Vaison la Romaine

It was frustrating! We were tired of driving but could not find our bed and breakfast in Vaison la Romaine. We had followed the maps downloaded to our iPod, and they were accurate right up to the barricade on Rue d'Avignon. Yes, the street our lodging was on was barricaded. What to do? On the right we were fifty yards from the Ouveze River and on the left was a  mountain.  But ingenuity and French hospitality paid off.  My tavelmate found a real estate office with two great  women who drew a map on the back of advertising flyers to show us the way. We checked into Hotel la Bastid de Vaison about nightfall. Thank God for French women!   I have said this before for a different reason, which I won't go into now.

Our temporary abode had been used for processing olive oil and was built in the 13th century.  It was quite charming and comfortable as well.  Our host was very helpful and we were quite pleased since we had booked this lodging online without the benefit of the English language. The morning sun came into the room at dawn, and through the window you could see the vineyard on the hillside and the big furry white cat peering in at us. We ventured down two floors to the breakfast prepared by the innkeeper. We don't often eat at our lodging, but this was a considerable distance from town.  Coffee and fresh croissants as usual.  I love 'em.  The patio was bursting with colorful flowers and plants making it difficult to leave the inn.  But there were Roman ruins to be seen.

Soon we were enjoying one of the true benefits of Vaison la Romaine: free parking. Free parking is a rarity in France except in very small villages. But here in Vaison la Romaine not only was it free, but was located across the street from the Tourist Information Office at place da Chanoine Sautel and between the two sites of Roman ruins. This was the first of the often lauded in the guidebooks tourist Information Offices we had found open. So we stood in line to get our map of the city, to find out where to get fuel for our car,  and where the laundry was. And, of course, information about local attractions.  The lady was extremely helpful, although it seems that every place you would want to go to in which ever town you're in is always "ten minutes away".  Vaison la Romaine is made of two towns Villa Basse and Ville Haute.  Ville Basse being the lower town and Ville Haute the other.  The ruins are located in the lower town.

We bought our tickets to see the Roman ruins and entered through the gates.  We walked to the top of the hill through the ruins to get to a very modern museum exhibiting ancient relics.  Like all the museums we visited in France this one was first class. We paid eight euros each for a map of the ruins and an audio guide in English. Out of the museum we went to discover the 2,000 year old ruins of a town. Only a small portion of it is visible while the rest is still buried under the current city. Here you can walk among the ruins of houses  and see what's left of the walls, gardens, baths, and kitchens of the Roman homes. Wall frescoes are still visible, and we walked on mosaic floors that were over 2000 years old. To me it was interesting to see how the water system worked, supplying in fresh water and taking away waste water.  On one site is a 6,000 seat amphitheater which is used today.  The population of this city in the first century was 6,000 and that is the current population.  However, after the barbarians ran the Romans out, the population declined and has only recently reached its current level. The audiotours are indispensable  for the enjoyment of the ruins.  After visiting the Puymin site we ventured across the street to La Villasse, the other site.  Your ticket has a code which is used to open the gate to this site since there is not a caretaker on site. This has more shops and fewer residences. 

After a bit of lunch it was time to do some chores. We normally do laundry every three days or so, and we had put it off long enough. Of course the laundry was only "ten minutes away", but it took a little longer to find.  The coin operated machines would not take our coins.  (Some things never change regardless of country.)  But my clever wife, with the help of another customer, found the owner and they solved the problem.  While my travel mate was doing laundry I found a gas station and topped off the tank of the Peugeot.  It was kind of frustrating because the pump would not take my credit card and I had to go inside to pay while the waiting line at the pump grew. 

 After the chores were done we were going to dinner in Ville Haute which was the medieval town on the mountain the other side of the river. We crossed the Roman bridge and drove up to the restaurant, an Italian one recomended by our innkeeper.  But, alas, it had not opened for dinner, so we decided to walk around the town. It had the narrow steep streets lined with stone houses.  Flowers seemed to be bursting from every available spot of soil. There is nothing very notable here, but the cobbled streets and many fountains are a delight to behold. It was the onset of evening as people were enjoying dinner, and you could hear laughter and the clink of glasses through open doors and window. As we walked past an open window we heard the voice of a four-year-old, saying  " Bonjour!".  He was a cute little fellow.  Throughout the town there are large black and white photographs of people in the windows of vacant buildings.  From the chateau, which was build in 1195, we walked down to the restaurant where we had left our car and enjoyed a great meal while watching the lights come on in Ville Basse.  Incidently, the people from Ville Basse always retreated  to Ville Haute when attacked by barbarians as the high ground is always easier to defend.

Couldn't help using a little
Photoshop magic!

We had enjoyed our stay in Vaison la Romaine and were continually surprised at the number of Roman ruins in France.

