72. Villa Voisin

17th July 2010. I mentioned in an earlier post that I've become increasingly interested in the Comet Line since I found out that its operations in the South West of France were controlled from a house just a few minutes from here.

Dédée

The Comet Line was a secret network established during WWII by Andrée De Jongh ("Dédée" or the Little Cyclone), a brave 24 year old Belgian woman, with the aim of helping shot-down Allied airmen to escape and evade from the Low countries down through France, over the Pyrenees to Spain and hence to return to Britain via Gibraltar or Lisbon. The activities of the Comet Line in the Pays Basque were co-ordinated by an indefatigable Belgian lady - Elvire De Greef - known as "Tante Go".

"Tante Go"

She and her husband Fernand lived in nearby Anglet in a house known as the Villa Voisin. In researching the Pays Basque end of the Comet Line, I finally managed to pinpoint the address of the Villa Voisin and I drove there today. By the way, my comments on the Comet Line are not intended as an exhaustive account of the activities in this area by any means. I'm aware that in naming names that there are many others who remain un-named. My admiration for all those who helped is unbounded and without reservation.

Villa Voisin

The Villa Voisin* is located at the end of a discreet cul-de-sac in the centre of Anglet, set back from the lane. It's an anonymous, drab villa hiding behind closed shutters and and surrounded by a small garden. It appears to be unoccupied at present. Affixed to one of the gateposts is a simple marble plaque (left). It was with mixed emotions that I finally found myself outside it. Those immensely courageous people who'd operated the Line from it had known the highs and lows of a secret life on the run against a ruthless enemy - the need for eternal vigilance, the constant fear of the heavy tramp of boots outside that preceded a late night hammering at the door. Counter-balancing that however, they'd shared the adrenalin-fuelled comradeship, the knowledge that they were fighting for a better world and the satisfaction of knowing that they were both defying the invader and contributing to his defeat by helping hundreds of escaping airmen to evade capture and return home to fly again. In the four years it oper­ated from 1941 to 1944, the Comet Line saved hundreds of Allied airmen and soldiers to evade capture and return home. It's difficult for us today to imagine the kind of world that made the Comet Line necessary.

* (Edited to add: Sadly, the Villa Voisin was demolished not long after I wrote this)  

Looking at the house, I found myself wishing that I'd known Dédée and "Tante Go". Christened the Little Cyclone by her father, by all accounts Dédée was clearly someone very special indeed - possessed of an inner fire and an unquenchable determination to "make a difference". Knowing that hundreds and thousands of Allied airmen were going out over occupied Europe night after night in their bombers to destroy the Third Reich that had occupied her country, she'd felt compelled to join the fight and to take the same risk as them (many would say an even greater risk) in playing her part in ridding Europe of the scourge of tyranny. After having made 37 crossings of the Pyrenees with her precious cargo of airmen, she was captured in January 1943 as a result of a betrayal, interrogated by the Gestapo when, in a gallant bid to save her fellow Comet members, she admitted to her disbelieving questioners that she was indeed the central controller and organiser of the entire network. She was later deported to Ravensbrück and later the appalling Mauthausen where she somehow managed to survive for two years until the Liberation.

After the war, she was awarded the George Medal (scroll down the link) by King George VI following which she moved to the pre-independence Belgian Congo, then to Cameroon, next to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, working in leper hospitals and finally to Senegal. In failing health, she eventually retired to Brussels where she died on 13th October 2007 aged 90.

Florentino

The Basque guide who led parties of airmen across the mountains for the Comet Line was the legendary Florentino Goicoechea (above). By profession he was a smuggler (alleged to have been wanted by the authorities on both sides of the border!) and, when awarded the King's Medal, he was described as being 'in the import and export business'! He looks like someone you'd want on your side in a tight corner. Here he is again in 1965:

I'm no great believer in medals, awards or citations, but if medals are to be awarded, I think we should make sure the right ones are given. Dédée and "Tante Go" (and others) received the George Medal (right). I would have said that the Victoria Cross, Britain's highest award for gallantry, would have been more appropriate, given their achievements and the risks they took. After all, they chose to involve themselves, to risk their lives. They could have just kept their heads down and carried on with life and no-one would have been any the wiser. Theirs was not a courage born of the heat of battle and over in a flash but rather it was a cold courage that was measured, a solitary courage, aware of all the terrible risks they were taking (no Geneva Convention or prisoner of war camps for them) and yet they continued the fight for years. I know the VC is intended for military personnel only but who would argue that they were not involved in a military undertaking. I would have made an exception in their case and I firmly believe that all three (and others) fully merited the VC. 

Another safe house was provided by Jean and Marthe Dassié, a family of activists in Bayonne. Their 16 year old daughter Lucienne ("Lulu") was also involved and, after being captured with her parents in 1943, she and her mother spent 2 years in Ravensbruck, a name that still sounds fearful today. Her father Jean survived the horrors of Buchenwald only to die aged 50 within days of being reunited with his family in May 1945. Here are a few lines by Kipling written after the Great War but they apply equally here.

They are too near to be great,

But our children shall understand.

