NARBONNE, THEY TOLD US TO BEWARE THE HORRORS OF A FRENCH PROTEST.

At some point early this week, a renewed desire to explore took hold of us, and we decided to revisit Narbonne. This, an otherwise lovely medieval town previously tainted by the winter of our discontent. My last visit here was in January 2020, one month before Covid set in. In addition to the fear of catching the plague, the weather was atrocious and certainly not what you would expect from this Mediterranean jewel , no matter what time of year. No more snow, no icy winds - this time, Narbonne greeted us with open arms and a welcoming glow from a glorious sun. The call of the South of France was hard to resist, particularly given the promise of the ancient city's history and famed gastronomic delights.

Like a shy maiden hidden behind the veil of our experience, Narbonne revealed herself under the bright summer sun. As we navigated the streets and canals, we quickly realized parking was as rare as finding a family size bag of ketchup chips and a 2L bottle of cream soda. However, with dogged determination we managed to land a little spot not too far from our lodging, a quaint, unassuming hotel that we stumbled upon on hotels.com. We were greeted with a generous glass of Rosé and an exquisite charcuterie board - both unplanned but warmly welcomed refreshments - atop the hotel’s sun-drenched rooftop. The radiant heat, the tantalizing flavors, and the soul-soothing breeze all worked their magic to banish our travel fatigue.

Once our spirits were rejuvenated, we wandered to the town's pulsating heart, ready to uncover Narbonne's myriad of treasures. We strolled through the picturesque streets as the architecture whispered tales of a time long past. Narbonne, you see, has a rich history dating back to the Romans, who used it as a crucial trading port. Vestiges of this period can be seen on the Via Domitia, the oldest Roman road in France, uncovered right in the city's center.

For the history buffs out there, Narbonne's Archaeological Museum is a must-visit. It is bursting with artifacts and exhibits that speak volumes about Narbonne’s history from prehistoric times to the Middle Ages. Here, your senses are taken on a journey through time. The cathedral, a marvel of Gothic architecture, another gem, seems to stand as a testament to the city's former ecclesiastical glory.

Narbonne is not just for history lovers. The Halles de Narbonne, an indoor market, is a culinary paradise where local produce, meats, cheeses, and wines from the region reign supreme. Each vendor is an expert in their craft, offering tips on the perfect cheese for your palate or the ideal wine to accompany your baguette.

In the evening, the city becomes even more magical. Its streets, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, are lined with lively cafés and restaurants, each offering its slice of the famed French cuisine. The aroma of freshly prepared meals wafts through the air, the sound of clinking glasses echoes around, and the sight of people enjoying their repast makes for a very enticing scene.

In hindsight, it feels like Narbonne was waiting for this second chance, and it has indeed won us over with its charm and energy. Yes, there's plenty of history, but there's also vibrancy, a lively food scene, and a welcoming atmosphere. Here's a toast to giving places a second chance and to the enduring allure of Narbonne!

Oh, and how can I forget? Amidst all the charm and history, Narbonne decided to spice up our visit with a dash of contemporary French political theatre - a good old-fashioned protest against retirement reform. You've got to hand it to the French; they do know how to throw a protest! Even in this serene, historically rich town, the winds of dissent were blowing.

Just as we were enjoying a lovely cold glass or two of Monaco and an Aperol Spritz in a picturesque cafe by the canal, a sea of placards, banners, and passionate locals filled the streets, marching, singing, and waving baguettes (a nice touch of French resistance, wouldn't you say?). The retirees were out in full force, shaking their walking sticks and chanting slogans. I half expected a chorus line of seniors to start a can-can routine in the middle of the square. And you know what? Despite the disruption, the restaurant continued to serve, and the wine flowed - because it's France!

There was a brilliant moment where one particularly feisty grandmother, armed with nothing but a fiercely worded sign and a fiery spirit, managed to bring the march to a halt just to adjust her beret. Let me tell you; if there's anything more French than protesting your government while sipping a glass of red, it's making sure your beret is perfectly angled while doing so. This city, ladies and gentlemen, has a sense of style, history, cuisine, and a flair for the dramatic. Narbonne - the city that never fails to impress!

I hope these few words and photographs inspired just a little bit of interest in visiting this area. Please leave a comment if you have some time; I really enjoy hearing from you.

Live well!

M.

