French Kissing in Avignon and Other Tales of a Week in Provence by dln
Nov 12th, 2004, 02:21 PM
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I to am having problems with ofoto. would someone PLEASE send me alink
[email protected] thanks
[email protected] thanks
Nov 13th, 2004, 01:38 AM
#124
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Underhill:
Ahhh... the taureau piscine. Yes, I go to one just about every summer. Our village pits the local young adults against those from the four star campground outside of town in a series of games involving young bulls (with protectors on their horns), a swimming pool built from bales of hay covered with a huge tarp and various items to make it interesting - like throwing hula hoops over the bull's head. The team with the most hula hoops over the bull at the end of the game wins points. I've seen more shorts and underwear torn off by them by the bulls than I can count.... lots of bare behinds running across the arena under the spotlights.
I have some pictures which I should put up on my webshots album of the village.
Patricia
Ahhh... the taureau piscine. Yes, I go to one just about every summer. Our village pits the local young adults against those from the four star campground outside of town in a series of games involving young bulls (with protectors on their horns), a swimming pool built from bales of hay covered with a huge tarp and various items to make it interesting - like throwing hula hoops over the bull's head. The team with the most hula hoops over the bull at the end of the game wins points. I've seen more shorts and underwear torn off by them by the bulls than I can count.... lots of bare behinds running across the arena under the spotlights.
I have some pictures which I should put up on my webshots album of the village.
Patricia
Nov 13th, 2004, 01:38 AM
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Underhill:
Ahhh... the taureau piscine. Yes, I go to one just about every summer. Our village pits the local young adults against those from the four star campground outside of town in a series of games involving young bulls (with protectors on their horns), a swimming pool built from bales of hay covered with a huge tarp and various items to make it interesting - like throwing hula hoops over the bull's head. The team with the most hula hoops over the bull at the end of the game wins points. I've seen more shorts and underwear torn off of them by the bulls than I can count.... lots of bare behinds running across the arena under the spotlights.
I have some pictures which I should put up on my webshots album of the village.
Patricia
Ahhh... the taureau piscine. Yes, I go to one just about every summer. Our village pits the local young adults against those from the four star campground outside of town in a series of games involving young bulls (with protectors on their horns), a swimming pool built from bales of hay covered with a huge tarp and various items to make it interesting - like throwing hula hoops over the bull's head. The team with the most hula hoops over the bull at the end of the game wins points. I've seen more shorts and underwear torn off of them by the bulls than I can count.... lots of bare behinds running across the arena under the spotlights.
I have some pictures which I should put up on my webshots album of the village.
Patricia
Nov 13th, 2004, 01:43 AM
#126
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For those interested in getting a quote on shipping oil from the Mas des Barres in Maussane, I've put an abbreviated form of their order form and items they ship on the Delphi Francophile Forum... you can fill it out and fax it to them for a quote. Because their oil is in cans, the shipping is less as the cans are much lighter than bottles. You can also store the cans for a longer period of time than bottles.
Patricia
Patricia
Nov 13th, 2004, 09:27 AM
#127
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All this conversation puts me in a mind to think that we'd all have such a great time in Provence together. What a trip that would be! We'd have to bring along our own team of Sherpas, though, to carry all the goodies home! 
I'm glad you like all the photos. I took all the ones from the high points. Rob is not much of one for leaning over edges. I will say that the south of France provides many opportnities to show the whites of your knuckles.
Rob and I sat outside the grand gate of the Duchy of Uzes enjoying our picnic and the view of the fantastic tiled roof. Afterwards we visited the Cathedral. It's a very beautiful old church with balconies on either side of the nave. If you walk to the far back left past the altar you will come to a small chapel whose walls have frescos from the medieval ages. Faded and faint but even still, looking at them gives you goosebumps that you in the present can be so tangibly linked to ages past. We stared for quite some time all the while marvelling that this artwork had never been destroyed. The cathedral is surrounded on two sides by an enormous grassy plaza bounded by a parapet of stone balusters. Oh what a view of the surrounding countryside! Not for the first time did we wonder how such natural beauty could exist on this earth. Or more accurately, how could it exist unsullied by housing subdivisions, pylons, strip malls...all we saw were verdant hills and valleys, dotted only here and there with stone farmhouses and cottages. It gives a great sense of pleasure from within to feast the eyes on such scenes!