Unsold at Garage Sale

At our garage yard sale there was one item we were unable to get rid of.  This trunk.  We sold two others but not this camel-topped trunk.  There is something about the look of them I like.  Or maybe it reminds me of pirate treasure chests. At any rate I was happy when no one would buy it.  Could I restore it?  It would make a handsome piece. Would it be beyond my skill level?  Could be. Having a professional do the job was out of the question economically.  And, I might add, I was not receiving any enthusiastic support from the other member of the household.  However, throwing caution to the wind I set out to undertake the project with certain budgetary constraints.

My dad and I had found in an out building of our family's original homestead.  The farm house dated from before 1860 and the trunk was about that old.  Maybe.  It is 16 inches tall and 30 inches long and 15 inches front to back and is made of pine and has tincorners,  tin covering and some leather handles.

In the above photo details of the damages are seen. Noted clockwise beginning at 12 o'clock.

• The embossed tin covering is rusted and has holes in it.

• Sever damage to the embossed tin.

• This photo shows the detail of the embossing.

• This lock or latch must be replaced.

• This photo shows the distressed corner. Wood and metal must be replaced.

• Strap caps must be replaced.

• Unseen are the hinges  and stays that also must be replaced.



Looks like I've got my work cut out for me!

Patefacio Vestri Libri

We said goodbye to our hosts at the Stables Bed and Breakfast near Newcastle and were in search of Hadrian's Wall. Our host had said it was easy to find. After all it was 74 miles long and stretched the breadth of England. Via a few small signs and a bit of luck we found it. O,r at least a part of it. We parked the little Benz by the side of the country lane and read the historical placard about the wall before crossing the fence for the short walk uphill to the wall remains.

Crossing the fence was an easy chore because there was a stairway. I don't think that I'd seen anything like it elsewhere. The British seem to make all historical sites easily accessible, and it was only about a fifty yard walk to the ruins.  After yesterday's walk up to Durham's cathedral this was a break!  It was a beautiful morning with the sun shining, the grass green and sheep bleating softly.

Hadrian's Wall, built about 122 A.D., and would you believe that Hadrian was the Roman emperor at that time?  The wall is 74 miles long and was designed to keep the Picks of Scotland out of England or restrict the movement of the people within the wall. The Picks were the blue-faced barbarian ancestors of Braveheart and perhaps me.  The wall was constructed of stone for the most part and twelve feet high.  There were forts at 5000 foot intervals called mileforts and turrets between the mileforts.  We were looking at one of the turrets.  Over one thousand years ago roman soldiers were standing here armed with spears, shields and swords. From this point they maintained the security of the  massive Roman Empire. This was the frontier and I was standing in their foot steps.  Once manned by soldiers from throughout the Empire, Spainards, Greeks, or North Africans, the wall was later manned by local Britons. The construction of this part of the wall is stone; some 30 odd miles are of earth.  Indeed Roman stone quarries are found along the length of the stone portion of the wall, and there are deposites of lime nearby for making concrete, the building material invented by the Romans. But this morning there is no rattling of weapons, just the soft bleating of sheep and the joyous laughter of a two-year-old  tumbling is the soft green grass. There is a family of mom, dad, children, and grandpa visiting the site as well, and I, lost in my thoughts of ancient soldiers, stand in awe of the achievement of Roman engineers.  Only one caveat at this site: watch out for the sheep dung!

I Have Reached the Heights of Outdoor Cookery!

I think that outdoor cooking is a guy thing. That's always who's doing it in the comic strips, and comic strips reflect life. Right? I'm sure that when we light that campfire, barbeque grill, or habachi we're thinking of cowboys around the campfire with beans in a pot over the fire and a half side of beef on the spit.   Or maybe a cracklin' fire under that skillet of fresh trout with the sound of that fast moving mountain stream nearby.  Some of my cooking has been a solitary effort, and some a group activity.

As I reach back into my memory for the first time I cooked anything outdoors it was probably when my buddy, Jimmy and I went camping. Of course we were about 9 or 10 years old and unrolled our sleeping blankets within a quarter mile of the farmhouse where I lived. Well, we cooked up some eggs and they stuck to the skillet.  But Jimmy told me that the way to clean the skillet was to scrub it with sand, and wash it out with water.  It got it clean, sort of. The next batch of eggs were kind of gritty.  But that was okay when you're having a great adventure.

Of course one of the first things you cook in the backyard or over a campfire are weiners on the end of a wire coathanger straightened out. There's something primitive about how that piece of meat gets all charred and crunchy.  And, you can eat it right off the wire. That's the way I like mine.