MY 9TH EPISODE OF THE VILLAGE DIARIES. BEAUTIFUL MAUBEC AND HAVE YOU READ THE NEWS TODAY?

MAUBEC VILLAGE

I got up early this morning because the forecast predicted clear skies and a cloud inversion down in the valley. I grabbed the camera and tripod and climbed to the top of the village with high hopes. Unfortunately, hopes dashed quite quickly upon arrival at the Haute Eglise. The fog was thick, and it looked like hours before it would clear. By that time, I would have sadly missed the spectacular light of sunrise.

I quickly decided what needed to be done was to minimize my to-do list before the New Year arrived. As of this morning, my top two on the list were to pay my municipal taxes and my home insurance. Taxes are collected at the government office in Apt, and my Allianz insurance broker is in a small town 20 minutes away in the opposite direction. So I tried the taxes first and arrived early enough to be first in line when the miserable-looking middle-aged lady unlocked the door and grunted, what do you want (en Francais)?

Less than 60 seconds later, I was ushered from the office because I did not have the one document that miserable Marie required to make this transaction possible today. So I skipped back to the psycho mobile AKA the "RENAULT MEGANE" and began the short journey home to Bonnieux to see if the notaire that looked after the sale of our place had the form La Miserable grunted for.

Job done & a big thanks to Quenton's legal secretary. It seemed like the best thing to do then was not return from where I just left, but instead to pay Nathalie a visit at Allianz. Fifteen minutes later, my TD Visa was racking up a few more Aeroplan points. So now what? Maubec is on the way home. I should drop by and wander the village, stop for an espresso and read La Provence. La Provence is the primary newspaper for the region and is published and printed in Marseille. Marseille is the second biggest city in France, so I was expecting the worst as I thumbed through today’s crime section.

As expected it was terrible. Way worse than I had predicted. We who spend most of our time in the southwest corner of British Columbia are used to reading about gangland murders, junkies robbing everything that moves or stands still. Thefts from unsuspecting homes & yards of everyday tax paying homeowners. Pensioners are being thrown to the ground for their purses. But in Provence, it gets way worse. I won't even try to paraphrase the article I read this morning over coffee, but sufficed to say it's not pretty. Take a deep breath. If you are squeamish, perhaps today is not the day to continue this blog.

Words do fail me. I hope Logotto recovers from the trauma of this most horrific experience. I also hope that those who can stomach today's crime blotter will later enjoy the photos of Maubec. She's a peach!

Please leave a comment if you have time.

Live well!

All photos were captured with the Leica Q2.

If you were able to get though that. Here are some photos of this morning’s coffee spot!

HE ASKED WHY I WAS PHOTOGRAPHING HIS HEDGE.

LA CANTANTE!

JUST A SINGLE FAMILY HOME.

THE VILLAGE GREEN.

MY DOOR FETISH.

COME JULY THIS FIELD WILL BE VIVID PURPLE.

ONE DAY I WILL OWN ONE OF THOSE!

A SEA OF GREEN.

READY FOR VINES….

YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

MY FIRST EPISODE OF THE VILLAGE DIARIES, AND DOES PURCHASING A RENAULT MEGANE REQUIRE A PSYCHIATRIST’S NOTE?

The Village of Goult.

Time flies when you are overwhelmed by the challenges of turning a 250 year old house into a home. There are things on top of more things to do in order to recapture its former youth and glory. Here are just a few things that are either currently on or recently struck from the list of must do’s. Pipes, electrics, Provencal tile floors, paint, kitchen cupboards, gardening, locating and finding the right furniture and art for every room to name just few. Everything you read about the availability of tradesmen in the south of France is true. They are reasonably priced, they work hard when on site and if you are very lucky when an emergency happens they arrive in the nick of time. Unfortunately they are on vacation for some of July and all of August (just like everyone else in France). We would love to get started on some major projects around here like Kitchen and bathrooms but we will try again in the early fall. Our plumber, mason, and electrician should be well rested in September. It is in early fall when they are looking to replenish their wallets. Drinking copious glasses of Pastis and smoking many packs of cigarettes by the Med doesn’t come cheap. In the mean time we continue to do what we can to make this little place our own.