Off to the pottery town of St. Quentin-la-Poterie. It's not dripping with charm in the manner of Uzes or Aigues-Mortes, but for those with more than a passing interest in pottery, it's Mecca. We made a wrong turn within the town and found ourselves in a narrow street in a large car. I had to get out and navigate Rob around the corner--the photo I've given makes it appear as though we had loads of space to manouever, but I assure such was not our perception of it! We had a good laugh over it because we've heard many a story of friends being on trips and finding themselves in tight spots, and we thought that duly warned, we'd never find ourselves in a similar position. NOT!
There are more than a dozen pottery studios in the town and plenty of signs to direct you. There's even a small museum/gallery. We visited them all, leaving St. Quentin with four cafe au lait bowls and four expresso cups, all of contemporary design, though done in traditional Provencal colors. The bowls set us back a mere €9 each; the cups &euro7, much less expensive than we usually pay at arts fairs at home. We felt we'd hit the jackpot, especially when the potterer was more than happy to accept our plastique!
I'm glad you like all the photos. I took all the ones from the high points. Rob is not much of one for leaning over edges. I will say that the south of France provides many opportnities to show the whites of your knuckles.
Rob and I sat outside the grand gate of the Duchy of Uzes enjoying our picnic and the view of the fantastic tiled roof. Afterwards we visited the Cathedral. It's a very beautiful old church with balconies on either side of the nave. If you walk to the far back left past the altar you will come to a small chapel whose walls have frescos from the medieval ages. Faded and faint but even still, looking at them gives you goosebumps that you in the present can be so tangibly linked to ages past. We stared for quite some time all the while marvelling that this artwork had never been destroyed. The cathedral is surrounded on two sides by an enormous grassy plaza bounded by a parapet of stone balusters. Oh what a view of the surrounding countryside! Not for the first time did we wonder how such natural beauty could exist on this earth. Or more accurately, how could it exist unsullied by housing subdivisions, pylons, strip malls...all we saw were verdant hills and valleys, dotted only here and there with stone farmhouses and cottages. It gives a great sense of pleasure from within to feast the eyes on such scenes!
Off to the pottery town of St. Quentin-la-Poterie. It's not dripping with charm in the manner of Uzes or Aigues-Mortes, but for those with more than a passing interest in pottery, it's Mecca. We made a wrong turn within the town and found ourselves in a narrow street in a large car. I had to get out and navigate Rob around the corner--the photo I've given makes it appear as though we had loads of space to manouever, but I assure such was not our perception of it! We had a good laugh over it because we've heard many a story of friends being on trips and finding themselves in tight spots, and we thought that duly warned, we'd never find ourselves in a similar position. NOT!
There are more than a dozen pottery studios in the town and plenty of signs to direct you. There's even a small museum/gallery. We visited them all, leaving St. Quentin with four cafe au lait bowls and four expresso cups, all of contemporary design, though done in traditional Provencal colors. The bowls set us back a mere €9 each; the cups &euro7, much less expensive than we usually pay at arts fairs at home. We felt we'd hit the jackpot, especially when the potterer was more than happy to accept our plastique!
Nov 13th, 2004, 10:08 AM
#128
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On a practical note: for more information about the pottery of St. Quentin, go to www.officeculturel.com and www.ceramique.com. Both largely written in French though not entirely.
Nov 13th, 2004, 10:15 AM
#129
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Down the road through the mountainous terrain toward the ancient perched village of Lussan on the D979 (directly north of Uzes, had we not taken a detour). Lussan is one of those villages whose images wind up on travel calendars. The approach, winding up the way through plowed fields and leafy copses, is magnifique. As is the town, though it's so small that 15 minutes is all it requires to walk its perimeters! We had our Kodak moment and took to the car again in the direction of the Chateau d'Allegre.
We hadn't driven long when the scenery became so overwhelmingly striking that the camera was fairly screaming to me. We pulled aside on a small lay-by and took a couple of shots. French mountains don't look like any other mountains and within ten miles of each other, they don't look like each other, either! I've said it before, but I couldn't keep my eyes off this scenery. It was marvelous beyond words to be out in the fresh air listening to nothing but the sounds of birds. We trekked a bit on a trail to better vantage points enjoying the serenity until our ears were assaulted by loud and steady stream of honking. Shaking our heads in agreement that teenage reckless driving was apparently a worldwide phenomenon and not strictly relegated to our own offspring, we peered over to the road below us to see <i>a wedding party!</i> You could tell they were having a grand old time carreening down the mountain road honking horns and flashing lights. What fun! We stood by and waved and them and shouted our good wishes as they passed.
