Eugenia Keegan

Well, we have been through this before. Somehow my adventures in France seem well, just like adventures. My life at home just seems like life. People routinely remind me that what I am doing is very cool, and fun, and of interest, and then when I am reminded to get to the blog so much has transpired that I am much too far behind to “catch up”. So, who the hell cares that every moment is accounted for and that it is all in chronological order? ME, that’s who. I will now get over myself and get back to blogging!

This is a most odd year in grape growing. Getting tired of hearing that? This is the earliest year in recorded history in France and the latest year in recorded history in Oregon…..yes, later than last year, the epic late year of 2010. Good news for me is that I can be present for both my French harvest and back in time to participate in the Oregon harvest.

Bloom in France was complete by the middle of May (yes, including Bordeaux). At that time the vines in Oregon were just waking up. Bloom in Oregon started around the first of July.

Bloom, July 7, 2011 in the Heart of the Willamette Valley

And after an extensive vineyard “tour” with old friends around a remarkable series of vineyards in Eola-Amity and Carlton, there is still some bloom in action in the higher altitude sites (July 26/27, 2011).  Here are a couple of the more spectacular views from these sites:

Carlton Hills

Eola-Amity

Additional Vineyard Beauty Contributed by Man

Additional Beauty Contributed by Mother Nature

My Pal Brock Downloading Weather Data

The sun burst in the room early…..I know this only because breakfast service started at 7:00 and I could not smell the usual signs:  fresh coffee and toast.  I turned over and wasted an hour in dream land.  I was at breakfast by 8:00, enjoyed a final walk along the lakefront, and was on the road by 10:00.  The day was spectacular, spring on full display.

I had picked my route; due south through the spa town of Aix-les-Thermes and onto the foothills of the Pyrenees.  I am not a skier so am not familiar with the hot spots of the sport, but I can imagine that this area is robust during the winter months.  I wound my way through one small Alpine village after another.  I could have been in Switzerland and indeed expected to see the Von Trapp family traipsing over the hill at any minute.

I finally could not contain myself and while crossing a somewhat new bridge with a running brook on one side and a leisurely lake spread to the other I pulled over to stop, gaze, wonder, and take a photo or two.  I stepped out of the car, and no it wasn’t Mary Poppins herself, but indeed the music of the famous cow bells.  I glanced up and sure enough cows were grazing with their bells echoing off the surrounding hills.  There was not a cloud in the sky or another human being on the road to disturb the minute of quiet and contemplation.

Back in the car, I cut across the mountain top and turned north at Mont-Louis.  I then followed the D118 north through a most beautiful and isolated area.  I wanted to stop for lunch but could not find the right spot.  It was Sunday (and Mother’s Day) and many places were closed.   Those that were open were hosting large families and formal meals, neither of which was on my agenda.  As the kilometers wound before me I marveled at how quiet things were…..and then noticed the time.  To be sure, around 2:30-3:00 the roads were a bit more crowded and busy….the lunch crowd had dispersed.  But for about two hours I thought that time had stopped for tout le monde, except moi as I traveled through timeless, hushed beauty.

As I came out of the mountains the temperature was on the rise.  I arrived in Maury around 4:00 in the afternoon with strong sun and temperatures hovering around 30.  The light breeze saved the air from any signs of oppression.  The town was on fire with activity and I soon understood that I had arrived right in the middle of a new (second year) tasting of AOC Maury wines hosted by the village of Maury.  There were around 25 wineries each with two or three wines in 5 separate locations around town, all walkable.  At each station a restaurant offered food.  There was music in the center of town at the community play yard.  I love arrival parties!!  I caught up with Jean-Roger Calvet and his wife, Marie at their winery station , picked up the key to “my” apartment (my third stay!!), and made arrangements to meet at the winery the next morning at 10:00.  The Calvets are my Roussillon winegrowing associates.  I can’t wait to introduce you to them.