Now, I am done with the excuses as to why I am posting far less frequently than promised. This week I am starting what I hope to be the way forward. Living in Bonnieux provides for every day to be a new day. We are surrounded by literally hundreds of picturesque villages that each have their own charms. This week I have chosen Goult as the subject of my diary. Goult is just across the valley from us on the North slope of the Luberon. It is a small extremely tasteful village that screams few can afford to live here (so get lost). We have chosen several villages to return to regularly for their location, architecture, weekly market and ambience. On this occasion it was in fact market day. It is really important to arrive early to all of our local markets. You are going to get the freshest of food, the happiest of vendors and very little tourist activity. Parking is also a breeze if you arrive around 7:45 a.m…

At that time in the morning you wander from stall to stall and let your eyes find the freshest options for lunch, dinner and snacks in between. To that end, our fridge at home could fit in a PVC Adidas bag from the early 80’s. If you buy fresh everyday why would you need more? I am literally in awe of the local vegetables and fruits on offer. Couple that with roast chicken and potatoes or paella and you are on top of the world. The following will be a series of photographs taken at the above mentioned stalls. Later on I will get in to more about Goult itself and some photos to illustrate its wonderful condition.

Hopefully the images from the market go some way to provide you an insight as to the type of things on offer every day. We now move on to Goult proper and what it feels like to wander the narrow streets brought to life by the bold colours of the homes and the accompanying aromas from their window boxes and ornamental gardens. I feel very calm in Goult early in the morning. Few locals have left their homes other than to walk a dog or water their flowers. Goult is a place where you can stand still and imagine. No noise, close your eyes and take time to reflect on what has happened in the past and what could happen in the future. This place has tranquility in spades. Bonnieux has a full time population of 1200. Goult would be half that I imagine. The village church sits proudly in the centre and as you steadily climb you pass two wonderful cafes, a boulangerie and a post office. There is one small grocery shop and fromangerie. Keep wandering up the gentle slope where it gets even quieter and more solemn. Eventually you reach the top of the village and a beautifully restored windmill. Goult is surrounded by vineyards and lavender fields not unlike our village and countless more. It’s simply a tonic. A place to take stock and say thanks to whichever supreme being gave you this opportunity! Here are a few images of Goult. I will rejoin you later with some thoughts on the Renault Megane driver.

I have many more images of Goult to share but I’m sure you’ve had enough for a while. Speaking of having had enough, I have had enough of the perilous devil’s spawn that are every driver of the Renault Megane. Unfortunately in my former life I had the occasion to sit across from several individuals that were diagnosed with enough points on the psychopathy or sociopathy scale to be considered harmful to others. It was my job to provide them with opportunities to tell me (of their own free will that is) about the nasty things that they had done to unsuspecting everyday folks. Given my experiences over the years on French roads, I am now wholly convinced that if you were to be a fly on the wall of a Renault dealership, you would find that those wishing to purchase a Magane may have to prove to the salesman they have exactly the same “challenging issues and point score”. I have never been witness to such reckless and dangerous driving in any part of the world in which I’ve travelled. If you are driving on narrow country roads or eight lane tole highways, it doesn’t matter. If you are being forced off the road on to the soft shoulder, or narrowly missed at an intersection, or followed extremely closely on the highway, it is guaranteed that the car in question is a Megane, and the driver is close enough to be sitting in your back seat reading a Stephen King novel. I swear to god I can make out their dark eyes and matching souls at any distance. I have no idea if the French Gendarmes keep track of the types of vehicles operated by those responsible for fatal road accidents. I can however save them the hassle of hiring an expensive statistician. Its simple, it’s the driver of the Renault Megane of course! The Megane driver would never feel remorse for causing death and or destruction. Let’s say on the very off chance they did decide to flee the scene. It would only be because it was Steak Frites night at the canteen. The Gendarmes just have to drive directly to nearest psychiatric hospital and search the lot in out-patient parking. It will take some time to rummage through all the other patient’s Meganes to find the right one, but when they do it will have saved them days of searching elsewhere.!

Live well!

Cheers,

Mark

p.s. Please leave a comment.