When and how our fate was changed

And by whose hand.

                                                                                                           Kipling        

The "Trois Couronnes"

I'm planning to participate in a 3 day "March over the Mountains", around the distinctive Trois Couronnes (above) and down into Spain, that will take place in September to commemorate the south western Comet Line. The route will re-trace exactly the path taken by Dédée and Florentino and the escapers from Urrugne in France to Renteria in Spain. Now in her eighties, "Lulu" telephoned a couple of days ago to provide some information about the event. It will be a great honour to meet her.

Here's Le Chant des Partisans - (the Partisans song) - which leaves listeners in no doubt as to the views of the occupied population:

  

21st July 2010. Let's enjoy a happier mood now with the Buena Vista Social Club playing Chan Chan live in Amsterdam:

To finish up with, here to take you home is Ry Cooder & The Moula Banda Rhythm Aces with Maria Elena:

71. Summer music

11th July 2010. The telltale signs that the Fêtes de Bayonne is approaching are starting to become visible around town.. Council workmen are erecting barriers on central reservations and roundabouts to stop parking; big signs have appeared warning the unwary that the centre of town will be closed to traffic; in the Place des Basques, barriers have been installed to enforce orderly bus queueing (dream on!). What is the Fêtes de Bayonne, I hear you ask..? Imagine a cultural spectrum with say, a Welsh Eisteddfod at one end and the San Fermin festival at Pamplona at the other.. The Fêtes de Bayonne lies somewhere between the two.. Normally, Bayonne's population hovers around the 40,000 mark but over the duration of the Fêtes, well over a million visitors will descend on the town.. the overwhelming majority of whom will be dressed in white with a red sash around the waist and a red neckerchief.. I must admit to finding it slightly disturbing when walking through town during the Fêtes and everyone's dressed the same. It's something to do with the loss of individual identity of the public. (Rightly or wrongly, I always draw a mental parallel with Germany in the 30s) Here's a short clip that gives a flavour of it:

  

This next clip features a song close to the hearts of all in the Pays Basque, but especially Bayonne.. 

Here's some of the madness.. not sure what you'd call this beast.. it's not a bull but I don't think you'd want to get involved in an exchange of views with it! (it's actually a cow) Of course, I abhor these kinds of degrading spectacles - I'm an animal lover - and it doesn't sit well with me to see some poor animal surrounded by an excited mob intent on tweaking its tail or whatever. However, if there's a choice to be made between staging bullfights (where the death of the animal is the goal) and the kind of thing shown below, then regrettably I'd have to say that the latter activity would be preferable.

San Fermin is currently running as we speak and buses are available (Bayonne-Pamplona direct) in the Place des Basques to take people.. Yesterday I saw a few passengers getting off the Pamplona-Bayonne bus looking very much the worse for wear! And quite a few waiting for the next one. Today promises to be a big day in Pamplona.. One, it's the Sunday and so those who are still working can attend and two, Spain are in the World Cup Final.. which is today.. If Spain win, I think Pamplona will erupt!

We've decided that we're going to take a break from the Fêtes de Bayonne this year. Our neighbours kids are keen participants and they invite all their friends back in the wee small hours. The first year we were here, we only had single glazed windows and we discovered the hard way that a group of 15 or so French teens and twenties, hyped up on the occasion after a few Sangrias, can generate a fair amount of noise out in the rear garden - all talking & no-one listening in the classic French manner! We could hear the pop as corks were still being extracted at 6am.. That first year they finally called it a night at 10 in the morning.. Even now that we've double glazed the house, the hoots and the hollers still penetrate our bedroom. This year therefore, we've booked a hotel in the mountains for a few days. It's not that we're a couple of old fuddyduddies.. but we like our sleep!

14th July 2010. Summer would not be complete without Bastille Day - 14th July - which, by a freakish coincidence, happens to be today! The presenter on Télématin (breakfast TV on France2) introduced his report on the glittering Défilé (military parade) that will take place on the Champs Elysées later on this morning as "the most beautiful army in the world marching down the most beautiful avenue in the world". I have to admit on mature reflection that he's right. It's arguable that a Scots Pipe band should be up there with them but, hey, let's be charitable on this day of days. We're not talking about military capability or effectiveness but the French military, on days like these, does look good. I've often wondered why other nations (such as the US or the UK) are strangely reluctant to parade their military.

