17. Noël

I was just saying to Madame the other day that so far we’ve seen no reference to the approach of Christmas in any of the shops – no towering displays of marzipan or jars of mincemeat or John Lennon singing “So this is Christmas”.. or Easter eggs in Woolworths. (now - unbelievably - closed for good in the UK I heard)

So imagine my surprise this morning when I heard on the radio the unmistakeable sound of 'Jingle Bells'…! It made me think – well here we are with less than 2 months to go to Christmas and still no Christmas Lights.. The French just don’t have a clue do they.. (irony!) I would guarantee that, for the last few weeks, supermarkets back home will already have been fully set up with dedicated aisles for such traditional English Christmas essentials as German Stollen bread, French marzipan, Belgian chocolates, Turkish delight, Italian panettone cakes and the like (we contribute the spuds!).. and deep freezes full of turkeys the size of small boulders..

One afternoon we went into Bayonne to a “Depôt Vente”. This is where you can take things to sell – mainly furniture.. The Depôt Vente sets the price and then takes a percentage of the proceeds. We went there looking to see what they had in the way of armoires. There were some in stock and while they were certainly cheaper than we’d seen in antique shops, it was fairly clear why. I think these are the kind of places that you need to drop in every week to see the new stock as it arrives - except that, like stuffing mushrooms, life is just too short for some things.

After this, it was starting to feel like evening so we came back. Madame had bought some chestnuts so we had these roasted with a cup of tea (living dangerously!).

For the French holiday on 1st November, we planned on going to Les Aldudes - a village buried in the Basque mountain country that straddles the entrance of a valley that, while it runs deep into Spain, is still French. The valley's chief claim to fame is that it produces arguably the best Jambon de Bayonne in the area. And, of course, many of the other products that the Basque cuisine is famous for.

There is a saying that some lofty Parisian food critics are fond of quoting that the only implement needed in a kitchen in the South West is - a tin opener! While this was meant as a clever put-down, nevertheless I think it does hit on a truth. Much of the great products of the South West can be preserved.. Think of confit de canard, foie gras, haricot beans in graisse d’oie (goose fat), rillettes, cassoulet and pipérade (though personally I have some doubts about this last one) et al... There isn't much that can't be put in a can or a jar - but it's none the worse for that. It's possible to buy all these products via mail order too!

Post visit report: Well, we had a great day out today high up in the Pyrenees.. First of all, the weather was supposed to be 3C in the morning warming up to 12C in the afternoon. Anyway, we set off and as we climbed up and up the skies cleared and we were gradually able to see the start of the high Pyrenees in the distance – the mountains near us were only about 2-3,000‘ high – further east, I think they go up to about 9,000’ or even higher. As we climbed, the full extent of the Pyrenees started to unfold in front of us.. and just when we thought we’d seen one high mountain, in the distance behind it, we’d see another even higher one - and in the blue misty distance behind that one, another one..

Les Aldudes

.. and yet another one beyond that. And all the time, the valley sides were getting steeper and steeper as we wound our way ever-upwards.. It was difficult to keep one eye on the driving with all this magnificent mountain scenery around us and at one moment, I thought I saw the pale outline of a snow-covered white peak that was higher than the rest, way way off in the distance and I thought, surely not, a snow covered peak so early in the season but on the regional news when we returned home they featured it too. First snow of the year in the Pyrenees..

Stirring mountain scenery and it was difficult to keep my eyes on the road as the country opened up before us. We ran up the valley on an old single track smuggler’s road that climbed up towards Spain and near the top we pulled over to eat our lunch.. I opened my window and looked out across the expanse of a great deep valley – white farmhouses with red roofs were dotted across the valley floor. It was through rugged border country like this that the men and women of the wartime Comet Line (organised by 24 year old Andrée De Jongh, a brave Belgian woman) famously helped Allied airmen to escape down from the Low Countries, through the occupied zone in France, across the Pyrenees into neutral Spain and home via British-controlled Gibraltar. In fact, in Sare, a Basque village close to the border, I recently discovered a newly placed memorial (below) to Victor Ithurria, a highly decorated and legendary figure who served in the SAS with great distinction during WWII before being killed on 25th August 1944..

