a ferry for foot-passengers from Vitrezay.
In the 15 minutes' drive we had a good chat, which was excellent for the French practice, and she was so grateful; but really, I couldn't bear to think of anyone waiting and burning by the side of the empty road.
Vitrezay is like so many of the little creeks, with the assorted boats and a few cars, but it looks more polished and affluent than Port Maubert. It's the starting-point for the estuary cruises: future visitors take note.
In the 15 minutes' drive we had a good chat, which was excellent for the French practice, and she was so grateful; but really, I couldn't bear to think of anyone waiting and burning by the side of the empty road.
Vitrezay is like so many of the little creeks, with the assorted boats and a few cars, but it looks more polished and affluent than Port Maubert. It's the starting-point for the estuary cruises: future visitors take note.
The library
Last Tuesday the librarian phoned to say they would be unexpectedly closed that afternoon because the Bibliobus was coming round to replenish their stocks, but would be open on Saturday morning. It's a very tiny library, and all done by hand, but even so I was startled to get a phone call rather than turning up to find a notice on the door. She asked if there was anything I'd like them to get in - as usual I couldn't remember the word for SF but I suspect there wouldn't be any. I'm exploring some things I wouldn't otherwise, and the historical novels (providing they are well-researched and cite their sources, of course) have been keeping me happy. I read French rather more slowly than English!
This morning I turned up to find that she'd picked out a few books for me. Some of them... well, she's got the science part, but the French equivalent of Quantum Mechanics for Dummies didn't really appeal, though I did take a book about the wisdom of physicists, written in a jokey colloquial style which should be amusing and more useful for the vocabulary than my preferred historical and literary French. However, there were enough interesting books that I've had to leave some for next time. On the way out I noticed an illustrated Dictionnaire des communes de Charente-Maritime which is proving a fascinating source of information and new places to see.
I would really like to lie on the terrace to read, but yesterday we realised that we made the motherbird wary of visiting the nest in the corner and the chicks were clearly very hungry.
Excuse me, there's a baby gecko knocking at the window.
This morning I turned up to find that she'd picked out a few books for me. Some of them... well, she's got the science part, but the French equivalent of Quantum Mechanics for Dummies didn't really appeal, though I did take a book about the wisdom of physicists, written in a jokey colloquial style which should be amusing and more useful for the vocabulary than my preferred historical and literary French. However, there were enough interesting books that I've had to leave some for next time. On the way out I noticed an illustrated Dictionnaire des communes de Charente-Maritime which is proving a fascinating source of information and new places to see.
I would really like to lie on the terrace to read, but yesterday we realised that we made the motherbird wary of visiting the nest in the corner and the chicks were clearly very hungry.
Excuse me, there's a baby gecko knocking at the window.
Meringues in the sunshine and fishing-huts in the sunset
We went to Jonzac and wandered from Les Carmelites to the château, while I pointed out the various possible music venues: Piano Bar, Café 31, Carmelites hall, Theatre Geoffroy Martel. On the way back towards the car we were seduced by the meringues in the window of the little cafe next to the Coq d'Or. When you try them, remember that, light and delicious as they are, they are also the size of a football: one between two of us would have been ample.
In the evening we stopped for a meal at Le Patio on the docks at Mortagne-sur-Gironde. J had an enormous pot of moules, I had steack poivre, and very good they were. There was some excitement at the next table when the bread being thrown to the begging ducks was caught by some huge fish.
After coffee, it was time to experience the marshes by sunset. We drove down the little coast road, past the ruined house with a full-grown tree inside it, and saw hundreds of herons, storks, kestrels, cows, and what I thought was an owl but J reckoned wasn't, as it had curly wingtips.
For the first time, I followed the road all the way and discovered it goes to the water's edge, where one of the small streams meets the estuary. The tide was right in and very high, washing over some bushes, but not as high as the base of the stilted fishing-huts. There was something very atmospheric about the huts in their setting of ruffled water, reminiscent of Daphne du Maurier. Some of the huts and their nets are in good repair, and others have been left to fall down; they range from completely new, through mature (with curtains) to only a skeleton. It looks like a hut-and-net version of The Seven Ages of Man speech from As You Like It.