Anyway, setting all these arguments aside, I enjoy watching the spectacle every year and, as always, the parade on the ground is preceded by a fly past. This clip of the 2009 parade - when the Indian military was strongly represented - runs for about 1.5 hours. The legendary French Foreign Legion make their appearance at 44:15 - they are traditionally the final unit to appear on foot with their distinctive slow march, with the pionniers (combat engineers) carrying axes on their shoulders and wearing leather aprons. Time now to make yourself a coffee, get comfortable, watch the clip and then tell me afterwards if the France2 presenter was right or wrong:

70. Road to Laredo

8th July 2010. Last Monday we decided to make a foray into Spain - aiming for a place called Laredo (Cantabria) situated between Bilbao and Santander along the northern Spanish coast. We took the new motorway (a combination of the E-70 & the A-8) - a spectacular and, no doubt, expensive road that threaded its way left and right through and around the tree-covered crumpled hills and jagged mountains. Cutting its way through contorted layers of stratified rock that were near the vertical in places, the road passed through innumerable cuttings and tunnels and over some impressive bridges and viaducts. The severely folded landscape left precious little room in the valley floors for expansion in an outward direction and therefore the cramped towns and villages had  to resort to making extensive use of apartment tower blocks - which looked slightly incongruous. The road itself was a continuous series of curves and bends and it was hardly possible to take my eyes off the road ahead. I drove at ~100km/h despite the speed limit being 120km/h which, given the twisty nature of the road, seemed a little optimistic.

If ever there is an international competition for the town or city where the planning process has clearly broken down and the result is a complete eyesore, then Bilbao would be an odds-on 'cert' to reach at least the semi-finals. This (below) is the Bilbao Exhibition Centre and the photo doesn't reveal its true awfulness.. It looks rather like one of those regional logistical depots for a major supermarket chain.. but in the middle of town.

Is this a museum or the box it came in..? Joking..! All observers seem to agree that this - the Guggenheim Museum - is a stunning looking building that we still have to visit.. (Edited to add: Madame since been there - but I can't see how we can both get there with the dog).  

To be fair, we only drove through and we didn't get to explore the old town which is clearly alive and well:

Moving swiftly on, we soon left Bilbao behind us and off to our right, we caught glimpes of the lapis lazuli sea. Arriving at Laredo, it's clear that the hotel and apartment building boom of the 70s and 80s in Spain hadn't passed Laredo by. It had obviously once been a delightful old fishing port with a natural harbour but the new part had increased its size perhaps eight-fold.

Lunchtime approached so we found a restaurant with a cool terrace. I felt like declaiming to the waiter in booming Shakespearean tones: Go, get thee in, and fetch me a stoup of liquor*. Instead, we ordered their set 12€ lunch, which included a welcome bottle of chilled rosé, of garlicky gambas followed by an assortment of grilled fish, squid and yet more gambas on skewers.. with ice cream afterwards and coffee. 

* lines from Hamlet I think

This absolute shower (or shar as Terry-Thomas would have pronounced it) - aka ZZ Top - were playing at Les Arenes (the bullring) this evening. Unfortunately we live just a few hundred metres from it and so we had to endure an evening of total carp (sp?) played fortissimo..

69. Mystery in faded ink

4th July 2010. Madame has a number of her father's books - one of which is Saint-Exupéry's Wind, Sand and Stars. Her father earned his pilot's wings in the mid-1930s in the Armée de l'Air (French Air Force) and, like Saint-Exupéry, later served in North Africa with the Free French where apparently they knew each other. Saint-Ex's writings on aviation would, no doubt, have been close to his heart.

I picked this particular volume out of the bookcase this afternoon and, on opening it, I found a poignant inscription written on one of the opening fly sheets:   

For Tooks -

I think this may do for reading in our hut by the sea. I hope you like it as much as I do "Island in the Sun". With love from K.S.M.

                                                                                                                                             Summer 1940

(click on the image to enlarge it)

Who knows now who "Tooks" and K.S.M. were.. It sounds to me as though Tooks was in the flying game - and Summer 1940 was a particularly dangerous time to be involved in it.. I can well imagine that a couple in wartime would invent an imaginary hut by the sea where they could temporarily escape reality during their precious time - together or apart. There's a story waiting to be written here.

In different handwriting - in the corner of the same page - someone, probably a bookseller, has written £7 (1940) 1/5. We'll never know. I did a quick search for "Island in the sun" but I was unable to unearth any reference to it that made any kind of sense - given the date of the inscription. I would guess that Madame's father bought the book sometime in the post war period for £7. 

I stumbled across this little gem on YouTube - a gypsy jazz-style rendering of Dark Eyes - by 3 talented kids - each around 12 years old. Well worth watching!

68. Defecting to Aviron Bayonnais

3rd July 2010. Yesterday, I was aware all day that the date held some significance for me but for long enough I just couldn't make the connection. Until suddenly voilà!* I realised that it was 38 years ago to the day that I joined the RAF. It's no good asking myself where had the years gone because they've gone, and very enjoyable they were too for the most part. Pas de regrets. 

* Or viola as one of my friends used to spell it! "Until suddenly a stringed instrument..."? Naa, it doesn't work does it?

Setting the breakfast table this morning, I had another rare moment of lucidity! I remembered setting the table as a kid - it would be the cloth, then the cutlery and then the salt and pepper cruets. I suddenly realised that I no longer automatically set out the cruets. This is one of the ways in which living here has changed me. I can remember my father showering his food with salt and pepper (I think this was an old army habit from the war) and so we grew up doing likewise. Madame always used to flinch when I did it.. It's one of those habits which is very hard to break but somehow I've managed it.