I saw some large birds flying around in circles and I realised I was watching vultures (griffon vultures..) circling around in the air currents.. As I watched, I saw one furl its wings and dive down to the ground, followed by another, and another. Soon, there must have been 20-30 of them down there. Whatever was down there under a tree was getting a good pecking. Another British pensioner who won’t stop for a snooze after lunch again! We first saw them here a few years ago when we were up high in the mountains.. I remember thinking at the time, if I didn’t know better I’d swear they were vultures. When we got back to the hotel, they told us that, yes, there were quite a few vultures up in the hills.. Certainly makes you think twice about falling asleep in the sun after a good lunch..

We next came to a small village, ie, about 5 houses together, and one of them was a hotel with a restaurant. Out of interest we stopped to look at the lunch menu… it was £8 for a 4 course lunch…! (these are 1960 prices!) Next time we go up there, we might just try it. Anyway, we continued higher up the valley and soon we came to the border. There was no border as such – just a garage and a smoky café.. (smoking still being allowed indoors in Spain)

The countryside looked spectacularly good in its burnt copper autumn colours under a cloudless deep blue sky. After this, we went to St Jean Pied de Port. This is a very old town in the heart of the Pyrenees where Madame’s father’s family originated.

It’s on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. People still come from all over the world to walk the route. It was getting really warm now and after blocking various pavements for a while we found a tea shop and sat outside in the sun. Madame couldn’t believe that she was still wearing her sunglasses on 1st November..!

Main street of St Jean Pied de Port

Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port

At the moment, there’s still that holiday feel to life down here because we’re still "camping out" in the gîte with a minimum of our belongings. I just have the one English book and that’s “Out of Africa” - which I’ve read twice since we’ve been here - as all our books are in storage. As a compulsive reader, forgetting to pack a box of books in the van was a major mistake.

This is "Tarantella" by Hilaire Belloc.. (try reading it aloud)

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda?

Do you remember an Inn?

And the tedding and the spreading

Of the straw for a bedding,

And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,

And the wine that tasted of tar?

And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers

(Under the vine of the dark veranda?)

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,

Do you remember an Inn?

And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers

Who hadn't got a penny,

And who weren't paying any,

And the hammer at the doors and the Din?

And the Hip! Hop! Hap! of the clap

Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl

Of the girl gone chancing, glancing, dancing,

Backing and advancing,

Snapping of a clapper to the spin

Out and in

And the Ting, Tong, Tang of the Guitar.

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda?

Do you remember an Inn?

There is another verse but I like this one.

16. Sunday lunch again

Anyway, it’s Sunday again and there’s not a cloud in the sky. I could get used to this! We’re off to the restaurant in 'our' village again for lunch. After that, we’ll probably lurch down to Saint-Jean-de-Luz or to Biarritz for a waddle along the sea front.

The nice thing about houses like the one we’re in is that in the morning, you can open the windows, push back and clip the shutters in place - then leave the windows wide open to air the room properly. I think that’s why so many people in England suffer from asthma – the houses don’t get properly aired. They live behind their double glazing with the central heating on and the windows never get opened. Consequently, the bedrooms are full of microscopic dust from skin flakes etc..

Another rant over!

 Later that day - had an excellent lunch at the restaurant – we hadn’t booked so we had a different table.. They had a new menu for Autumn – the starters were either frogs legs or an Autumn salad which was a cold collation: 2 major slices of Bayonne ham, their own paté, warm foie gras, salad, asparagus tips, gherkins, hot bacon. Madame chose the frogs legs while I had the salad.. After that, the choices for the main course were either: civet of hare, wild boar, a brochette of fillet of venison or a wood pigeon. Madame had the wild boar and I had the venison. I was feeling a bit stuffed after the starter because the foie gras was about the size of a horse’s ear.. and it had been quick fried and was delicious beyond words.. plus all the ham… To be honest widger, I could have stopped there with just the starter.. but I was eating for Britain..

Madame’s wild boar came with steamed waxy yellow potatoes and a little stack of creamed chestnuts.. My venison was on a big skewer interleaved with bacon and mushrooms and had a pile of chips with it (finger wagging time!)… Both were delicious – my venison was red in the middle and tender. So tasty.. Madame’s was the same… All this slid down accompanied by some Madiran, the local red (aka the world's healthiest red wine).. After that, there was a sorbet with something alcoholic poured over it. After this I had a coffee – well, I was driving! How much was that lot I hear you ask..? £18 each..

