my river overfloweth

A follow up google this morning on Aigueze led me as though by destiny to two interconnected spectacles of the natural and architectural beauty.

Also know as the other most beautiful village in the Gard region, La Roque-sur-Cèze boasts quaintness, castles and ....waterfalls?!

My uncle Jan was feeling adventuresome as well and so we all made a plan to head in that direction after lunch. Not five minutes beyond Bidon (or so it seemed) we were suddenly in the midst of a lushly forested, truly scenic drive. Signs soon pointed the way towards the Cascades du Sautadet, and.... wow. Waterfalls pouring into bubbling pools flowing through carved limestone pockets and cliffs carved by the river Cèze. Truly beautiful, at parts forceful and also serene. My greatest regret until the day I die, or am taken back to these falls, will be that I didn't have the foresight to bring my bathing suit.

Just down the road, the well deserving of its "Les Plus Beaux Villages" title, La Roque-sur-Cèze exists, like so many of these towns, on a steep hillside. Once again I will be denied entrance to the castle upon reaching the top (who are these bazillionaires that privately own these landmarks, I ask you?) but was I did see of "La Roque" was sufficient enough to completely dazzle.

It's clear I could spend the rest of my days uncovering more and more examples of the south of France's points of splendor and never tire.

.....but it really is time for me to pack my bags and go. Out with a bang.

 

 

 

 

 

last but not

I woke up this morning to the incredible smell of fresh strawberry jam being made by my aunt from the remainder of our solstice bounty. What pairs best? Fresh baguette and croissants. This is easy to accomplish. My mother and I drove the short distance to the nearby town of Saint-Remèze where both the local baker and butcher occupy a space seemingly no larger than my New York City bathroom (not large). Two cereal baguettes, two plain. Three croissants, two pain chocolat. Back home, around the breakfast table. Hot coffee, warm jam, bread baked hours before. I am in France and I am going to eat like I am for as long as I can.

We are employing "second to last" in front of everything. I am leaving soon. This is my second to last full day, my second to last lunch with my family, my second to last (or is it my last?) slice of bread. I am not anxious to leave here, all this, the good life. But I am anxious about "my future" so I am heading back to Portugal in a couple of days to tackle some needed administrative tasks and simultaneous, inevitable, soul searching that will go along with it as I plan my next steps. It's been lovely here, a break from reality, but the time has all-too-quickly come.

In the meantime we headed to my (probably) second to last medieval town, Aigueze.

Vaulted passageways, fortified walls and towers. A beautiful 11th century church plus a so-called curiosity shop (!) that stole my touristic heart. Beautiful pottery, delightful bric a brac, local honey, pâté, and lavender oil. Aigueze seems designed to charm and mission: fully accomplished.

The only letdown? Being denied access to the tiniest of castles atop the hill, what I would imagine to otherwise be the main draw of such a village yet blocked off at every entrance. But the watchpath surrounding at least provided some of the best views of the Ardèche yet.

Back home and we all gave in to one of the most pleasant second to last afternoons of the week. The weather was perfect, the winds not too strong. A lunch on the terrace turned into leisurely sitting around talking eating drinking for hours. The best. Eventually another dinner by Jan, another walk. For now all the second to last simple pleasures I can soak in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

night moves

It didn't take long for me to settle into routines here. Wake up, make a coffee from the Melitta, check my email, have that perfect plain yogurt that seemingly only Europeans know how to create. Maybe someone will have gone to the local bakery for a fresh baguette.

Some sort of activity after that, or leisurely layabout until lunch on the terrace, followed by another Melitta, followed by another activity followed by dinner, then a sunset that's almost always pink and then....a walk.

The air this time of night, the way all the animals and noises are changing, the light is shifting, the calmness overtaking. On the heels of the solstice I can still venture out well after 9 and have enough time to make the full loop and back before the sun fully sets. It's one of the best, recurring, parts of my days here.

Lost in my thoughts, but seeing and hearing all the things I never hear during the day. The temperature shifting when you go from high to low. The landmarks. The menagerie of dogs (golden retriever, shar pei, French bulldog) barking as you pass by. Check in on the goats. Take a right at the vineyard entrance, see the grapes growing, slow progress of new vacation homes on the hill, someone is building what appears to be a stable on the other side. Up the hill, to your right again, the old blue wagon next to the house where they eat outside most of the time, next to the house building a bocce (excuse me, boules) court which will inspire our own. Turn through the town or bypass it. See the church and the old lady who feeds the cats. Keep going, past the olive trees, and if you're lucky, stumble upon a full family of wild boars - mother father six babies (at least) - the likes of which you'll always be too stunned to photograph. Past "the commune" where someone will invariably be cooking or staring out the window. Eventually up up up the hill I'm still not brave enough to bicycle.