The sun was sinking into the water, and there was just enough cloud to make patterns of blue and purple in the red. J spent some time collecting photos of huts, sunset, and a wind turbine in the distance (links will be provided when they have been uploaded).
In the evening we stopped for a meal at Le Patio on the docks at Mortagne-sur-Gironde. J had an enormous pot of moules, I had steack poivre, and very good they were. There was some excitement at the next table when the bread being thrown to the begging ducks was caught by some huge fish.
After coffee, it was time to experience the marshes by sunset. We drove down the little coast road, past the ruined house with a full-grown tree inside it, and saw hundreds of herons, storks, kestrels, cows, and what I thought was an owl but J reckoned wasn't, as it had curly wingtips.
For the first time, I followed the road all the way and discovered it goes to the water's edge, where one of the small streams meets the estuary. The tide was right in and very high, washing over some bushes, but not as high as the base of the stilted fishing-huts. There was something very atmospheric about the huts in their setting of ruffled water, reminiscent of Daphne du Maurier. Some of the huts and their nets are in good repair, and others have been left to fall down; they range from completely new, through mature (with curtains) to only a skeleton. It looks like a hut-and-net version of The Seven Ages of Man speech from As You Like It.
The sun was sinking into the water, and there was just enough cloud to make patterns of blue and purple in the red. J spent some time collecting photos of huts, sunset, and a wind turbine in the distance (links will be provided when they have been uploaded).
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Saintes again
One has to take visitors to Saintes.
This time I started with l'Abbaye des Dames, which I've not been into before. Its two churches are as lovely as all the churches round here, and the rest of the buildings form a huge courtyard, a suntrap of pale stone and trees. One building has been renovated and modernised into a small conference centre and restaurant, with 30 bedrooms.
We found the road along the Charente, and over the bridge to the Arch of Germanicus. A brief visit to the museum made of Roman building remnants gave J the opportunity to take some arty photos, and he kindly took some of the piece of aqueduct[0] for me.
Thence to the Atrium tea-shop, as mentioned last year. It's as pretty and decorative as ever, and the cakes as delicious. J took a civilised Earl Grey and I had an adventurous mimosa sirop; the owner brought us some conserve of local angelica to try - it was very good but we didn't buy any. I did, however, buy a teapot. Those who know my taste in crockery might be puzzled that I should buy a white porcelain teapot which has been painted (and pay extra for the decoration!), but it is a gorgeous impressionist effort.
The Amphitheatre was closed, but as you can see most of it from the road it didn't really matter.
[0] Geeks and aqueducts, well, you know.
This time I started with l'Abbaye des Dames, which I've not been into before. Its two churches are as lovely as all the churches round here, and the rest of the buildings form a huge courtyard, a suntrap of pale stone and trees. One building has been renovated and modernised into a small conference centre and restaurant, with 30 bedrooms.
We found the road along the Charente, and over the bridge to the Arch of Germanicus. A brief visit to the museum made of Roman building remnants gave J the opportunity to take some arty photos, and he kindly took some of the piece of aqueduct[0] for me.
Thence to the Atrium tea-shop, as mentioned last year. It's as pretty and decorative as ever, and the cakes as delicious. J took a civilised Earl Grey and I had an adventurous mimosa sirop; the owner brought us some conserve of local angelica to try - it was very good but we didn't buy any. I did, however, buy a teapot. Those who know my taste in crockery might be puzzled that I should buy a white porcelain teapot which has been painted (and pay extra for the decoration!), but it is a gorgeous impressionist effort.
The Amphitheatre was closed, but as you can see most of it from the road it didn't really matter.
[0] Geeks and aqueducts, well, you know.
Tooth-hurty
With a chipped pre-molar, the terror of dentists had to be overcome. I had a choice of making an appointment with the dentist in Norwich for next time back in England, or trying the local one. Ex-pat neighbours had said that the local dentist is so good, they have visitors who get their dental work done while on holiday here, so I was hopeful.
She was excellent. No injection: she said that French dentists don't give anaesthetic for everything, and (probably as a consequence!) learn to work delicately. She does use anaesthetic if necessary, but for preference electronic anaesthesia. Interesting. And she has a water-jet thingy for de-scaling, which is so much quicker and less painful than having it all done by sharp metal sticks.
Oh, and the appointment really was for 14:30.
