The Vidourle River at Lecques
We awoke this morning to three different sounds, all of which signalled the start of autumn. There was a volley of gunfire, the baying of hounds and the unmistakeable sound of an ancient Citroen 2 cv (known as deux chevaux – two horsepower) carrying a couple of equally elderly hunters. It’s amazing how many of them you still see puttering around the country lanes and according to Jean, they are just about impossible to kill.
Speaking of killing, the volleys of gunfire signalled the start of the hunting season, and from now on, any rabbit worth its salt is keeping its head tucked inside its burrow. I can’t imagine that there is anything like sanglier (wild boar) or deer around to hunt, so I presume that it remains up to the humble rabbit to keep the French hunter in business.
We had decided to drive up to Sommieres and do a bit of shopping at the big supermarket which has re-opened in a new situation since we were here a few years back. The Vidourle river which is currently an amiable gentle river, broke its banks back in 2002 and flooded the supermarket for the second time. At this point, the owners decided to give up the fight and they moved to a slightly higher site on the edge of town. All the land next to the road which runs past the edge of the old town and along the side of the river is now extensive car parking which makes for a far more pleasant visit, knowing that you will definitely find a spot.
Having finished shopping, we then headed north towards the hill village of Lecques, but before we reached it, we drove along a country road which was being guarded by men wearing camouflage clothing, carrying large shotguns and wearing bright orange caps. The caps were so bright that quite frankly they could have been wearing Florida pineapple shirts and bright red cut-off pants for all the success that they were having blending into the countryside. At least you could see them for hundreds of yards ahead, but quite what our situation would have been if a big fat sanglier had run across the road, I don’t know. If I had been standing there since crack of dawn, I am sure that I wouldn’t give a fig for a passing motorist if he got between me and my target.
Lecques was pretty but steep, and after our climb up the hillside to the castle yesterday, we were idle tourists and took the easy way out and drove up into the village. I felt as though we should have switched off the engine and talked in whispers. Some of the residents were leaning over their balconies, still dressed in their night attire and holding a cup of coffee, while others were opening the shutters and yawning widely, and despite it being after ten in the morning, I don’t think there was going to be much action before midday.
From here we continued on up to Braggasargues and spent a very pleasant couple of hours with Jean’s sister. She and Jean had business to discuss, so I sat on the terrace and sewed another curtain and listened to the soundtrack from “Pride and Prejudice” on my Zune, and wallowed in the sunshine and the sense of peace, tranquillity and absolute beauty. By 1pm we all decided that the sun was over the yardarm and we broke out an excellent local rosé wine, and we opened up the last bottle of olives from her own tree. Crusty bread, a dish of saucisson (spicy sausage slices), some very tasty quiche and some of her enormous home grown tomatoes served with olive oil and oregano, and we had the makings of the perfect Sunday lunch in my book. No preparation, no washing up, and always a bit more cheese to finish up the last piece of bread.
A busy weekend one way and another, but one filled with beautiful countryside, early autumn colours, azure blue skies and a sense of deep satisfaction in feeling that the season is changing. This will be our first autumn in six years and we are both looking forward to it – especially now that some kind soul has given us a large gas heater and a number of snug jerseys and jackets.
Speaking of killing, the volleys of gunfire signalled the start of the hunting season, and from now on, any rabbit worth its salt is keeping its head tucked inside its burrow. I can’t imagine that there is anything like sanglier (wild boar) or deer around to hunt, so I presume that it remains up to the humble rabbit to keep the French hunter in business.
We had decided to drive up to Sommieres and do a bit of shopping at the big supermarket which has re-opened in a new situation since we were here a few years back. The Vidourle river which is currently an amiable gentle river, broke its banks back in 2002 and flooded the supermarket for the second time. At this point, the owners decided to give up the fight and they moved to a slightly higher site on the edge of town. All the land next to the road which runs past the edge of the old town and along the side of the river is now extensive car parking which makes for a far more pleasant visit, knowing that you will definitely find a spot.
Having finished shopping, we then headed north towards the hill village of Lecques, but before we reached it, we drove along a country road which was being guarded by men wearing camouflage clothing, carrying large shotguns and wearing bright orange caps. The caps were so bright that quite frankly they could have been wearing Florida pineapple shirts and bright red cut-off pants for all the success that they were having blending into the countryside. At least you could see them for hundreds of yards ahead, but quite what our situation would have been if a big fat sanglier had run across the road, I don’t know. If I had been standing there since crack of dawn, I am sure that I wouldn’t give a fig for a passing motorist if he got between me and my target.
Lecques was pretty but steep, and after our climb up the hillside to the castle yesterday, we were idle tourists and took the easy way out and drove up into the village. I felt as though we should have switched off the engine and talked in whispers. Some of the residents were leaning over their balconies, still dressed in their night attire and holding a cup of coffee, while others were opening the shutters and yawning widely, and despite it being after ten in the morning, I don’t think there was going to be much action before midday.
From here we continued on up to Braggasargues and spent a very pleasant couple of hours with Jean’s sister. She and Jean had business to discuss, so I sat on the terrace and sewed another curtain and listened to the soundtrack from “Pride and Prejudice” on my Zune, and wallowed in the sunshine and the sense of peace, tranquillity and absolute beauty. By 1pm we all decided that the sun was over the yardarm and we broke out an excellent local rosé wine, and we opened up the last bottle of olives from her own tree. Crusty bread, a dish of saucisson (spicy sausage slices), some very tasty quiche and some of her enormous home grown tomatoes served with olive oil and oregano, and we had the makings of the perfect Sunday lunch in my book. No preparation, no washing up, and always a bit more cheese to finish up the last piece of bread.
A busy weekend one way and another, but one filled with beautiful countryside, early autumn colours, azure blue skies and a sense of deep satisfaction in feeling that the season is changing. This will be our first autumn in six years and we are both looking forward to it – especially now that some kind soul has given us a large gas heater and a number of snug jerseys and jackets.
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