On the road to Provence

I’ve decided to type these missives like diary entries and get all the information down while it’s still fresh. We’ll throw in lots of pictures so you can skip the words and still get the gist. I’ve added hyperlinks to the blogs in case you’re interested in exploring a topic in more depth: if you see text that is underlined, click on it! You might learn something.

I’m encouraging Denise to contribute here and also write her own posts so, hopefully, she joins in going forward. She took a lot of these pictures so her keen eye is well-represented here.  I’ll take credit for the header picture of the Citroën 2CV above, though. I was taking a picture of the building when the car fortuitously pulled in front. These ugly ducklings, often a feature of French New Wave films, captured my heart and were the design precursor to the Volkswagen Beetle. Anyway, Allons-y!

I woke up on Thursday morning in Paris and I could tell that I was on the mend. Tuesday and Wednesday were just a Covid fever dream and the nearest we got to seeing any sights in Paris was the peek-a-boo view of the Eiffel Tower from the balcony of our Airbnb in St.-Denis. (don’t get too excited, our view was nice but there were a few kilometers between us and the famous landmark)  Our plans to hit a few museums and cafes had been dashed and now our Paris time was up: we had a hotel reservation for Thursday night in Beaune, more-or-less the halfway point on our way to Provence, and, on Friday, we began our one-month stay in the small village of Châteauneuf-de-Gadagne (which everyone calls Gadagne, so I will too).  We had originally planned to take some back roads and see the countryside but my energy was low and we decided to go the fastest route. We pulled onto the toll highway and collected our ticket, figuring that the charges would be similar to US tolls, a notion that we would be disabused of shortly. 

We made a pit stop in Troyes, a charming little city just off the highway, and found a central park to relax in for a few minutes. We immediately felt the difference in the climate, a change from cool and cloudy Paris just a few hours north and a major change from Dublin. The sun was restorative and we watched some men playing Pétanque, a form of boules (the French version of Italy’s bocce), a game that we had learned from some expat French winemakers when we lived in Walla Walla years ago. Rejoining the highway, we headed to Beaune, and our hotel for the night.

This was my first time driving in France and it was an education. Like many European drivers, the French treat the highway like a Formula 1 race, speeding up right behind you, quickly passing, and then pulling back right in front of you. I did my best to avoid them by staying right but, with so many trucks on the road, I was constantly having to pass, putting myself in the lane of fire. I’d say anecdotally that 90% of the time, the obnoxious drivers were in high-end German cars, and I learned to identify their grills in my rearview mirror, so as to avoid them. Whatever, dudes. I’m retired.

We made it to Beaune at dinner time and the tolls for the day totaled about 23 euros for the 210 miles, a big leap from US prices. Considering how ubiquitous these roads are in France, it’s another big ticket item to add to the budget. Our car is a diesel (not our first choice), and it gets about 35 miles per gallon, but the gazole is about $7 per gallon so the car is not cheap. We’ll only have it for five months, however, so, during that time, we’re going to take advantage of it to see and stay in the out of the way places.

We were able to safely enjoy a nice dinner at the Beaune Mercure hotel — sequestered away from other people — sharing a half-bottle of a very nice red Burgundy with our meal before crashing out in our room. In the morning, we took a stroll through the center of Beaune, the business heart of the Burgundian wine world. The town, as my friend Vanessa says, “gives good roof,” starting with the Hospices des Beaune, a former hotel turned charitable almshouse built in the 15th century. The architecture of the building is striking, and even the less-important buildings in town are impressive examples of Burgundian architecture. The Hospice is now a museum and the site each year of a major charitable wine auction featuring wines made from the vineyards and donated to the foundation.

Before leaving Beaune, we stopped in a giant CarreFour supermarket (hypermarché) which featured a large wine section of local favorites – including some very pricey bottles – along with cheese and charcuterie counters that stretched for a city block. Even as an American used to large grocery stores, I was impressed. We loaded up on picnic items and hit the road, once again opting for the toll roads. At least it was a pretty drive today, much of it following the mighty Rhone River as it heads to the Mediterranean. We passed through the impressive city of Lyon, the second largest in France, and we finally entered Provence, my first visit to the province. (The name comes from Roman times, when it was referred to as a “province of Rome”).

We made it to Gadagne at 5 pm on Friday and the town was hopping. People were picking up their kids after school and stopping at the boulangerie for their dinner baguette. Our place is almost right above the bakery so the enticing aroma of fresh bread is constantly being piped into our hallway, something I mean to complain about any day now. We are also just across the main street from a newly-built plaza and shopping area that is being dedicated the very next morning. Our hosts, Beatrice and Sophie, had bought us some snacks so we made dinner from that and our leftover picnic-makings and collapsed into bed. 