I do remember some group cooking in which I was only an observer.  When I was about seven years old I went to a hash cookin' with my father.  It seems that he would get together with some of his relatives every year and cook a pot of hash for the annual family reunion.  They would have at least two washpots for cooking.  Washpots were used in the olden days to boil clothes in for washing, but they were good for cooking, too. They would fill the pots with pork and a little beef with potatoes and seasonings and cook it all night long.  The meat eventually would literally fall apart,  or would with very little shredding.  My cousin and I would listen to the grown-ups' stories and tales  in the flickering firelight.  Much as we fought it, we would finally fall asleep.  The next day the hash would be served up in little cardboard trays with pickles and white sliced bread, and we would pig-out.

I learned to grill burgers and barbecue chicken.  I get a little impatient with chicken and cook it in the oven for about forty-five minutes before finishing it up on the grill. Steak and pork grilled are some of my favorites. Chicken on a stick is also one of my favorites, as well as bratwurst.  I would never put a brat on the grill before first cooking it in beer, preferably a dark.  And never puncture the brat and let out all that delicious juice.

I first started using a dutch oven when I was a Scout leader. I have a spider Dutch oven.  It' a big iron pot with legs on it and a flat lid to hold the charcoal on top. A dutch oven can be used to bake anything that you can bake in a conventional oven.  I've baked cake, cornbread, biscuits, coblers, and meatloaf in my dutch oven and used it as a big pot to make chicken bog. By the way, they're called dutch ovens because German peddlers sold them.  The Germans spoke "Deutch", pronounced "dutch" by the locals.

We camp a lot.  We've made two coast-to-coast trips and camped along the way. This calls for outdoor cooking, since we are tent campers. Some times we buy fresh produce at local markets.  I made some great corn chowder when we bought some fresh sweet corn in Wisconsin.  I cooked chicken and dumplings beside the Rogue River in Oregon.  Unfortunately, I  had to use Bisquick (I prefer scratch-made.) for the dumplings, but they were good.  My travelmate had picked fresh berries down by the river and made some blackberry dumplings, and I learned from her how to make the dumplings.

One of my favorite methods of cooking is smoking. This is a wet smoke rather than dry smoke.  Dry smoke is used for curing meat for preservation. I use a small smoker that uses charcoal for a heat source.  Over the years I have smoke cooked salmon, chicken, and turkey.  Smoke imparts a unique flavor to the meat that is cooked at a low temperature over a long period of time. The addition of various varieties of wood chips such as apple, pecan, or cherry imparts those flavors to the meat subtlety.   Which brings me to the height of outdoor cookery.

Recently, while in France, I frequently ate duck and liked it.  I had only ordered it once in a resturant here.  I decided that my next cooking project would be smoked duck.  The local Publix supermarket had just the duck I needed.  It weighed in at 4.2 lbs.  From the internet I got a recipe and went to work.  The basting liquid was of made up of orange zest, orange juice, rice wine, rice vinegar, fresh grated ginger, and some other stuff.  I filled the drip pan on the smoker and started the first batch of charcoal.  I basted it once per hour for six hours and continued to add charcoal (I used almost an entire bag.) to keep the temperature up to about 200 degrees. Mesquite wood chips that had been soaked in water were added to generate a smokey mesquite flavor. When the meat thermometer read about 160 degrees I took the duck off the smoker, and the skin was a golden brown.  It had taken  about five and one half hours to cook the duck. The skin was crispy, and the meat had a hint of the basting sauce and a touch of mesquite. It was tender and juicy. This was the best tasting meat I have ever cooked.  Duck gets a  bad rep for being greasy, but this was not the case. I served it up with canelli bean salad and mashed sweet pototoes.

I am sure I will never cook anything better than this duck! 

Sunday Night on Avenue des Champs-Élysées

aris, FrancOnce I was talking to a local Belgium-born artist and asked him what was his favorite city.  I knew he was a world traveler and no-doubt had a favorite city. He smiled, his eyes sparkled and a smile erupted on his bearded face. 

"Paris," he said.  

I wondered why.  I'd read about the famous people past and present who had called the French city home but wanted to see for myself.

It was our last day in Paris; in the morning we would take the train to Verrnon. In the morning we had visited the Louuvre and  Orsay Museums and had a bit of lunch.  Both museums were crowded but enjoyable just the same. We did , of course, see the Mona Lisa, Da Vinci's painting of world renown. We decided to take a leisurely stroll along the river in an easterly direction from Notre Dame. I looked for Duncan McLeod's barge but did not see it.  It was always tied up opposite Notre Dame in the television series, The Highlander.  The church in the middle of the Seine River is quite impressive, but crowds of tourists seem to overwhelm the spiritual ambiance of the place. 