Don't come too close now, I might bite ;)
She was excellent. No injection: she said that French dentists don't give anaesthetic for everything, and (probably as a consequence!) learn to work delicately. She does use anaesthetic if necessary, but for preference electronic anaesthesia. Interesting. And she has a water-jet thingy for de-scaling, which is so much quicker and less painful than having it all done by sharp metal sticks.
Oh, and the appointment really was for 14:30.
Don't come too close now, I might bite ;)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Question for you, dear Reader
Is it worth an extra 400 euros to have thinner, more expensive insulation on the mezzanine ceiling, so that the beams will still be visible?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Break-ins, bends, and birds
We went to the superette to buy milk and stuff. There was no milk and not much stuff, a smashed alarm and door, and a rather upset Fred. Someone in a white BMW had been seen leaving in a hurry early this morning, presumably with most of the bottled booze from the shop. Tuesday is re-stock day, and Sebastien had spent most of the day at the gendarmerie instead of the wholesaler's.
So we went to Mirambeau and the Super U, bought salad and milk and brekkie pastries, and stopped at the little café for grand chocolat. Much excitement when we came out - a Convoi Exceptionelle was stuck across the road, decorated with pieces of tree. I don't know how they thought the great thing would have been able to get round that bend. We joined an admiring group of spectators for a while and then I realised it was close to my car. Time for a quick exit before they had another go.
As I came into the drive, there were TWO hoopoes standing in my parking place! I quickly turned off the engine, but they were not amused and one flew off. The other stood his ground and watched warily, but eventually he decided the car was harmless and started pecking for ants, and as he toddled around, up went the crest.
So we went to Mirambeau and the Super U, bought salad and milk and brekkie pastries, and stopped at the little café for grand chocolat. Much excitement when we came out - a Convoi Exceptionelle was stuck across the road, decorated with pieces of tree. I don't know how they thought the great thing would have been able to get round that bend. We joined an admiring group of spectators for a while and then I realised it was close to my car. Time for a quick exit before they had another go.
As I came into the drive, there were TWO hoopoes standing in my parking place! I quickly turned off the engine, but they were not amused and one flew off. The other stood his ground and watched warily, but eventually he decided the car was harmless and started pecking for ants, and as he toddled around, up went the crest.
Monday, May 25, 2009
25th May
I have my towel and am wearing the lilac (not real lilac, because the lilac flower is over for the year, and this lilac is special).
Somehow I feel very alone. Not even the Anglos here would know what they are for.
Somehow I feel very alone. Not even the Anglos here would know what they are for.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Broomstick replacement
Broomstick's controller finally expired almost a year ago. As all my money has gone into house renovation (curse the fallen pound), I couldn't replace it. They are much dosh, those wheelchair trike conversions.
Sis#3 decided to start a fund for a replacement as a birthday present. So, with much gratitude to her and those who pledged donations, I announce the ordering of a Viper Broomstick, from a different and more reliable source.
A completely new machine would cost nearly £4,000 including wheelchair and mountainbike wheels, and sadly my friends and family aren't quite that rich. Team Hybrid kindly agreed to make use of any parts of old Broomstick which they can. This means I have to transport old Broomstick to Fareham next month, and collect new Broomstick a few days later, but it will save on the cost, and I'm going to visit $Friend in Eastleigh.
One annoying thing. They can use the battery rack. Now, I had a spare battery rack which I decided to throw away when I moved. You know how it is - you store junk for ages and finally have a clear-out and then next day you need that rare and expensive wossit for the first time in 10 years? Yup. I just checked Broomstick and its battery rack is rusted.
Sis#3 decided to start a fund for a replacement as a birthday present. So, with much gratitude to her and those who pledged donations, I announce the ordering of a Viper Broomstick, from a different and more reliable source.
A completely new machine would cost nearly £4,000 including wheelchair and mountainbike wheels, and sadly my friends and family aren't quite that rich. Team Hybrid kindly agreed to make use of any parts of old Broomstick which they can. This means I have to transport old Broomstick to Fareham next month, and collect new Broomstick a few days later, but it will save on the cost, and I'm going to visit $Friend in Eastleigh.