Scientists have found a correlation between the greater health & longevity enjoyed by men in this region of France (compared to the rest of France) and the consumption of the local red Madiran wine.. Something for the ladies: dark chocolate is also mentioned. For more information, here's the link that claims Madiran has significant health benefits. Dark chocolate and red wine eh? Could be a lot worse!

We had a walk around the village to try and walk some of it off – it was very warm. I’d left the gîte in a padded jacket and a sweater over my shirt but I left these in the car and just had my shirt on.. in late October as well. Not a cloud in the sky and the village looked wonderful.. the mountains were purple in the sunlight.. Think the thermometer outside the Pharmacy said 18C but that was a shade temperature. I think it was nearer 22 in the sun.

After this we went to Biarritz to have a walk along the front.. There was a surf competition on – French National Championships – and there were quite a few people down there watching the big rollers sweeping in.. There were quite a few Brits there with it being half term. We sat and watched the surfers for a while too before heading for home..

Surfing the Belharra reef

For more hard core surfers (well-insured ones with a death wish), there's always the monster waves at the Belharra Reef for those brave enough to try - just to the south of St Jean de Luz.. If this picture (and no, it's not been Photoshopped!) doesn't put you off, then you probably need to watch the truly scary video..

In this next beautifully filmed clip, the monster waves above are shown forming over the Belharra reef (turn the sound up!) :

And so ends another week.. I could get used to this.. (there's an echo in here!) What am I saying...? I am getting used to this..!! Living healthily is fairly easy down here - the tricky part is remembering where I left the corkscrew..

15. Antiques and another thick head..

We had a very pleasant day out a couple of weekends ago. We set off just after 9am to go to Pau (looking for an old armoire – or wardrobe). We took the motorway and soon ran into morning mist but as we neared Pau it lifted. The countryside looked beautiful and once again I regretted not having a camera to hand. As we went over the top of one hill, the landscape ahead was hidden in low early morning mist with the tree tops standing clear in the sunlight. The folds in the landscape looked like an endless procession of blue waves rolling towards us… they receded and faded into a blue haze with telephone wires gleaming silver in the morning sun. Magic.

Pau is one of those places that had its heyday back in the twenties and thirties when, before the advent of civil aviation, the rich used to rumble down there in their Bentleys or Hispano-Suizas for the winter sun. Pau also used to host a Grand Prix that was run around the streets of the town back in the era of the state-funded German works teams – Mercedes Benz and Auto Union – in the thirties. It's hard to believe that the Pau's narrow streets once echoed to the shriek of these supercharged Art Deco symbols of Nazi Germany - but they did. I firmly believe that this was the Golden Era of motor racing when Europe's top drivers struggled to keep these powerful monsters on the track - and all without any of the driver aids that today's F1 drivers are used to. Traction control was called the accelerator in those days - and 'downforce' was provided by the car's weight! The prodigious power of these cars pushed the tyres of the day to their limits.

Looking south from Pau

It had this “lost in time” feel. The road into the town centre took us through some fairly run-down areas but once we’d parked, we found our way to the old town and there the picture changed markedly.

Place Royale

The town is built on the edge of a flat-topped hill that looks south with a splendid panoramic view of the Pyrenees. Naturally enough, the chic part of Pau is on this side.. and there were some lovely old buildings and stylish apartment blocks here as well plus an old restored castle that had formerly been occupied by Henry IV. The style of building in Pau is totally different to that in the Basque country – no big white houses with overhanging roofs – here, the roofs were more steeply pitched with flat tiles - as opposed to the pantiles that are the norm on and near the coast. Henry IV was the king who, according to legend, promised to put a chicken in every pot. We found the Place Royale (above), a square that couldn’t have been in any other country but France. It was bordered by elegant old apartment buildings in pale stone, all with shuttered windows and the square itself was lined with clipped trees in rows that surrounded a raked light gravel centre with a statue of King Henry IV. In one of life's strange intersections of history, Mary Todd Lincoln, the widow of the assassinated US president Abraham Lincoln, lived in this square for a few years (believed to be from 1876 to 1880). 