This morning I went down to the Aviron Bayonnais - the other rowing club in town - for an outing. For the last couple of years I'd been sculling (although they call it rowing in French) and I don't really derive much satisfaction from it. Rowing - or "ramer en pointe" - is with one oar - and it's what I grew up with. It's easier if I let Wikipedia explain the difference!

There are two forms of rowing:

In sweep or sweep-oar rowing, each rower has one oar, held with both hands. This can be done in pairs, fours and eights. Each rower in a sweep boat is referred to either as port or starboard, depending on which side of the boat the rower's oar extends to. Usually the port side is referred to as stroke side, and the starboard side as bow side; this applies even if the stroke oarsman is rowing on bow side and/or the bow oarsman on stroke side.

In sculling each rower has two oars (or sculls), one in each hand. Sculling is usually done without a coxswain, in quads, doubles or singles. The oar in the sculler's right hand extends to port (stroke side)(babord in French), and the oar in the left hand extends to starboard (bow side)(tribord in French).

We took an eight out - it's so long since I've rowed I could hardly remember if I was bow side or stroke side - I guessed stroke side but after a while it didn't feel right so I guess I must have rowed bow side. What a pleasure it was to row again.. We had a good long hard outing - first up the Nive and then back down again and through town (as above) and then on until we reached the Adour where we rowed downriver as far as the "Skat", the stealth gin palace (mentioned in Post #67).

I came back to the clubhouse with my t-shirt wringing wet. We then had a quick apero! And blisters in different places on my hands with the change to rowing. I think I'm going to enjoy this club!

I've often wondered if hydrofoil technology could be applied to rowing and/or sculling and here it is:

4th July 2010. Happy birthday America! And, as a small tribute to that most American of art forms, here's a link to TSF Jazz, an FM station in Paris that plays nothing but cool jazz 24/7. I've just tried it this morning but there appears to be a minor snaggette with their streaming. If you can't get it to work, it's definitely worth coming back to to try again in a day or two's time. If not, this will give you a patriotic fix!

Meanwhile, for all the readers of this blog in the US - this is for you.. the band of the Coldstream Guards playing the Star Spangled Banner outside Buckingham Place in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 (sorry about the poor quality):

And if that doesn't do it for you, then this clip of 150+ kilted porridge wogs (as they were affectionately known in the RAF in those far-off non-politically correct days!) surely will: 

The Duke of Wellington said: "I don't know what effect these men will have upon the enemy, but, by God, they frighten me."

 I love that little flourish at the end!

67. Anniversaries

29th June 2010. I think someone was trying to tell us something..! Today we planned to have lunch out to celebrate a major marital milestone.. This clip is more or less how we met!

We thought we'd try one of our favourites - Bar Jean in Biarritz (mentioned before here) - as the seafood there is always good - and fresh - and there's always a vibrant atmosphere..

However, when we arrived outside, despite 1st July being only days away (start of French holiday season) it was unaccountably closed.

Plan B clicked instantly into action.. This entailed a quick trip down to St Jean de Luz to the open air cafe that operates adjacent to the covered market there - but only when the market has finished for the morning. Again, seafood as fresh as can be - never had a bad meal there and it's great for people watching. Horrors! At 12.55 the market was still in full swing and no sign of his tables and chairs being set out..

No worries - Plan C was launched. This was to try Chez Pantxua in Socoa - just the other side of the bay.. the seafood is the best in the region (IMHO) and there is a fine selection of Basque art (inc. work by the noted Ramiro Arrue) on the walls inside:

Ten minutes later we were staring disbelievingly at the row of restaurants at Socoa - one of which was closed. No prizes for guessing which! 

We looked at all the menus from its neighbouring restaurants before finally settling on one establishment. (no names!). We were shown to a table outside in the welcome shade and there were 2 menus on the table. Within a few minutes we'd decided what we wanted - Madame's selection was gambas followed by lotte (monkfish) while I chose the salade Landaise and the paella - and then we waited and waited for someone to come and take our order. Finally, a waitress turned up. Oh, it turned out that the lotte was off - no more left - so Madame asked for the sole. Also off! So she chose the fish soup. We sat and waited again. And waited some more. The waitress didn't return to ask if we'd like an apero - which we would have liked - nor did she return to put some water or bread on the table. Everything was telling me that we should just get up and leave.. I don't make a habit of this - in fact, I don't think we've ever done it but this time I was getting more and more agitated.. Finally we managed to catch the eye of another waitress to ask for a wine list.. and to order some aperos while we were at it - a kir for Madame and a pastis for me. Ten minutes later, she returned with 2 kirs. Ye godfathers..

When the food arrived, it went from bad to worse.. my salade Landaise was awash in almost neat olive oil; Madame's gambas floated in an oily sauce that BP would have been proud of; her fish soup was watery and my paella was sponsored by BP as well.. Without boring you with all the details, suffice to say that, for the rest of the day, we both felt rotten. What was that about the best laid plans of mice and men..? This was the first time - in 3 years of living in France and in 20 years of visiting the region - that we've had this kind of experience. All we can think is that perhaps the restaurant in question had recruited unsuitable staff for the season.

