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.

13. French classes and Nantes

I changed French schools a few weeks ago because the one I was at was all self-taught – I would pick up a module that explained a particular point and I would sit there doing the exercises until the centime dropped. It was all a bit soul-destroying so Madame said I’d be better off in a class with a teacher. So I had my first lesson in the new school. After a few minutes the teacher said that I should be in the Woodwork class oops, a higher level group.. But it was a lot better than the previous school.

A few weekends ago we were up in Brittany staying with our friends P and M-A in Nantes. On the Sunday morning before lunch, they took us on a lightning tour around the centre of Nantes. I don’t think Nantes is that well known in England but I think it deserves better. It suffered bomb damage in the war but the old part, which contains a magnificent castle, is still largely intact.

The castle was the former capital of the kingdom of Brittany in olden times and following its recent complete restoration, its stones are now gleaming white and it looked fully functional. Really impressive.

The old part of Nantes reminded us of parts of Paris with its beautiful old squares, elegant public buildings and Baron Haussman-esque apartment buildings. It was much more of a city than I’d expected. It has topped the polls in France for the last few years as being the city with the best overall quality of life. It's full of smart shops and restaurants, antique shops, old book stores and many individual shops that (almost) made me want to stop and have a look.

By comparison, Bayonne is much smaller. But then here there’s Saint-Jean-de-Luz, Biarritz, Anglet and Bayonne all in very close proximity to each other - each with its own distinctive character and attractions – and over the border in Spain there’s San Sebastian which is very stylish. Saint-Jean-de-Luz is Madame’s favourite and, as I’ve said before, I think when we get a bit older, we’ll probably think about looking for a flat in the centre there. We often go for a walk in St-J-de-L and it suits us both very well. It’s flat (unlike Biarritz which is quite hilly), compact (so everything is in within easy reach) and the beach is only at one remove from the centre of town.

We’ll see. Think Nantes would be a good place to work but I think down here is the better place for retirement because there’s the seaside, the much warmer climate, the mountains (skiing and walking), fishing, cycling (lots of cycle paths), golf (must be half a dozen golf courses at least around here), and, of course, there’s Spain just over the border. We also noticed that autumn was a lot more advanced up around Nantes – not many leaves left on the trees – whereas here just a few trees have started to change colour and drop their leaves.

Madame always says that the River Loire (which Nantes is at the mouth of) is the big divide in France as far as climate is concerned – north of it and you’ve got all the clouds, rain and mist and to the south of it you’ve got the sunshine. In theory!

We also went into the restored cathedral in the centre of Nantes which looked as though it was built only last week. There’d been a fire in 1972 which totally destroyed the roof and all the old medieval stained glass windows were lost as they exploded out in the intense heat. The replacement stained glass windows were a bit different too – instead of the usual scenes of saints, Eddie Stobart and co etc, they’d been designed to look like flames – and each window showed a different level of intensity of the fire. Some looked very good but others not so. The fire was caused apparently by some workmen who were working up on the roof with blowlamps setting fire to pigeons or something.

We didn’t have much time to spend looking around as the next stop was the huge Talensac food market. Apparently, this is one of the biggest and best in France and you would just not believe the range, variety, quality and prices of all the food products – poultry of all types and sizes, seafood, all kinds of meat products and fruit and veg on show. I wished I had my camera with me as at one point I spotted a smartly dressed lady in a queue at a till waiting to pay. She had her money in one hand and she was holding two large nasty-looking live crabs in the other.. Can’t imagine ever seeing that in England.

Thinking about that I was reminded of the other day when we had some oysters for lunch in Bayonne. On one side, there was a lady on her own tucking in to a dozen oysters and a whole bottle of white wine (I think I might struggle with that..) and on the other side, there were two ladies having lunch together – again, tucking into a pile of oysters with a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket. I remember thinking now there’s another sight you’d never see in England.. (and why not..?) If you are visiting France and have yet to try an oyster, don't let anyone tell you that they're slimy - they are anything but. Loosen the oyster from its shell, squeeze some lemon juice over the oyster and raise the shell to your lips and slide the oyster into your mouth accompanied by a sip (or two) of Chablis, Muscadet sur Lie or Sancerre.. Mmm! Please, no Guinness or Tabasco sauce - these kill the taste in my view. If you are new to oysters I'd suggest starting with No 4s. The number refers to the size - with a No 1 (close to the size of a horse's hoof) being the largest.

We also stopped briefly to look in the window of a cake shop… Ye gods… you would not believe how good everything looked. But there was not an Eccles cake or a custard slice to be seen for love nor money!

So, back to Tuesday… at my new French class this morning, there were four of us – J (a Sarth Efrican woman), L (a young Mexican hom) and O, a Spanish speaking chap from somewhere in Central America. J has been here since April and her husband commutes from Biarritz to London a few days a week then returns here for a long weekend. Think they’ve been watching too many of these House Abroad shows on TV. Crazy. She doesn’t speak a word of French and even if she could, no-one would understand her. She told me that she didn’t do it at school. Her pronunciation is just about the worst I’ve ever heard – worse even than mine! She pronounced vous gagnez as “vooze gagg nezz” and mieux as “my ucks” – think she has a long way to go. I subsequently was moved up to a higher level class and so I've lost track of how J was doing.. I wish her well!

My new group - a mixed class of around 10 - consisted of Germans, Argentinians, Mexicans, a Pole, a Kosovan and me.

Wonder what the French is for Eccles cake?