After a light lunch we wandered through the square to a viewpoint looking south. The flower borders were full of colourful flowers (chrysanthemums according to Madame) and there were palm trees all around. There was a free funicular railway that ran hordes of pensioners (ie, people over 60)(like me) down to the bottom and back if they felt in need of more excitement than could be found in a cup of hot chocolate.. We wandered along the edge of the hill in the warm sunshine till we found a card shop. After we’d bought some cards we just sat in the sun and soaked up the sunshine.

We had a look in a few antique shops for armoires but they wanted crazy money for them. As luck would have it, there happened to be an antique fair on that very weekend – and free admittance.. There were some OK armoires there but they weren’t sufficiently well made to prise any excess funds from the vaults…

One last thing we noticed was an English estate agent had set up here with all the adverts in the window in English and French.

By this time we’d had enough excitement (!) for one day and so we set off for home. As it was the end of the month we went downstairs to pay Mme D the rent for the month and she invited us down for a drink.. (Uh-oh!)

She put out some ham on crusty bread for us while M’sieur D took hold of the whisky bottle in a firm grip. Can he pour them…! I think I had 2 of his US Marine Corps-size whiskies (equivalent to a Jereboam!). Mme D said that the ham came from her own pigs. In fact, I’d heard the odd grunting from a sty and she confirmed that they kept 2 pigs at the moment. They’re both over 200kgs each (about 450lbs or so) and they’re both due for the chop in a month… At this point Monsieur D went into graphic detail about how the job would be done. Suffice to say, it takes them about 3 days to fully finish butchering the animals. The annual killing of the pig is embedded in Basque tradition. Neighbours combine to help each other in the cold winter months and turn the day into a festive celebration. With a few drinks of course. (Pictures here - warning: many are gory)

He said that each ham (ie, leg) weighs in at around 22 kgs or almost 50lbs.. They salt the legs to turn them into ham, the blood is used to make black pudding, they make sausages from the head and… well, you don’t want me to go on, do you..?! But they use everything except the squeal.. It does sound a bit cruel to us townies but it's the harsh reality of farm living. It happens every day at an abattoir near you – except there, the numbers are measured in hundreds or thousands.

14. Of oysters and folklore..

Another day we decided to go to "Les Halles", the food market in Bayonne on the banks of the Nive; however, when we arrived there, we found ourselves in an area we hadn’t been to before and there were quite a few cafes with tables outside built on to the market that were serving seafood and oysters. Lots of people were sat out quaffing oysters and white wine so we sat at a table in the sunshine.

Covered market (Halles de Bayonne), Bayonne

They had a good little menu – they were offering half a dozen oysters and a glass of white for 7.20€ - that’s about £4.95 - so we had a dozen oysters between us. But only 3 worked…! (Sid James laugh!) They were No 3s.. & slightly larger than the No 4s that we normally have – they were bigger and deeper – and after four, Madame had had enough. I always find with oysters that, after I’ve had a few, my imagination starts to take over and I start thinking about what I’m putting in my mouth. It’s fatal to look too closely at them…! I just managed to finish off the rest - in line with the time honoured family motto – “Operor non licentia quisquam in vestri patella vos ingratus parum uredo” - which roughly translates as “Don’t leave anything on your plate, you ungrateful little bleeder  blighter”! After the oysters we had some local paté, with crusty bread and a salad.

Following this bijou snackette, we drove to Hasparren, which is another typical Basque village about 10-15 miles from where we are. When we arrived there at 3pm, it seemed like the whole village had turned out in black for a funeral in the big church that dominated the centre.

The clock struck three and then the bells started a funereal tolling… and those words by John Donne sprung to mind - “No man is an island, entire of itself... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” This quote has always had a resonance with me for some reason. Wish I could remember the entire thing. There wasn’t much going on in Hasparren (what with the entire village being at the funeral) so after looking around, we headed for home.

One Sunday, we went to a festival in Bernadette & Philippe's village when they bring all the pottoks (wild horses) down from the mountains for the winter and run them through the streets. It was a huge all day event with all kinds of folklorique things going on. The previous weekend we'd been at the restaurant when they'd asked us if we were going to be going be there for lunch on the following Sunday because apparently the village always gets invaded by hordes of beret-toting Basques (and we’d have to book early) and the festival goes on all day and night. They advised us to get there by 9am just to be able to park…! All the restaurants serve the same menu that day – and all we knew was that it was going to be based on apples.