The Chateau d'Allegre lay not that much further afield. It's a heap of ruins of the kind you see mainly in the British Isles. It sits perched up on a hill and can be approached only by parking the car and walking up a steep pathway. There's not much left to it except atmosphere. Tons of it. Imagination fills in the blanks where walls used to be. Think of moonswept nightt and anguished maidens in long hair and flowing gowns and handsome Sir Percivals to rescue them.
We hadn't driven long when the scenery became so overwhelmingly striking that the camera was fairly screaming to me. We pulled aside on a small lay-by and took a couple of shots. French mountains don't look like any other mountains and within ten miles of each other, they don't look like each other, either! I've said it before, but I couldn't keep my eyes off this scenery. It was marvelous beyond words to be out in the fresh air listening to nothing but the sounds of birds. We trekked a bit on a trail to better vantage points enjoying the serenity until our ears were assaulted by loud and steady stream of honking. Shaking our heads in agreement that teenage reckless driving was apparently a worldwide phenomenon and not strictly relegated to our own offspring, we peered over to the road below us to see <i>a wedding party!</i> You could tell they were having a grand old time carreening down the mountain road honking horns and flashing lights. What fun! We stood by and waved and them and shouted our good wishes as they passed.
The Chateau d'Allegre lay not that much further afield. It's a heap of ruins of the kind you see mainly in the British Isles. It sits perched up on a hill and can be approached only by parking the car and walking up a steep pathway. There's not much left to it except atmosphere. Tons of it. Imagination fills in the blanks where walls used to be. Think of moonswept nightt and anguished maidens in long hair and flowing gowns and handsome Sir Percivals to rescue them.
Nov 13th, 2004, 10:52 AM
#131
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Rob and I took a good long hike from the Chateau. The paths through the mountains are well marked and nothing more special than sturdy shoes is needed. Then off to Ales in search of a cash machine to fund the night's dinner, and hopefully a cafe in which to sit and enjoy the cocktail hour, which was fast approaching.
Ales is butt ugly. You know how people say Gary Indiana is the armpit of the Midwest (we live in Indiana and can thus attest for the accuracy of the statement). Well, in Ales, Gary finds its twin city. It's filled with street upon street of high rise tenements, each one having more washing hanging off its balconies than the next. There are ugly office parks and boxy mega stores and tacky run down little shops everywhere. I know that because there was hardly any part of Ales we did not visit. We were hideously lost for half an hour. Up one major artery. Down another. We found our way out only by finding the setting sun and working our way away from it. And we never did find an ATM!
We beat a hasty retreat back to Uzes. It was dark by then and hungry and thirsty though we might have been, we still needed to stick to the necessary protecol: window shop every available resturant before winnowing it down to a winning choice. First, however, a stop at a friendly bistro with a view of the square for a good glass of wine to fortify ourselves. We tarried too long though, because the restaurant we ultimately chose had run out of the dish we wanted! Luckily we'd found that out while shooting the breeze with the hostess as we waited to be seated. Ah well. So off again yet again in search of dinner, this time to Avignon.
Ales is butt ugly. You know how people say Gary Indiana is the armpit of the Midwest (we live in Indiana and can thus attest for the accuracy of the statement). Well, in Ales, Gary finds its twin city. It's filled with street upon street of high rise tenements, each one having more washing hanging off its balconies than the next. There are ugly office parks and boxy mega stores and tacky run down little shops everywhere. I know that because there was hardly any part of Ales we did not visit. We were hideously lost for half an hour. Up one major artery. Down another. We found our way out only by finding the setting sun and working our way away from it. And we never did find an ATM!
We beat a hasty retreat back to Uzes. It was dark by then and hungry and thirsty though we might have been, we still needed to stick to the necessary protecol: window shop every available resturant before winnowing it down to a winning choice. First, however, a stop at a friendly bistro with a view of the square for a good glass of wine to fortify ourselves. We tarried too long though, because the restaurant we ultimately chose had run out of the dish we wanted! Luckily we'd found that out while shooting the breeze with the hostess as we waited to be seated. Ah well. So off again yet again in search of dinner, this time to Avignon.