One annoying thing. They can use the battery rack. Now, I had a spare battery rack which I decided to throw away when I moved. You know how it is - you store junk for ages and finally have a clear-out and then next day you need that rare and expensive wossit for the first time in 10 years? Yup. I just checked Broomstick and its battery rack is rusted.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
From Ernen with love
I didn't write up the drive back from Switzerland, but something just reminded me, so here are very brief notes:
Set off alongside the Rhône. It is something special to see the river near its beginnings at the glacier: so small and fast, but soon it draws in from other sources and becomes wider and eventually majestic.
Admired the windfarm between the mountains which catches the draught that howls down the valley.
Avoiding Swiss motorway, went on the south side of Lake Geneva. Had snack on a cliff over the lake near Évian (later detoured through Vichy in a collect-the-set sort of way).
Frontier, what frontier?
How can they tell it's the Rhône coming out on the west side? Giant poohsticks? Was tempted to continue following it to the Med, but considered things to be done at home and resisted. It may have been the wrong choice, but there should be other times.
Drove through Miéville and he wasn't in. [0]
Napped near Bourg-en-Bresse.
Had a meal in my favourite motorway services and took photos of George Humphrey there.
Saw a castle on the horizon and just had to go down that road. Oh wow. http://www.chateau-la-rochefoucauld.com; sorry to link to such a crappy site but it has some pictures.
[0] This of course was what reminded me - someone mentioned reading one of his books. He was born in Norwich, though.
Set off alongside the Rhône. It is something special to see the river near its beginnings at the glacier: so small and fast, but soon it draws in from other sources and becomes wider and eventually majestic.
Admired the windfarm between the mountains which catches the draught that howls down the valley.
Avoiding Swiss motorway, went on the south side of Lake Geneva. Had snack on a cliff over the lake near Évian (later detoured through Vichy in a collect-the-set sort of way).
Frontier, what frontier?
How can they tell it's the Rhône coming out on the west side? Giant poohsticks? Was tempted to continue following it to the Med, but considered things to be done at home and resisted. It may have been the wrong choice, but there should be other times.
Drove through Miéville and he wasn't in. [0]
Napped near Bourg-en-Bresse.
Had a meal in my favourite motorway services and took photos of George Humphrey there.
Saw a castle on the horizon and just had to go down that road. Oh wow. http://www.chateau-la-rochefoucauld.com; sorry to link to such a crappy site but it has some pictures.
[0] This of course was what reminded me - someone mentioned reading one of his books. He was born in Norwich, though.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Wildlife in da house
There have been Bees. They're a bit of a nuisance when they get upset about the way out being blocked by invisible hard stuff, but a little patience in opening windows and doors and flapping gently at them has usually sorted it. They didn't seem to be originating from inside the house.
This morning a very bouncy old gentleman turned up at the door, introduced himself as Damien's Uncle, and asked to borrow scissors. The bee's nest is in the house opposite; he'd been trying to get them out with no luck, and wanted to cut up some sacking to make smoke. He happily said he'd never done anything with bees before. I asked if he didn't have protective clothing, or at least a mask, and he said funny his wife had said the same thing, but no, he was going to make the attempt without safety.
Apart from the bees and the emerald beetles (found another one in the livingroom yesterday) and the bats, there may be other things upstairs. Last night there were scuffling sounds and a couple of crashes and some muffled snarls. Bats don't do that. I haven't been to look yet. Maybe I'll leave it for M. Moreau the plumber who is starting on the pipework for the shower-room tomorrow.
This morning a very bouncy old gentleman turned up at the door, introduced himself as Damien's Uncle, and asked to borrow scissors. The bee's nest is in the house opposite; he'd been trying to get them out with no luck, and wanted to cut up some sacking to make smoke. He happily said he'd never done anything with bees before. I asked if he didn't have protective clothing, or at least a mask, and he said funny his wife had said the same thing, but no, he was going to make the attempt without safety.
Apart from the bees and the emerald beetles (found another one in the livingroom yesterday) and the bats, there may be other things upstairs. Last night there were scuffling sounds and a couple of crashes and some muffled snarls. Bats don't do that. I haven't been to look yet. Maybe I'll leave it for M. Moreau the plumber who is starting on the pipework for the shower-room tomorrow.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Gardening and livestock
The east side of the garden is purple: rosemary at one end, lilac at the other, and in between passionflower, wisteria, buddleia, and a fluffy purple thing of which I know not the name. Soon it will be swamped by the hollyhocks, though.