Our plan for the next day was to work on a series of blends for the 2010 K2 grenache, Côtes Catalanes.  I couldn’t sleep a wink that night……

Not a Cloud in the Sky, Perfect Day for Handgliding

Welcome to the Neighborhood

Spring Arrives Late in Alpine Towns

Ring them Bells.....

Springtime in the French Mountains

A week of family vacation is a true rest.  “Enjoyed” fully it restores not just the body but some core sense of being that only comes with family history. I put enjoyed in quotes because of the chiaroscuro that comes with the pain/pleasure of looking inward.  Family interactions demand family “bare your soul” kinds of evolution and inevitably there is some catharsis.  For me it is one of those things that I love and hate.  I always prosper from the experience, but it painfully peals away another leaf of insulation.

I had one final weekend before the last week of work and then home.  With no prior obligations to burden my thinking I pulled out the map to find some new territory.  I thought that I had read that Mirepoix was the capital of copper pots and with fantasies of one day having a kitchen of my own in France I headed out on Saturday morning with a destination.

As I was driving along my designated route I saw a sign for Limoux.  I had wanted to see that town as well; home of Blanquette de Limoux one of the world’s most delightful quaffs…and at full throttle, an up on two wheels left turn had me on a detour.

The town was incredibly vibrant.  I arrived around 11:00 on a picture perfect Saturday morning in the springtime.  Puffy clouds, razor sharp sunshine, a light breeze bordering on warm…you get the idea.  There was a market in the middle of town which came as no surprise but the streets seemed to be teaming with people.  Every weekend in May and June includes some kind of fête or celebration, often to wine, and people seem to truly enjoy the excuse to be out and about…and chatting!

After a short walk about town I was back on the road returning to my original destination, Mirepoix.  Coming out of Limoux I picked up the D620 and found myself driving through yet another spectacular valley in France.  I thought often about stopping to photograph the area but the spectacular nature of the hillsides would have been lost with my technology and ability.  What interests me is how what appear to be remote valleys have obvious “tree farms” up and down the hillsides.  If this is what it appears to be, managed forests inside natural habitats my compliments to the French.  There were no raped patches in among the wooded areas.  I can’t say whether or not it works economically, but it sure works ecologically.  A tear drop drive.

From the valley I hit farm land that was wide and open.  Agriculture shifted from tree farms to animal farms as this area allowed for fields of open grazing.  The landscape was incredibly picturesque.

Entering the town of Peyrefittes-du-Razès

First Town of the Valley

Moo

Food for Moo

Maison for Moo

Another Moo Another Town

Mirepoix is a bit of a surprise for someone that does not realize what “medieval city” means in France.  Even I, at 5’ 2” would be banging my head on ceilings and overhangs in this town.  It was an amazing site to see as the reality of time and change (especially marked by size) are visually in front of one.  Our ability to feed ourselves and prosper physically is abundantly (all puns intended) clear.

Food in an American tourist town is to be avoided at all costs.  The opposite is often true in France (and other old world cities as well).  I ended up in a lovely spot but with an odd premise.  The restaurant had a serious patisserie and then this add on lunch place. The menu was somewhat eclectic with only nominal hommage to the usual entrecôte et frites.  I ended up with a pasta with tandoori chicken and it was one of the best meals I have had in ages.  Delicate pâte, sweet chicken, lightly coated in a cream sauce exuding spices of turmeric, coriander, cumin, ginger, and Garam Masala.  Weird…medieval town, exotic food.   Yum!

Mirepoix Cathedral

The Scene from Lunch

Medieval Homes

New Commerce, Old Venue

From Mirepoix (oh, not sure about the pots but I saw no evidence of them!) I headed to Foix.  I missed the turn completely as the town of Foix was not along this new and improved road. My error took me through a long tunnel as I overshot the town.  Really amazing the way the Europeans tunnel through rock. Why does it seem different?  I flipped my way back along the side/town roads that twisted and turned, but mostly followed the tunnel.  I wanted to stay in Foix that night so made that the next objective.  During my round about method of returning to the city I noticed a small lake just north of town.   There I found a delightful hotel with an overlook to the lake, a perfect spot for the night.