30th June 2010. While Madame was in town, I decided (perhaps not 100% true!) that the windows needed cleaning; the stairs, the living room and the dining room carpets needed vacuuming; the front path needed sweeping and the dining table needed waxing (I threw the last one in as a freebie).. I worked myself into a lather in the morning heat accompanied by this playing in the background: 

 

More music for a summer's day:

  

1st July 2010. Up early this morning - swimming things on - and down to the beach at Anglet before the sun climbed up too high. We stayed there for 1½hrs and very pleasant it was too. I'd recently started re-reading Peter Mayle's "Hotel Pastis" again, his amusing and enjoyable tale about an adman opening a hotel in the Luberon, and I finished it there on the beach this morning. 

In re-reading the book, I was reminded of the sheer awfulness of the BBC TV series "A Year in Provence" with the late John Thaw in the lead role. I watched about 5 minutes of it once when it was first transmitted in 1993 before switching it off. I can only imagine how Peter Mayle must have cringed and squirmed with embarrassment when presented with such a steaming and odiferous adaptation of his work. This was banal television at its most banal. And while never a fan of the curmudgeonly John Thaw, his selection for the Peter Mayle role was a piece of mis-casting on a truly epic scale. Fine in other roles but definitely not this one. The series is available on YouTube.. I tried watching it again just now and it's still every bit as turgid as I remembered. It has every cliché in the book.. The first scene in France is accompanied by... guess? An accordion playing in the background and cicadas..? Well done. How the humour and deftness of touch of this genuinely funny and enjoyable book was transformed by the dead hand of the BBC into this 33 carat dross remains one of life's little mysteries. Watch it and weep.. (Edited to add: It looks like someone has had a rush of common sense to the head because the video seems to have been removed. Phew!)

    

A mega-yacht belonging to one of the world's mega rich was moored at the bottom of the road this morning. It's the very distinctive-looking "Skat" - it comes with its own colour co-ordinated helicopter (natch!) - and it belongs to an extremely wealthy former Microsoft software engineer (is there any other kind?). All that money from ones and noughts - I guess the tricky bit is putting them in the right order..! 

This was a few evenings ago down on the beach at Anglet looking west:

And finally, a performance of Johann Sebastian Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in G-Major (I-Allegro) on a Moog synthesiser.. (pity this is ingrained into everyone's memory as the old "Antiques Roadshow" intro..) I prefer this version:

However, for the traditionalists, here's the same piece played on conventional stringed instruments:

So - which one does it for you?

66. Provence & the Jura

22nd June 2010. Back home on Sunday evening after what seems like weeks away. Phew.. We'd planned a four legged journey (a three stop strategy in Formula 1 terms!) around France to take in the Perpignan area, the Luberon and the Jura. 

We'd planned to stop off first for a night with Madame's brother, O and his wife F, who were taking an early summer break in a beachfront apartment at Le Barcares (circled at right on the map), which is on the Mediterranean coast, midway between Narbonne and Perpignan. Driving across SW France from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, on the northern side of the Pyrenees, the landscape changed subtly as the white-washed Basque houses with blood red painted doors and windows slowly thinned out to be replaced by apricot-washed houses which started appearing in ever-increasing numbers, as well as those towering dark green cypresses beloved of Van Gogh.

As we neared the Mediterranean, Carcassonne suddenly appeared off to the left looking like nothing less than a complete medieval town teleported into the 21st century. Another place that we must visit. 

Carcassonne

Le Barcares is one of those purpose-built family holiday resorts with rows of apartment blocks along the sea front in that peculiarly French ziggurat-style. As it was mid-June (ie, outside school holidays), we weren't plagued by hordes of kids. The majority of tourists were baby boomers from all over Europe - many of them in camper vans. After we arrived, we took the dog for a welcome leg-stretch along the beach in the late afternoon sunshine. It was retiree country alright.. silver-haired power walkers and cyclists abounded! And then we spotted the wagon train of Camper vans which were circled up on a sea front car park. There's clearly a parallel universe of baby boomers who have dropped everything to travel and move around Europe - and didn't they look a happy and contented crowd! 

Back at the apartment, we sat out on the terrace and started off the evening with a couple of ouzos (yes, I ignored the warning klaxon!) before moving on to the red infuriator with our dinner..

Needless to say, the next morning I felt more than a tad fragile.. so I got up early and took the dog out for a run along the beach. It was already quite hot at 8am.. and the breakfasts were in full swing among the camper vans. Multi-national sun-tanned retirees sat at small tables outside their campers - from the small Brit contingent, the unmistakeable smell of fried bacon drifted slowly across while the rest of the EU were downing coffee and croissants.

After a spot of breakfast, we set off towards Provence (which I'd not visited before) where we'd booked a nice country hotel outside Apt for a few days. During the drive up from Le Barcares to Apt I had the cruise control set at 130kph.. and after a while I was aware that something was extremely familiar.. but what? After puzzling with this for a few minutes, I suddenly realised the car engine was turning over at exactly 2175rpm. "So what?" I hear you thinking.. Well, I spent 7 years in the seventies sat between four Rolls-Royce supercharged V-12 piston aero engines which we operated at - you've guessed it - 2175rpm.. Funny how a sound or a vibration can trigger old memories. (Like, for example, the story of our resident USAF exchange officer who had so many medals on his dress uniform that he was instantly christened "Magnetic North".)  