We didn't get a late frost so this year the nectarines might survive! This week's storms were electrical rather than gale, and the plants don't mind that, especially as no trees were harmed in the making of those strikes. A huge hailstorm around Cognac has demolished vineyards, but the vineyards here escaped.
I've planted tomatoes, aubergine, peppers, lettuce, basil, parsley, and spinach. The snails are delighted. Shame I don't eat snails. There is a very loud cricket out there, too, which harms only my ears. I threw something at it and it shut up for a while.
The upstairs tenants moved out while the building work was going on. When sister arrived for a visit, she discovered that they were back, and had made two neat loos, one on each side of the mezzanine (sister valiantly cleaned up and spread cardboard). One of them popped downstairs yesterday evening, shrieked "Humans! Humans in the cave!" and flapped back upstairs.
We didn't get a late frost so this year the nectarines might survive! This week's storms were electrical rather than gale, and the plants don't mind that, especially as no trees were harmed in the making of those strikes. A huge hailstorm around Cognac has demolished vineyards, but the vineyards here escaped.
I've planted tomatoes, aubergine, peppers, lettuce, basil, parsley, and spinach. The snails are delighted. Shame I don't eat snails. There is a very loud cricket out there, too, which harms only my ears. I threw something at it and it shut up for a while.
The upstairs tenants moved out while the building work was going on. When sister arrived for a visit, she discovered that they were back, and had made two neat loos, one on each side of the mezzanine (sister valiantly cleaned up and spread cardboard). One of them popped downstairs yesterday evening, shrieked "Humans! Humans in the cave!" and flapped back upstairs.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Ernen singing weekend, not-the-music-report
Having arrived too early in the morning to go straight to the Hotel Alpenblick, I parked by a snowdrift and ate leftovers for breakfast.
I had the same room as in 2007, with a small balcony (and a view similar to the webcam, from slightly uphill) and a window facing the mountain south of Ernen. In a way it was a shame not to spend more time there, but the Music comes first, and exploring the area second, (or possibly third: see section on Dinner). The hotel was closed for the Imboden family's holiday, but they let us stay and provided a buffet breakfast every morning. Plenty of towels but no room-cleaning: and for 3 days, who needs it? No evening meals or bar. This year there were no scurrying sounds in the walls, so they must have got rid of the mice.
The St Georg restaurant took a block booking for the three dinners, so each evening we gathered in their upstairs room. I'd only had coffee and a strawberry pastry there before, so was unprepared for the food. Amazing. Four courses: salad, soup, main, and pudding; each one announced by the waitress, in Swiss Deutsch and English. Apparently the St Georg is famous for its soups, and quite rightly. All the meals included an array of lesser-known vegetables, some of which I don't even know the names for in English, and beautifully presented (the carrot sticks were tied up in little bundles with strands of leek-leaf). Not once did we have off-white potatoes. The second dinner was served with a potato mash coloured by spinach to a beautiful green, and the third dinner had a dollop of purple mash. It tasted like a very good potato, but I couldn't work out what the colouring was, so I asked. They were Real[0] Peruvian Potatoes! The most royal thing I've ever eaten. Friday's pudding was their classic strawberry tart with proper wholemeal pastry and an edible decoration of evening primrose flowers.
It's such a pity they don't have the menus online.
On the last night, the Music Festival organiser gave us a brief talk on the history of the Festival, and his partner who was born and brought up in the town told us some of its history, including the tale of the big wooden carvings of St Georg killing the dragon which hang in the church and outside the restaurant. The carving had belonged to the church (dedicated to St George), and sometime in the sixteenth century (presumably during the Reformation) the church fathers had decided to get rid of it and sold it to the owner of the inn. It hung under the eaves for a long time, while the fortunes and reputation of the inn went from reputable to dire. Eventually, decorated churches came back into fashion; the carving was bought back and a replica made for the inn. On the subject of decorated churches, Ernen church is still the most gaudy I've seen, but even all that gold loses one's attention when the big west doors are opened onto the view sweeping down the valley.