Finally, home.

Already ready to do it all again tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

bon solstice

 

Who knew the south of France would turn around and offer me one of the best summer solstices ever?

A little superstitiously, I never let this night pass me by and it's never let me down. I have celebrated in Swedish fields, Los Angeles backyards, New York rooftops. This year, in the hills of France, like so many years before it, the plan was largely unclear.

My solstice wishes centered around being able to swim peacefully in a natural body of water, creating a seasonal feast, and lighting a fire - however small. My family was kind and spirited enough to oblige me on all of the above.

Mid afternoon, sun shining bright, I was driven to and bid adieu at one of the lovelier river access points in the area, the Saint-Martin-d'Ardèche. They dropped me off on the way to town, picking me up after I had ample time swim and float and read and bask in the day.

Before that, an early morning market excursion. Depending on where you live in France you will always have a market at least one day a week offering stall upon stall of the freshest of everything. No matter the day, early morning arrival is key. It's bustling, fascinating, tiring, and energizing. We let ourselves be inspired, our kitchen countertops soon overflowed with ingredients for the perfect solstice dinner and then some.

Back home, doors open. The strong mistral winds giving us an atypical pause from their gusty power. Cold pilsner, hot shower. I made a solstice cake in Scandinavian (and my own) tradition with a little French sentiment thrown in in honor of this year's surroundings. Bright yellow eggs added to the airiest base, two crisp meringue tops sprinkled with slivered almonds; both layers baked carefully, cooled, and assembled with freshly whipped cream, vanilla bean, and the contents of a wooden box of perfect strawberries we'd bought that morning.

Dinner was on the terrace with blackened fish from the grill, sweet green beans, fresh tomatoes, and buttered new potatoes. Following the perfect pink sunset, Jan built a fire with old juniper wood from the surrounding property. We wrapped lavender and Queen Ann's lace around tobacco and new intentions. The stars shown bright and a slight breeze blew the faintest sounds of a nearby music festival intermittently through. I sat on the ground next to the fire, watching the logs and glowing embers until it, and everything we'd burnt with it, all but disappeared. One final steam infused offering courtesy of the garden hose and it was finally time for bed. Another beautiful solstice. I felt so thankful.

I thought a lot yesterday and last night about my own good fortune as of late, as well as the admitted resistance I have felt in the in between. It's undeniable that patience has recently and repeatedly given me the sweetest of rewards when I am open enough to relax and let things reveal themselves, to trust myself, and to truly open my eyes to see what's possible. You can't wait for lighting to strike, but you can pause long enough to see it when it does.

So much uncertainty exists for me in the midst of this particular solstice, but with a night so perfect it makes me think I must be doing something right.

Happy solstice everyone.

 

"may the long time sun,

shine upon you,

all love surround you,

and the pure light within you,

guide your way on."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

float forever

Another morning in Southern France. Fresh bread from the tiniest bakery, another coffee refill.

The main draw of this particular area, especially where holiday enthusiasts are concerned, is the Gorges de l'Ardèche. Families, cyclists, kayakers, luxuriators all flock here to enjoy this roughly 30km stretch of natural splendor. Rolling hills and cave laden cliffs dropping off into the River Ardèche. It's midweek and mid-June but the beach at the noteable Pont d'Arc was crowded today. We found a spot, laid out our towels. I beelined for the river, so happy to be swimming again, so strange to suddenly be in still, fresh water versus the salty Portuguese seas.

Swim across, swim back again, float awhile, take a break. A nap in the late afternoon sun. Sit in the shade again to cool down.

It's all good, life is really good. But I have felt for days that I am floating, I need to make some decisions. At this present moment, my near future is unclear. Anxiety has crept in. Plans need to be made. Visas, timeframes, logistics, the ticking clock. Portugal, reality, the future. I woke up this morning with a renewed sense that it will all work out no matter what, but I also feel so suspended at the moment, like if I don't do something I am just going to float in the gorges and seas forever. What's next, what do you want.

And when do I decide to stop floating and get my feet back on the ground?

 

 

en français

The past two days in the Ardèche have passed slowly as though in a recuperative dream, in complete contrast to my last month and a half. Part of me feels like I am being kind to myself, part of me fears I have fully descended into the holiday-within-a-holiday spirit and might never be able to return to a day to day filled with physical labor.

So far: the best of everything. Apricots, rosé, cheese, and croissants. Sunny skies, vineyards, bike rides, and lavender fields. Yesterday I began to make an actual list of things I want to see and do while I'm here. For now, another cup of coffee on the windy terrace, another hour before I get properly dressed to greet the day.