Nov 13th, 2004, 11:15 AM
#132
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It's a pleasant drive from Uzes to Avignon, even in the dark. We made a mental note to ourselves to stop back on a future trip to Villeneuve-les-Avignon which looked pretty though pretty locked up late at night: no restaurants here! Across the river to the stunningly lit-up Avignon, where we parked our car just outside the walls. We found the a very suitable restaurant in <b>Les Artistes on 23 Place Crillon</b>. The restaurant had a very large seating area and there were still plenty of people eating and being served. We were guided to our seats in short order. The setting was perfect--old city walls to the side of us and a beautiful plaza all around us. We were at the edge of a planting bed and there was a small cat curled up in the leaves, asleep under the branches of a shrub.
Our waiter stolled over. He was a handsome young buck (as my mama would say). We discussed the menu with him--in French, naturally, and he was very patient in helping me when I stumbled over vocabulary. Now you have to understand that I talked my way through France. Non stop. I realized early on that not only could I make myself understood when I spoke French, but that I could understand it back when it was spoken to me! It was a revelation of the same kind Helen Keller experienced when Annie Sullivan tapped w-a-t-e-r onto her palm. (Okay, okay! So I exaggerate, but that's what it was like to me! I felt on the crest of a new horizon, and there was no stopping me when the mouth got moving.)
Our waiter was enjoying himself. He came over more often than he needed. Just to chit-chat. We discussed the homeless cat sleeping near our table, the procedure for eating fish soup--does the cheese go in the soup? what's in the aioli? when do you serve bull stew--there was plenty to talk about, and I went on happily, with the waiter giving me Berliotz language lessons along the way. Rob was beside himself with laughter and chuckled to me when the waiter was out of earshot "You know he's going back into the kitchen every time you say something and parroting it to the staff! I think you're the evening entertainment, my dear." I didn't care! I was being hugely entertained myself.
Our waiter stolled over. He was a handsome young buck (as my mama would say). We discussed the menu with him--in French, naturally, and he was very patient in helping me when I stumbled over vocabulary. Now you have to understand that I talked my way through France. Non stop. I realized early on that not only could I make myself understood when I spoke French, but that I could understand it back when it was spoken to me! It was a revelation of the same kind Helen Keller experienced when Annie Sullivan tapped w-a-t-e-r onto her palm. (Okay, okay! So I exaggerate, but that's what it was like to me! I felt on the crest of a new horizon, and there was no stopping me when the mouth got moving.)
Our waiter was enjoying himself. He came over more often than he needed. Just to chit-chat. We discussed the homeless cat sleeping near our table, the procedure for eating fish soup--does the cheese go in the soup? what's in the aioli? when do you serve bull stew--there was plenty to talk about, and I went on happily, with the waiter giving me Berliotz language lessons along the way. Rob was beside himself with laughter and chuckled to me when the waiter was out of earshot "You know he's going back into the kitchen every time you say something and parroting it to the staff! I think you're the evening entertainment, my dear." I didn't care! I was being hugely entertained myself.
Nov 13th, 2004, 11:28 AM
#133
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dln, you're so right about Alès. It's an old mining town, which may explain why it looks as it does. We drove through it on our way from Uzès to the Gorges du Tarn last year and found it pretty bleak.
Did you see the pottery shop on D37, the road between Lussan and the Château d'Allègre? It's called the Céramique de Lussan and it offers a wonderful selection of stylized birds. We fell for the guinea hens, and brought home three. They have a web site at ceramique-de-lussan.com, in case anyone wants to take a peek.
I loved your photos of Uzès, it's our favourite town. We've rented a couple of different houses there over the past three years and enjoyed every hour.
Anselm
Did you see the pottery shop on D37, the road between Lussan and the Château d'Allègre? It's called the Céramique de Lussan and it offers a wonderful selection of stylized birds. We fell for the guinea hens, and brought home three. They have a web site at ceramique-de-lussan.com, in case anyone wants to take a peek.
I loved your photos of Uzès, it's our favourite town. We've rented a couple of different houses there over the past three years and enjoyed every hour.
Anselm
Nov 13th, 2004, 11:41 AM
#134
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Anselm, we missed that shop! There was so much in that area that we wanted to explore further. We're thinking that the next trip, we'll stay nearer to Uzes and go exploring from there. I'd like to see the Tarn.