The story of the Festival is mostly on its website. The story of Ernen probably isn't online. After being an important centre in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries it had dwindled to a de-populating mountain village. The music festival made even more contribution than the ski-ing industry to the rehabilitation of the Ernen's buildings and its development into a established tourist venue. It remains small, remote and "unspoilt", but it now has a bus service, bank, post office, and Coop-Migro mini-supermarket, as well as three restaurants.
Because we were singing mass at dreadfully-early-o'clock on Sunday, Monica and Corinna asked what time we would have to check out. It's so inconvenient to have to get ready for something as well as pack, and find somewhere to leave luggage. No problem, Heidi said - they didn't need the rooms until Thursday, so anytime before then! On Sunday morning they left out snacks and drinks (meals before singing are bad) and then we all went back after mass for a proper breakfast, and gradually took leave of each other and Ernen.
I had the same room as in 2007, with a small balcony (and a view similar to the webcam, from slightly uphill) and a window facing the mountain south of Ernen. In a way it was a shame not to spend more time there, but the Music comes first, and exploring the area second, (or possibly third: see section on Dinner). The hotel was closed for the Imboden family's holiday, but they let us stay and provided a buffet breakfast every morning. Plenty of towels but no room-cleaning: and for 3 days, who needs it? No evening meals or bar. This year there were no scurrying sounds in the walls, so they must have got rid of the mice.
The St Georg restaurant took a block booking for the three dinners, so each evening we gathered in their upstairs room. I'd only had coffee and a strawberry pastry there before, so was unprepared for the food. Amazing. Four courses: salad, soup, main, and pudding; each one announced by the waitress, in Swiss Deutsch and English. Apparently the St Georg is famous for its soups, and quite rightly. All the meals included an array of lesser-known vegetables, some of which I don't even know the names for in English, and beautifully presented (the carrot sticks were tied up in little bundles with strands of leek-leaf). Not once did we have off-white potatoes. The second dinner was served with a potato mash coloured by spinach to a beautiful green, and the third dinner had a dollop of purple mash. It tasted like a very good potato, but I couldn't work out what the colouring was, so I asked. They were Real[0] Peruvian Potatoes! The most royal thing I've ever eaten. Friday's pudding was their classic strawberry tart with proper wholemeal pastry and an edible decoration of evening primrose flowers.
It's such a pity they don't have the menus online.
On the last night, the Music Festival organiser gave us a brief talk on the history of the Festival, and his partner who was born and brought up in the town told us some of its history, including the tale of the big wooden carvings of St Georg killing the dragon which hang in the church and outside the restaurant. The carving had belonged to the church (dedicated to St George), and sometime in the sixteenth century (presumably during the Reformation) the church fathers had decided to get rid of it and sold it to the owner of the inn. It hung under the eaves for a long time, while the fortunes and reputation of the inn went from reputable to dire. Eventually, decorated churches came back into fashion; the carving was bought back and a replica made for the inn. On the subject of decorated churches, Ernen church is still the most gaudy I've seen, but even all that gold loses one's attention when the big west doors are opened onto the view sweeping down the valley.
The story of the Festival is mostly on its website. The story of Ernen probably isn't online. After being an important centre in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries it had dwindled to a de-populating mountain village. The music festival made even more contribution than the ski-ing industry to the rehabilitation of the Ernen's buildings and its development into a established tourist venue. It remains small, remote and "unspoilt", but it now has a bus service, bank, post office, and Coop-Migro mini-supermarket, as well as three restaurants.
Because we were singing mass at dreadfully-early-o'clock on Sunday, Monica and Corinna asked what time we would have to check out. It's so inconvenient to have to get ready for something as well as pack, and find somewhere to leave luggage. No problem, Heidi said - they didn't need the rooms until Thursday, so anytime before then! On Sunday morning they left out snacks and drinks (meals before singing are bad) and then we all went back after mass for a proper breakfast, and gradually took leave of each other and Ernen.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Towards the music and snow
It was a very long drive from Lorignac to Ernen, but worth it for seeing a part of France for the first time - Limousin and the Auvergne.
Navigating was curiously easy, as it was obvious which town to look out for next. I stayed off the toll-roads until the A40, which meant only having to get out of the car and walk round to the toll machines twice. Most of the route was major roads, some dual-carriageway, up and down over big hills and through forests.