This was my first visit to the Luberon.. and it was Peter Mayle territory par excellence. His books about France, and more specifically Provence/Luberon, have consistently entertained several generations of Francophiles. I was relieved to find that he hadn't exaggerated its virtues at all. Between the low hills the valley floor was intensively cultivated in a cross-hatched tableau of small fields - there were numerous cherry orchards heavy with fruit, olive groves, vines (with roses planted at the end of each run) and almonds.

We explored all the local villages.. some of them impossibly picturesque. The landscape was studded with tall cypress trees and was pure Van Gogh.. We had one day of heavy downpour which caused severe flooding and several deaths in the Var down to the south east.. but we were well out of it. We had lunch at a riverside restaurant at Isle-sur-la-Sorgue* (right) before we finally found Lourmarin** which was a real little jewel.. almost like a stage set. We had a great lunch there too (at the cafe in the centre of the pic below) - rabbit in mustard sauce with pommes dauphinois.. really memorable..
* reading Keith Floyd's obit earlier I was surprised to discover that he once ran a restaurant in Isle-sur-la-Sorgue..! 

Lourmarin

**edited to add: Peter Mayle is now quoted as living in Lourmarin..

Van Gogh nailed the look of the Provençal landscape exactly with his ink sketch of the fields cultivated like a patchwork quilt:

There's something about these oh-so-typical tree-lined French roads that makes you want to stop what you're doing and jump in your car and drive and drive..

This picture though reminds me of one summer in the mid-90s when we'd broken our journey southwards in Paris en route to the Pays Basque. The next morning I had the Mother Of All Headaches (please - no sympathy!) as I discovered that whisky does not a good aperitif make. We set off at around 8.30am with a long, hot 8-9 hr drive looming ahead of us. Despite trying to drown it with the best part of a litre of Evian, the MOAH refused to budge and it felt like my frontal lobes were tied firmly in a reef knot. As we were passing Poitiers we (OK.. I) decided that we simply had to stop to have some lunch in the hope that this might dislodge the incessant pounding in my head. We turned off the autoroute at the next exit and followed our nose to the nearest village. There wasn't a soul on the main street (it was lunchtime) as we cruised slowly along looking for salvation. We spotted the only restaurant in the village and its fixed price lunch was about 110frs (£10-11 at the time).

We sat down and everything happened in that wonderfully pre-ordained way that lets you know that one, you're happily back in France and that two, you are about to enjoy an extremely pleasant experience.. I remember the main course was Lapin aux pruneaux (rabbit with prunes) - a Pipérade favourite - and I think we might have had a glass or two of wine with it. By the time the coffee arrived, I felt completely restored and able to continue driving. (Note to the reader with the raised eyebrow: I'm not a wino!) 

Back to the present! We then headed off up to Dôle (right) in the Jura region for a few days with S, Madame's auntie. We were lucky enough to be present at her memorable 50th wedding anniversary celebrations (described earlier in Post #34) in 1996..

One day, the three of us visited M, one of Madame's cousins in Belfort (equidistant from the German and Swiss border) where we had an unforgettable lunch with them there too (sounds like all we were doing was eating!)..(you'd be right!). M's husband B offered us some great wine - champagne to start with, then a wonderful Pouilly-Fuissé followed by a noble Gevrey-Chambertin. He then produced some unlabelled bottles with the coffee (muted submarine klaxon!).. the label on the one I tried said Prune - but it was 100% rocket fuel.. (ouch!) He toasted "ze Royal Air Force".. it being the 18th June (a big day for France as it was the 70th anniversary of De Gaulle's famous speech on the BBC - "We have lost a battle but not the war.."). We then drove back to Dôle..(!)

The following day we returned to Bayonne - a comfortable 850km in a day. We went via Clermont Ferrand on the A89 - a spectacular new motorway - v modern bridges & viaducts.. amazing.

 On opening the mailbox on our return I found a missive from the UK Inland Revenue.. advising me that I'd underpaid tax by - wait for it - a massive 13p.. Wonder if they'll accept instalments..! 

(For those interested in such things, we did ~2,700km and the car returned an average of 5.4litres/100km or 53mpg. Which I think is pretty good. Plus my knees didn't suffer!)

25th June 2010. We went to Biarritz this afternoon and the holiday season has started.. the beach was crowded with all kinds of delights..!

28th June 2010. Late notice..!! The legendary Fête de San Fermin 2010 in Pamplona (just over the border from Bayonne) is from 6-14th July 2010. Fashion tip: if you intend going and you think running with the bulls might be on the cards, then forget the white pants - pack a brown pair! (explanation below) And if you need a reminder of what it's all about, click on this short clip:

There was a famous American naval captain of the war of 1812 who, when his ship went into battle, always wore a red shirt so that, if he was seriously wounded, his men would not see the blood and become demoralised. So now you know why I said pack a brown pair..