Rob leaned over to me, his eyes full of puzzlement. "I'm looking at those French people behind you, and I'm all confused. I thought it was two kisses in Paris and four in Provence! But they're doing it <i>three</i> times!" We called our waiter over and in my best French, I said "Now. What gives with this kissing? Only three?"
And thus started an in-depth discussion of French kissing. We went over the finer points of who does what kissing when. "Two kisses on the cheek in Paris, yes. But in Provence, we kiss three times! And four kisses!" At this he leaned towards me and said in a confidential, lowered tone of voice, "Four kisses are what those tramps from Nimes give!" And with that there was silence. Never say there's not a hierarchy among country people or competition among towns. Nimes people were clearly declasse in our waiter's eyes! Tramps! (Oh the extra bits of gossip one picks up when one uses the lingua franca.)
"I can demonstrate, if you'd like," our waiter offered, most helpfully. I laughed. "One cheek! then the other! then the other! Voila, you've kissed, and it's tres facile!" A voice arose from half a dozen tables down the plaza. <i>No! No! First one cheek, then the other, and then the MOUTH!".</i> It was another waiter who was clearly following the entire discussion and anxious to impart his wisdom. Cheeky devils at this cafe! Rob chimed in "I don't think so!"
Dinner passed very uneventfully. We watched the people come and go and enjoyed our food. Finally came the end of the evening. Rob looked at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes and more merriment than a husband should have. "You're going to have to kiss that waiter goodnight, you know. He taught you how it's done. It's not good enough to talk French, you have to say goodnight French!" Oh dear. Here's my own sweet husband telling me I have to pay the piper!
With great trepidation I stood up and faced our waiter--all eyes upon us! (Rob was right. I think we really were the night's entertainment.) I offered a cheek and retracted it just as quickly. "I can't!" I wailed. We stood and stared at each other, paces apart as if ready for a duel, not knowing who was going first. The French master or the French wanabee? Quivering with laughter all around, of course. Goes without saying. I offered a cheek, he offered his and one kiss, two kiss, three kiss. A French lesson well learned and a mission accomplished. Whew. Much laughter again and we waved goodbye to one and all.
Rob leaned over to me, his eyes full of puzzlement. "I'm looking at those French people behind you, and I'm all confused. I thought it was two kisses in Paris and four in Provence! But they're doing it <i>three</i> times!" We called our waiter over and in my best French, I said "Now. What gives with this kissing? Only three?"
And thus started an in-depth discussion of French kissing. We went over the finer points of who does what kissing when. "Two kisses on the cheek in Paris, yes. But in Provence, we kiss three times! And four kisses!" At this he leaned towards me and said in a confidential, lowered tone of voice, "Four kisses are what those tramps from Nimes give!" And with that there was silence. Never say there's not a hierarchy among country people or competition among towns. Nimes people were clearly declasse in our waiter's eyes! Tramps! (Oh the extra bits of gossip one picks up when one uses the lingua franca.)
"I can demonstrate, if you'd like," our waiter offered, most helpfully. I laughed. "One cheek! then the other! then the other! Voila, you've kissed, and it's tres facile!" A voice arose from half a dozen tables down the plaza. <i>No! No! First one cheek, then the other, and then the MOUTH!".</i> It was another waiter who was clearly following the entire discussion and anxious to impart his wisdom. Cheeky devils at this cafe! Rob chimed in "I don't think so!"
Dinner passed very uneventfully. We watched the people come and go and enjoyed our food. Finally came the end of the evening. Rob looked at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes and more merriment than a husband should have. "You're going to have to kiss that waiter goodnight, you know. He taught you how it's done. It's not good enough to talk French, you have to say goodnight French!" Oh dear. Here's my own sweet husband telling me I have to pay the piper!
With great trepidation I stood up and faced our waiter--all eyes upon us! (Rob was right. I think we really were the night's entertainment.) I offered a cheek and retracted it just as quickly. "I can't!" I wailed. We stood and stared at each other, paces apart as if ready for a duel, not knowing who was going first. The French master or the French wanabee? Quivering with laughter all around, of course. Goes without saying. I offered a cheek, he offered his and one kiss, two kiss, three kiss. A French lesson well learned and a mission accomplished. Whew. Much laughter again and we waved goodbye to one and all.