In the Tuileries Garden we male a brief visit to Musee de l'Orangerie (Orangerie Museum)  showcasing the work of the  artist, Henri Manet.  His paintings of the water lilies in his garden are huge, with one of them covering an entire wall.  Other painters of his era are represented as well. While there we saw an old man dressed  like a painter of that era with flowing beard and floppy hat.  We then continued our walk in the garden and sat for a while on a park bench watching a family play a game of boule.  This game is played throughout Europe but known by different names. Basically a player tries to throw a heavy ball, boule, about softball size at a smaller target ball or "cochonnet".  Points are scored by the player getting closest to the target ball.  It's a team sport and the first team getting to 13 points is the winner.   It was enjoyable to watch a family having so much fun on a Sunday afternoon. I was surprised in our walk not to see any painters with their easels; they were always in the movies.  I did see some cheap reproductions for sale on one of the bridges. It would have been nice to have pulled my beret low over my eyes and dipped a brush into some French ultramarine blue oil and put it on canvas.  Maybe next time.

We continued our walk to Place de la Concorde which is the city's largest square.  The gardens and the square were created by Louis XIV, and later he lost his head there as well as Marie Antionette. Avenue des Champs-Elysees begins here. There was an oriental couple in western wedding garb here talking with well-wishers beside a stretch limousine surrounded by other cars and pedicabs.  We continued our walk along the busy avenue and stopped at a park bench to people watch for a while.  We considered buying some ice cream but thought it was too expensive, one Euro per boule.  They sell it by the "boule" instead of  by the scoop  .  All sorts of vehicles were on the avenue: exotic sports cars, limousines, motorcycles, and the ubiquitous motorscooters.  I actually saw a man doing a wheelie on a scooter.  Some of the French women were dressed to the nines.  The epitome of feminine eye candy!  We walked from the shady tree lined area to where the shops and restaurants were and found a delightful place to eat. It had just opened for dinner. Great food in an incomparable atmosphere. Food isn't cheap in Paris.  Remember everything has that 19% value added tax. And there is no required tipping. I've heard many stories about the rudeness of French waiters.  We found them to be quite professional. You must remember that dining in France is a leisurely experience.

After finishing our dinner, (I had that famous peasant dish, cassoulet, a rich stew of various meats and white beans), we continued walking toward the Arc de Triomphe and saw the shops of all the world famous clothing designers and jewelers and watchmakers. The street was full of a festive crowd and all the streetlamps were now on. There were automobile dealer showrooms and we looked around the Peugeot showroom since we were going to rent a Peugeot when we reached Rouen.  It was amusing to see a salesman apprehending an over zealous shopper asking him to get  out of a car on display.  I did not understand the language but understood the intent. After all I had once been an automobile salesman.

By now it is twilight and the neon is reflecting off the sidewalk as the huge monument to Napoleon's victories looms ahead.  Twelve streets merge at the Arc de Triomphe and are named for army generals.

We join the crowd to enter the 164 foot tall monument. We were unaware that this particular Saturday was "free" day.  On certain days during the year national attractions such as this have the admission charge waived.  This was such a day, and I think every Frenchman between Paris and Nice was there.  But how many times would we get a chance to go tho the top of such a world renowned attraction? So, you stand in line. It wasn't so bad, and we took the elevator, which isn't very obvious.  After the final few steps the panoramic view of Paris, the city of light, awaits us.  There are few lights on top and I was moving toward the rail in semi-darkness when I accidentally bumped into a couple at my feet who were too much  into each other to notice me.  But the young woman looked over his shoulder and gave me a knowing look as I apologized and passed by.  The view is fantastic!  The sun is setting, the city sparkles with lights, and the lighted traffic streams to and from us and circles around our feet. People speak with "u-u-uhs" and "a-a-ahs" in several different languages as the sun descends below the horizon.

We make our descent through the gift shop after reaching ground level. We stop a few minutes to take a photo of the grave of the unknown soldier from WWI. The monument reads:

ICI REPOSE UN SOLDAT FRANÇAIS MORT POUR LA PATRIE 1914–1918 ("Here lies a French soldier who died for the fatherland 1914–1918").

There is an "eternal" flame marking the grave.  It's said that Jacqueline Kennedy got the idea for such a flame for her husband's grave here when she and Jack Kennedy visited this place with then French president Charles de Gaulle.

 

We catch the metro back to our hotel at 110 Rue des Orteaux.  Our hotel is in the part of Paris made famous by the singer Edith Piaf who  grew up singing for tips on the streets. It was a fairly long ride but made interesting by a Frenchman who had obviously had too much wine.  He kept trying to get someone to sing with him but was unsuccessful.

It was a great day, one we will long remember.  I think the painter was right.  I can't say exactly what it is about Paris, but it's my favorite city, too.

Links:

• Some of my photographs of Paris
• The Arc de Triomphe
• Notre Dame de Paris
• More about Boule.