This last pic is enough to put you off surfing - for life!

"Oops..!"

PS This blog is a World Cup-free zone.. Aren't you glad! 

65. All Quiet On The South Western Front

8th June 2010. Another trip away coming up at the weekend. Off to link up with Madame's brother who's renting a place near Perpignan for a few weeks then we're going to take a leisurely swing through the south of France. It's the first real break we've had in 5 years or so and we've planned an itinerary that sounds wonderful. We'll then continue on up to the Jura region to see Madame's last remaining auntie and uncle there and also a cousin in Belfort before returning to the south west..

10th June 2010. Something just reminded me of this song by Syreeta.. it's another one of those songs that will stay in your head all day..

To finish up with, some atmospheric 'bluesy' slide guitar - "Feelin' bad blues" - by Ry Cooder (from the film "Crossroads"):

64. Northern France

3rd June 2010. Back home again after a long weekend away. Last Friday we drove up to Rouen - some 840-odd kms away - in northern France for a reunion weekend with Madame's former colleagues from her old school in Saint-Germain-en-Laye.

The plan was for everyone to meet up outside the Tourist Office (below) at 10am on the Saturday so, as we'd arrived in good time on the Friday, we had plenty of time after breakfast to wander around the old half-timbered centre of Rouen:

We met up with our party at the appointed hour and of course the first item on the agenda was a spirited round of cheek-kissing (for the nanas) and hand-shaking (for the mecs!)..

As we saw it..

.. and as Monet saw it.

We started off with a guided tour of the cathedral  - and I was pleased to find I was able to follow our guide's commentary without too much difficulty. While she was an enthusiastic fount of historical and architectural knowledge, I'm ashamed to admit that after a while I felt my eyes start to glaze over and my mind wander and, looking around, I'm happy to report that I wasn't the only one!

Lunch couldn't come soon enough and we found ourselves in a fifties retro restaurant - well chosen by the organisers.  

In the afternoon we visited the Church of St Jeanne d'Arc, who remains an extremely potent symbol in France. At moments of high domestic tension, Madame will occasionally remind me of the fact that Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake by the English (aka my cue to wind my neck in!). The brutal architecture of the church falls into the category of Love it or Hate it. Resembling nothing more than some vast grey slate-covered armadillo, it sprawls across the ancient market square in true shock-horror style (maybe that's the point) and to me it's a clumsy attempt to symbolise in stone the funeral pyre. I found the architecture of the building too intrusive, too self-conscious. This is the kindest photo I can find of it (others here):

Eglise Ste Jeanne d'Arc

In the evening we had dinner at an excellent restaurant in the market square and after that bed couldn't come soon enough!

On Sunday morning we visited a well restored old church before lunch beckoned.. Tiring all this culture! Finally we visited the Museum of Wrought Iron in Rouen which was truly fascinating.. The others all left at this point to return home while we stayed an extra night as we were heading down on the Monday to La Bernerie en Retz which lies on the coast to the south west of Nantes to stay with our friends A & J-C for a couple of nights.. We had some great walks along the sea shore and around Pornic which is just a few kms up the coast. By now we were missing our pooch and we were also missing home.

Pornic

We set off for Bayonne on Wednesday. It's always a pleasure to be heading south when we're going home instead of that depressing drive up to Calais and beyond! We stopped off at the kennel to pick up Chibby (our cocker spaniel) who was beside himself to see us again.. No surprises there! 

4th June 2010. Our tame saxophonist is back in town.. He looks pretty cool as he stands there on a corner with his battered sax and his straw hat opposite the War Memorial playing the same little riff ad infinitum. I think if I lived in the flats above him I'd be going mental though as he doesn't seem to tire of endlessly playing his limited 15 second repertoire.. 

5th June 2010. Down to the rowing club this morning for an outing. I think we did about 10-12km on a pretty hot morning so I was glad to return to the pontoon. There's a new girl member at the club - from Brazil - and she offered us all a Brazilian cocktail known as a Caipirinha:

Her recipe calls for this fresh, exotic cocktail to be made with cachaça*, sugar cane syrup, a mint leaf and crushed limes, served over ice. It is always muddled (crushed with a masher or the blunt end of a wooden spoon). In this clip, they use sugar instead of sugar cane syrup but no mint leaf.. I liked it the way I had it - with the mint leaf - but I'm open to offers!

  

Intriguing taste - sweet, sour, bitter all at the same time and excellent for quenching the thirst on a hot day.. The second one tastes even better! It's a loong time since I've enjoyed a drink as much as this one. Note to self: remember to buy some cachaça when next in Spain..

* Brazilian rum made from sugar cane

63. Trois Rivières

25th May 2010. Yesterday morning I found my way down to the clubhouse of Aviron Bayonnais, the other rowing club situated in the heart of Bayonne on the Nive. I'd signed up to row on the final day of their annual Trois Rivières event during which rowers tackle the Gave, the Adour and the Nive over a 3 day period - starting with 22kms on the Saturday, then 32km (ouch!) on the Sunday, followed by the final 20km flog up and down the Nive on the Monday. Clubs from all over France were represented - the furthest having travelled from Metz, situated just a few km from the Franco-German border in the north east..! I'd only returned to rowing 2 days before with a short outing on the Saturday having had an enforced 6 month break due to a few knee problems so yesterday's outing was still by way of a refresher (ahem!).