Mme D gave us another 6 fresh eggs plus some more of her fresh sweet green peppers that she grows. Madame made one of her award-winning “6 egger” omelettes (cries of “You’ll be egg-bound!” or “You’ll get boils!” from the wings) with the green peppers in - which we eased down with some very inky red wine from Cahors – which we'd found somewhere at ~£2 a bottle.

Another Sunday morning came – and what was special about this one was the Sunday morning hunting… It sounded like November 5th as I walked up the hill with the dog… there were single bangs, double bangs in quick succession and then what sounded like a bad night in Baghdad as local hunters attempted to blow the wings off a sparrow or summat using what sounded like a belt-fed mortar.. The bangs were coming from all around and ranged from the deafeningly near to the barely audible..

We arrived at 'our' village on the Sunday just as they were diverting traffic around it because they were expecting big crowds.. We started off in the bar in the restaurant where we had a coffee and a croissant – although others were already into the armagnac - at 9am..

In the field next to the restaurant a marquee had been set up and filled with benches and tables where the feeding of the 5,000 was going to take place later on. They had all the local varieties of cattle and sheep in pens and many of the people were in traditional costume. Some real Basque faces there. There were drums and fifes going off all over the place. While we were waiting for the thunder of hooves, there were a few demonstrations of Basque country dancing and you could see parallels with some English country dancing. There was one where they danced with sticks – a bit like Morris dancing but minus the sheer entertainment value.

One troupe looked really weird.. They had conical hats on their heads that must have been 3 feet high, a shaggy sheepskin top with 2 enormous cow bells tied behind their backs and they adopted a funny high-stepping walk in order to make these bells clang with each step.. (and I’ve missed out a lot of detail here). Edited to add: I've since found out that they are called "Bellringers" or Joaldunak in Basque:

This really has the look of a unique culture that owes nothing at all to the rest of western Europe..

Pottoks

Then a few horsemen and –women came galloping down the hill, followed by a number of horsemen from the Camargue area of France. They were using saddles that looked like they'd originated in the Middle Ages – these had the high backs and fronts like the knights of old used to have. They were dressed in dark suits, they were all moustachioed and all wore low crowned, wide brimmed black trilbies.. Who was the spiv in "Dad’s Army"..? Private Walker - yes, him! They all looked like him.. “Spivs on Horseback!” Then about a couple of hundred horses came galloping down the narrow lane – it was quite a sight.. After that, we went for a walk around the village as we’d been standing in one spot for too long. Jumpy leg!

When we got back, it was time to ease our way into the restaurant for lunch. It was fully booked, inside and out. Luckily, they’d reserved us a table outside on the terrace but thankfully in the shade as it was very hot by this stage. They gave us a strong cider with something added to it which knocked us out.. phew! People were being turned away in droves. Because of the numbers, all the restaurants in the village were serving the same meal – local lamb. While we were having lunch we could hear the presentation of prizes over the tannoy and the big prizes were given away by Michelle Alliot-Marie. We saw her in Biarritz years ago when she was the mayor there and I remember thinking at the time that she had star quality and that she’d go far. She’s now the Minister for the Interior* (equivalent to the Home Secretary in the UK). I was amazed that she’d turn up to a small place like 'our' village.. She’s a local though and has family in the area. We were told that when they had bad flooding and landslides in and around the village in 2006 that she was there in three hours and she mobilised all the government aid and support. Think she’s on the ball. After she’d finished she walked by us accompanied by a couple of heavies.


Ainhoa

After this we went to Ainhoa (above), a beautiful village on the border, and from there across into Spain to fill up the car with diesel. After this, we came back into France and stopped in a small oak forest where we put the travel rug down in the shade of a big tree and we fell asleep for a while in the heat. The dog was the first one to start snoring, closely followed by – well, I’ll let you guess!

Saint-Jean-de-Luz

After this we went to Saint-Jean-de-Luz to walk some of the lunch off along the front. Finding a space was hard – it was almost like summer – and we ended up parking just behind the front in a shady avenue with some great houses but, knowing what we know now, the prices would be telephone numbers. We trolled along the front until we found a spot with some shade – it was very hot with not a cloud in the sky. Big waves were rolling in and there were a few jet-skis out surfing the big waves. Fun to watch. We stayed there for quite a while eventually coming back at about 7pm.

* At the time of writing (Sept 2009) MAM - as she's known here - is the Minister of Justice.