All photos taken with the Leica M10-R

MY THIRD INSTALMENT OF THE COFFEE DIARIES

Unlike the first two instalments of my coffee diary, this short post was not written at a coffee shop. This instalment comes to you via the rocky shores of Cattle Point behind the tweed curtain in Oak Bay, British Columbia. Due to Covid-19 the opportunity to take up our usual spots in local mom and pop coffee shops has become a near impossibility. The best one can do during these trying times is follow the instructions posted to the windows and doors of my local haunts such as Pure Vanilla on Cadboro Bay Road. This once welcoming refuge from corporate giants such as Starbucks has now transformed into to the canteen at (insert name of prison here). One must lineup. One must space at six foot intervals. One must advance when told. One must adorn appropriate PPE. One must yell his or her order at the inmate with the day job on the other side of the counter. One must repeat his or her order at least twice due to face mask garble. One must “tap their phone or card through the glass”. One must tip for this lack of personal service by at least 15%. Then finally, one must locate to an RV point on the range otherwise known as general population until your inmate number is called for pick-up.

I will be the first one to say that everything these small businesses are doing to keep us and them safe from contamination is much appreciated and I make jest just because I can. I can guarantee that the poor men and women of Starbucks have received word from corporate HQ to unlock their doors and allow all comers. This must be just a tad more than concerning for those employees and their families, but I’m sure that SBHQ in Seattle knows what they are doing, right? They of course are in the epicentre of America’s worst initial outbreak of the virus. Truth be told I’d rather be treated like an incarcerated burglar at Pure Vanilla than a witless drone at Starbucks.

With coffee and a raspberry bran muffin in hand, I climbed aboard my prison bus and headed over to Cattle Point to meet a buddy for our twice weekly constitutional. This usually consists of what old retired guys complain about. Most often these days conversation soon turns to the Victoria City mayor, her council and the current state of our once beautiful city. We lament the message from city hall that is clearly a line stolen from my favourite baseball movie. “If you build it, they will come”. Well, I don’t think that W.P. Kinsella wrote those words for them to become a tag line for Mayor McCheese and the communist city council of Victoria (Little Red Cookbooks in hand). Never should those words have ever become deeds.

The hard working folks on the front line can’t keep up. Well over ¾ of Police calls for service involve “those who have come”. Paramedics are reviving the same “clients” two & three times a day. Tent cities dot our landscape. If you live in Victoria and had the misconception you should store your BBQ, patio table or bike in your back yard or shed, think again. Apparently it is the job of Victoria’s tent city Robin Hoods to invite themselves around to your place at some point to steal all of those items that you worked hard to buy. You should only assume that they need your stuff more than you do. Their apparent mission is to kit out their merry band’s outdoor space like a crap HGTV episode. Just assume your bike will be used to ferry said merry men and women to other less pilfered neighbourhoods in order to liberate other unassuming home owners of their prized possessions as well. “If you build it, they will come”. And worst of all, I cannot even begin to fathom what it is like to have a child enrolled at Southpark elementary school. Parents having to sift through the playgrounds everyday to find and collect used syringes so that their toddlers won’t get jabbed and infected.

Thankfully, during this extremely depressing discussion, a retired couple sporting Tilley hats and binoculars stopped by and started to chat. They were wondering if we had seen any fried egg jellyfish? We hadn’t and didn’t have the guts to tell them we had never even heard of fried egg jellyfish before meeting their acquaintance. The lady of a certain size and weight went on at length about the local species and how she and her presumed mute husband haven’t been able stop talking about these jellyfish since they were introduced to them just over a year ago. We indulged these folks for several minutes before they wandered off to find another tide pool. They sure were smitten with their little jellied friends. Just as they left ear shot my buddy said why aren’t they consumed with the C.H.U.D. (cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers) like we are. They never even mentioned the useless municipal elected officials we can’t stop disparaging. Those Tilley hatted folks are contented and happy. They don’t think about bad things, they think about candy floss, rainbows, unicorns & jellyfish.

We took a minute or two of silence in order to process adopting their lifestyle option as ours thoroughly. Let’s just say that we couldn’t truly come to terms with their unfettered blissfulness. So, I suppose that later this week we will find ourselves in the same place, at the same time, and with the same complaints. Nice try you cheerful adventurers! We simply don’t have enough room for all our hate. We have to let it out or we will most certainly face the wrath of the stroke doctor. Remember the good old days? We do, and it’s our happy place. Lately we exist to suffer equally in the indignation of unprecedented synthetic drug addiction and stupid looking wide brimmed canvass hats.

Stay well!

Mark

p.s. The following are some photos taken with the Leica Q-P at our Cattle Point coffee morning.