The club was a hive of activity as the rowers gathered together and boats were prepared to be put in the water. There must have been 20 or 30 'fours' and the chaos at the start was in true anarchic French style! The two of us from my club were teamed up with a couple from Avignon and it worked quite well.

While I really enjoy rowing on the wide open spaces of the mighty Adour (above), it has to be said that the winding Nive (below) is far more picturesque.. The town of Bayonne is built around the confluence of the two rivers.

This chap has the right idea..!

We did about 20km in the scorching heat (three times the Oxford & Cambridge Boat Race distance) - think it must have been about 25C or more - and I finished up ab-so-lute-ly whacked from the heat and with blisters all over my unhardened hands.. I think I may have been overly ambitious for my come-back row! But fortunately - France being France - things didn't stop there..!

After pulling all the boats back out of the water and rinsing them off, we returned to the clubhouse for a welcome shower and change and then it was upstairs to the stylish bar/restaurant (below) that overlooked the river.. for an 'apero'.. (that's Bayonne Cathedral in the background) This was the first time I'd been in a rowing club anywhere where there was a dedicated bar just for serving champagne.. in addition to the more usual bar.

The first cold beer was a life-saver.. so I had a couple more just to be on the safe side.. After a short speech by Gérard (le très génial responsable), who'd organised everything all so well, a Basque male voice choir sang some stirring Basque songs which had us all on our feet and then it was time for another apero which the club offered to all 120 of us - champagne..! (only in France!) Then the serious business of the day started - it was time to eat. Between courses, the choir kept us entertained with some more marvellous singing and all too soon it was 3.30 and time to disperse..

I'm still shattered.. I'm supposed to be rowing again this evening but I still haven't decided on that yet..

62. Summer's here

23rd May 2010. Up early (just after 6am) to savour the peace and quiet of a summer's morning. The window is wide open, the birds are tweeting, a church bell in town is calling the faithful to church and the early morning shadows are slowly sinking down the walls of the big white Basque house across the avenue as the sun climbs up. It's going to be a hot one today.  

I went down to the rowing club yesterday for an outing for the first time in 6 months. It wasn't a long outing - I'd guess only about 8-9k - but as far as my knees were concerned, it went fine. That is, apart from when we returned to the pontoon and I couldn't stand up in the boat to get out! I had to flop out in an undignified heap! We opened up the bar afterwards for an apéro to mark my return.. Some things don't change! It was good to see them all again. Tomorrow I'm signed up for the final day of the Trois Rivieres event organised by the other rowing club in Bayonne - Aviron Bayonnais.

Four of us from our club are going to take a 'yolette' for a 20k row up the Nive as far as Ustaritz. It's my old cycling route so at least I'll know where we are in terms of how much more pain to go.. And, of course, being France, all this will be followed by a 'pot' from midday to 1pm and then lunch till 3pm.. then a wobbly ride home on my bike..

Speaking of which, Madame and I went out this morning on our bikes up the Nive.. With it being such a beautiful morning, all of Bayonne was out there.. There were quite a few boats out on the slow moving green waters of the river too - single sculls, pair scullers, fours and a couple of eights.. in perfect weather. It wasn't all confined to the river - it was also happening on the towpath - there were trendy mamans on  inline skates swishing along at high speed with their babes in hi-tech push chairs, Mums & Dads & offspring various on bikes of all sizes.. walkers, power walkers, joggers, every variety of cyclist, fishermen, etc etc.

I've been reading up on Le Réseau Comète (known as the Comet Line in English) which was set up by Andrée De Jongh, a 24 year old Belgian woman. She established a network that helped hundreds of Allied soldiers and airmen to escape, evade and return safely to the UK. It stretched from Belgium in the north, down through occupied France, over the Pyrenees to Spain and hence to Gibraltar and home. By sheer coincidence, Villa Voisin, one of the safe houses at the south western end of the line in France, is in Anglet which is but a 5 minutes car ride from Piperade Towers and I'll be taking a look at it very shortly.. There were two other safe houses in Bayonne and I'll be looking at those too.

The safe houses in the Pays Basque at the south western end of the Comet Line are shown here:

It struck me forcibly this morning that I wouldn't be experiencing the pleasure of living down here in my retirement were it not for the heroism of those involved in the Comet Line. It would have been all too easy for them to have kept their heads down and just got on with daily life as many chose to. Choosing active participation in the Resistance was an extremely fraught occupation and the penalty for being caught was the absolute certainty of being subjected to barbaric methods of interrogation and punishment of the kind last seen in Europe in medieval times. I have the utmost respect and admiration for the courage of those unsung heroes who stepped forward to fight tyranny when it became a reality in their own country. To all those brave men and women of the Resistance who died lonely deaths in nameless cellars across Europe - we owe an eternal debt of gratitude.