The town of Foix turned out to be charming.  The sun does not set until late and there is time each evening for a long “sunset”.  I found mine in town and then lakeside.

"Street Sign" for Local School, Foix

Foix, Cared for by Their Castle

Sunset on My Lake

Final Sunset Swim with the Ducks

Family vacations were not a part of my childhood and in fact, vacations were not much a part of my early life.  I feel a sadness about this and accordingly, they are now an annual fixture in planning.  And let me be clear,  I am making up for lost vacations now….and have no plans to stop.

Last spring when I made my pilgrimage to France, it included a short week in Italy with my brother, his Italian wife Cinzia, and their daughter, now nine, Giulia.  When I emailed Paul that I would be returning to France in spring, but sadly as this was now solely business I would not have the time to pop over to Italy, he took matters squarely in hand and volunteered his family to come to France.  We quickly settled on Lanquedoc and he proceeded to find for us what turned out to be a simply fabulous gîte.  If you are heading in that direction check out Domaine de Curé just outside of Carcassone.

Our hosts were Jean-Noël (American/Japanese born in Geneva) and his wife Agathe, who is French.  They found each other in Japan and after very successful careers decided to exchange the fashion and fame of Tokyo for a bucolic setting in the French countryside.  There are three units and with everyone respecting others’ privacy it was a delightful week with a blend of many social encounters.  We of course were the most rambunctious party (rowdy Americans, vocal Italians and a hot wired nine year old) as our neighbors were German (one couple in their late 20’s, early 30’s, and the other in their 50’s) with no kids.  One couple was returning for their second year and another for their 3^rd year.

Our week included a trip on the Canal Midi, the cité of Minerve, the castle at Lastours, lots of swimming, eating, and just being.  Giulia ran a series of snail races and repeatedly beat me at hangman. When we were not engaged in sporting events or intellectual sparing,  we watched Disney movies in multiple languages, and giggled a lot.  (Truly, the chipmunks in Italian are a riot!).

I arrived at 6:10, they arrived at 6:18, picture taken at 6:30!

After 10 1/2 Hours in the Car.....a Just Reward!

Locks Closing, Canal Midi

A French Fieldtrip: Biking Along the Canal Midi

Leaving Carcassonne

Brother Paul Relaxing....Playing his Daughter's Nintendo

Looking Out

Kids at Play

Managing the Snail Races

I noticed after publishing photos that I do not have any of Cinzia.  Giulia had a new super camera and was the official family photographer and only on occasion did I remember to grab my camera.  I will try to rectify this.  It would take only a flash to see that Giulia’s quiet beauty comes from her mother.  Her strong will and determination???

A spring trip to southern France is not complete without a visit to the holy grail of rosé, Tavel.  I love rosé and use every day as an excuse to refresh my palate. It truly screams the south of France, the heat, the Mistral.  For me a crisp rosé makes every meal seem like a vacation.  Certainly one of the finest that is exported is Trinquevedel and I made that my first and only winery stop.  The following week was mostly a vacation with family and a case of rosé was the perfect culinary contribution.

The town was cute, small, and set on a slight hill mandating lots of twists and turns. There were a number of very cute ceramic spouts around town and I was hoping that around noon they would gush with pink grape juice.  When that did not materialize I sat down for a tasty lunch of omlette forestière and the best frites I can ever remember.  They were cut in a different way which somehow left more area for “crispy”.  And naturally this was washed down with the local quaff.

The vineyards along the Route du Vin are expansive with rocky soils of calcaire.

La Maison at Trinquevedel

The Vineyards of Trinquevedel

One of Many Water Spouts

OK, Just One More

Vineyards Cover the Landscape