Tea was taken in the prettiest motorway services in the world: l'aire des Monts de Guéret. It has exhibitions about the wolves, a shop of local products, and information about the local languages, which are both Occitan dialects. I thought of David Chadd's lectures on courtly music and our studentish attempts to read Occitan.
I stopped for a nap in the forest, and then discovered there wasn't a way back on to the dual carriageway, so there was an unscheduled wander around some villages.
The next stop was at a lorry-park on the A40, with the idea of sleeping until it was quiet for getting around Geneva. Being in the mountains, it was so cold! I slept about an hour and woke up shivering and drove on, over huge viaducts and through big tunnels, with the result that I went through the border at 4:30 and there was nobody on duty. Switzerland is in Schengen now and they're as relaxed about land frontiers as the French are. If anyone comes through by road, they've already been checked, no? The only problem with this was that there was no-one to ask about buying a vignette for the motorway, and suddenly one finds oneself on the slip-road with no vignette and no way back. Oh well.
Being so early, it was still dark for the drive around the north side of Lake Geneva, but at least the roads were nearly empty. Sunrise came before I reached the Alps, and I annoyed a few other motorists by driving slowly and looking at the mountain and waterfalls (but only on the dual roads where they could overtake!). Gradually the Valais becomes Wallis (same name, different language) as the road goes along the Rhone valley. It's a very wide valley, and I wondered where the river was, expecting something majestic. Then I noticed the large ditch between the road and the railway...
In Mörel there was a hold-up. Sheep on the road, being chivvied by a collie and a shepherd (a surprisingly gorgeous hunk wearing jeans and sweatshirt), and as daft as sheep are ever, even if they are mountain sheep who look like goats. This trip there was no herd of cows marching along like a funeral band, but there were a few impromptu cowbell concerti in the fields.
The last bit of road is quite terrifying, especially in a RHD car. At least I didn't have to reverse when a lorry came down the mountain; fortunately there was a passing-place just ahead.
Ernen at 8am, with bright sunshine gleaming on the snow.
Navigating was curiously easy, as it was obvious which town to look out for next. I stayed off the toll-roads until the A40, which meant only having to get out of the car and walk round to the toll machines twice. Most of the route was major roads, some dual-carriageway, up and down over big hills and through forests.
Tea was taken in the prettiest motorway services in the world: l'aire des Monts de Guéret. It has exhibitions about the wolves, a shop of local products, and information about the local languages, which are both Occitan dialects. I thought of David Chadd's lectures on courtly music and our studentish attempts to read Occitan.
I stopped for a nap in the forest, and then discovered there wasn't a way back on to the dual carriageway, so there was an unscheduled wander around some villages.
The next stop was at a lorry-park on the A40, with the idea of sleeping until it was quiet for getting around Geneva. Being in the mountains, it was so cold! I slept about an hour and woke up shivering and drove on, over huge viaducts and through big tunnels, with the result that I went through the border at 4:30 and there was nobody on duty. Switzerland is in Schengen now and they're as relaxed about land frontiers as the French are. If anyone comes through by road, they've already been checked, no? The only problem with this was that there was no-one to ask about buying a vignette for the motorway, and suddenly one finds oneself on the slip-road with no vignette and no way back. Oh well.
Being so early, it was still dark for the drive around the north side of Lake Geneva, but at least the roads were nearly empty. Sunrise came before I reached the Alps, and I annoyed a few other motorists by driving slowly and looking at the mountain and waterfalls (but only on the dual roads where they could overtake!). Gradually the Valais becomes Wallis (same name, different language) as the road goes along the Rhone valley. It's a very wide valley, and I wondered where the river was, expecting something majestic. Then I noticed the large ditch between the road and the railway...
In Mörel there was a hold-up. Sheep on the road, being chivvied by a collie and a shepherd (a surprisingly gorgeous hunk wearing jeans and sweatshirt), and as daft as sheep are ever, even if they are mountain sheep who look like goats. This trip there was no herd of cows marching along like a funeral band, but there were a few impromptu cowbell concerti in the fields.
The last bit of road is quite terrifying, especially in a RHD car. At least I didn't have to reverse when a lorry came down the mountain; fortunately there was a passing-place just ahead.
Ernen at 8am, with bright sunshine gleaming on the snow.
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