The next morning there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a legion of men and women in traditional Provençal dress, playing flutes and drums, and dancing old-timey group dances. At first, we thought it was a welcome for us but actually the village was pulling out all the stops to celebrate the newly-dedicated Félibres Plaza, named after a 19th century local literary collective led by Frédéric Mistral (no relation to the wind) and the source of much local pride. We stood at the window, amazed by the nearby mountains, the blue sky, and the events taking place across the street. Saint merde, we realized, we’re in Provence! We dressed and headed outside to take in the celebration and our village home for the next month. 

When I had scoped out this Airbnb back in the fall of 2022, the area across our street had shown up in Google Maps as a construction zone and I couldn’t tell what was being built. Now there was a brand new set of buildings featuring bright yellow shutters: modern, but in a Provençal style, currently housing a pharmacy, a small Carrefour, and a wine bar on the ground level with apartments on the top floor. It might not be the most attractive plaza in France but it was damned convenient for us, especially after we discovered that the clerk at the market spoke perfect English and was willing and able to answer all of our questions. 

We spent the morning soaking up the atmosphere of the festival and, after the old-timey music and dancing had stopped, a tattooed tightrope walker (I guess he was technically “slacklining”) took to a wire stretching symbolically from the city wall to the top of one of the new buildings. He was strapped in with a harness so he couldn’t fall to the ground and he spent 20 minutes or so on the wire doing stunts. We spoke to him after the performance and he admitted that was his first time on the wire in front of a crowd. After that, we listened to a few speeches by local luminaries and then set off to explore the old part of town in the walled city above our apartment. 

The wall of the ancient city rises above our street, Rue Du Thor, and one of the arches is actually integrated into our apartment decor, making for a very large and dramatic living area with TVl. The stairs take you up to the 15th century, exiting onto a small plaza across from the mayor’s office. There’s  only one way to go from there: up, and we climbed through the narrow streets, alleys, and staircases until we reached the Church at the summit of the old town. People still live in the old buildings and somehow navigate their cars through the narrow and winding streets. This is my favorite part of visiting Europe: the medieval buildings that are somehow still functioning as housing. There’s plenty of houses and apartments in Gadagne that are outside of the walled city but then you’re vulnerable to marauding Catalonians so I wouldn’t recommend it. 

We wandered back to the plaza around lunchtime, having been tipped off that there would be food and beverages, compliments of the village. Right on schedule, the tables were set up with wine, juices, and soft drinks and some of the costumed dancers from earlier were insistently passing small bites that eventually took the place of our lunch. We enjoyed some local wines and introduced ourselves to one of the morning’s speakers, who turned out to be the town mayor. He was thrilled to have some Americans in town, spending money, but he admitted that they didn’t really go after the tourist dollar or euro too ardently.  He had his hands full running the town — along with his other full time job — and he had seen tourism overrun nearby towns, changing the character. He wanted to keep Gadagne a livable city for the residents, many of whom were already being pushed out by high real estate prices. He invited us to join him for a glass of wine in the coming weeks to hear more about the town and its history and we gratefully accepted.

When the sun went down, our friend was back on the high wire, this time accompanied by a DJ, adding drama to his escapades. A food truck serving wood-fired pizza showed up, selling pies with local ingredients and a few village wineries set up mobile tasting rooms, doing a brisk business in bottle sales to the adults while their children ran amuck in the plaza. We bought a pizza and a glass of red wine from a winery located just behind the Church and soaked up the small town atmosphere, thrilled to have landed in such a friendly place. All day long, people had come up to us asking if they could say “cou-cou” to Coco and, thanks to her, we made a lot of friends. Of course, she loves the attention and, surprisingly, she’s the only standard poodle that we’ve seen since arriving in France. 

People seemed to like to hear that we are staying in the town for a month instead of just breezing through and everyone we met was very welcoming. We had been warned that English was not widely spoken in the small towns in Provence but we were astonished by how many could at least make themselves understood in our native language. For our part, we’re trying to learn as much French as possible so we don’t fit the stereotype of the Américains moches.

The sun went down on our first perfect day in Provence and we went back to our apartment while the party continued across the street at the plaza. The timing of our arrival in Gadagne could not have been better: some history, free food and wine, and meeting the mayor. Et Voila! 

Here are some more pictures!

Denise and Coco on the road that we now walk almost every day.