First Day
Trip Start
Sep 02, 2006
1
5
11
Trip End
Sep 09, 2006
Lacoste,
France
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
I'm staying in the village of Lacoste. Unlike most cities in the USA, which are large, flat and new, Lacoste is eensie, steep, and ancient. There are still arches in the village that were built by Romans 2,000 years ago. Atop the hill is the Chateau de Sade, home of the Marquis de Sade some 200 years ago. It's currently owned by Pierre Cardin, who lives there, and who is also 200 years old
Acres of Ocher
. Seriously, he's renovating the place. One of our writers and poet lauriate of Lacoste, Finn McEoin, is working on a book about de Sade. Apparently everything you learned about the Marquis is incorrect, fabricated by those who plotted against him and prompted by (get this) his mother-in-law. It's fascinating stuff.Lacoste means "the coast." In French, you can have coasts along water but also along side a mountain range, which is the case here. Lacoste sits squat against the Luberon mountain range. It has a population of 600, and it would probably have more were the thing not built literally on the side of the mountain. Everything is vertical and it's been a good work-out walking up and down, up and down, up and down. No one in the States would ever consider building on such steep ground, but the terrain did have advantages centuries ago in helping ward off invaders, most of whom were probably too fat to bother climbing the hill in the first place, and decided instead to have wine and cheese at a strategically placed cafe located at the foot of the mountain. I believe some of the invaders are still there.
Lacoste can be pronounced la-cost-eh, which is using the Provincial dialect - just as hickey to the Parisians as the southern drawl is to folks in the USA
Beckett's House
. By the way, I also learned that when you see the circumflex over a vowel in French it means that once upon a time an S followed that letter in the word. So the French word côte was originally coste; hôtel was hostel; and so on. Interesting stuff. Well, to me.Breakfast was interrupted by a blood-curdlingly loud and low flying French military jet. I was surprised, not by the tremendous noise, but by the fact that France has an air force.
After a round of "getting to know you," we visited the village of Roussillon. On the way there we stopped by the house were Samuel Beckett wrote Waiting for Godot. Surprisingly enough, while we walked around the house. Godot showed up! Apparently Becket owes him buku back royalties. Not really. But during the Nazi occupation of France, they were looking for Beckett who did a good job of both hiding out as well writing stuff about the Nazis that wasn't particularly appreciated back in the Fatherland. While Beckett was here he prefered to write in French. The French decided to honor Beckett and show their appreciation for him by erecting absolutely no monuments or offering no tributes.
The city of Roussillon is noted for its acres of ochre
Breakfast!
. There is a park next to the city where you can tour the unique land formations and see all that dang red and yellow dirt. "Look, Jean-Claude! The dirt! She is yellow! Let us walk up and down and sweat massively like no where else in France!" And I may not know exactly what 30 degrees Centigrade is in Fahrenheit, but it's hot sweaty weather, let me tell you.Roussillon is the most visited city in Provence. There were many French tourists there, more than American or British. They loves that ochre!
After sweating to the ocher, our group stopped for refreshments and listened to Suketu Mehta, author of Maximum City, talk to us about writing and his experiences. Then more shopping. Then the terrifying drive back home to Lacoste.
By the way, in France you get from place to place by knowing the city names. There are route numbers and names, but no one uses them. And you can tell a major road from a minor road because the major roads have dashed lines painted down each side. Otherwise, the roads all look alike, what we would call "one lane alleys" back in the US. Roundabouts are everywhere, and you use the city signs on the roundabouts to determine where you're headed
Gautoma Mehta
. Supposedly it's the "best highway system in the world." Yeah. I would say it's the best French highway system in the world. It's probably the best French highway system in France, though that's pushing it.Tonight we shared some of what the locals consider to be the best cheese in France. It's called Bannon and it smells like ripe gym socks wrapped around old dentures marinated in that liquid you find at the bottom of a dumpster; it was not cheese for the faint of heart. So we had some pain et fromage, which is French for "Pain and Cheese." No, not really. "Pain" is French for bread and you say "Pahn" not "pain." But you probably knew that.
Ah. The wine. The wine here is great, unlike the awful wine in the USA which you must pretend to enjoy. "Yeah, this is great wine," you say, doing your best acting job, prentending not to notice that your throat is constricting and your eyes watering, obvious signs that your body is rejecting the vile drink. No, the wine here is not like that at all. It's more like juice. It's not sweet, but it's not incredibly bitter, tart, or abusive like so many wines I've had in the US. ("This wine is from Oregon and it has a hint of oak, scented with gasoline and a little bat guano for a kicker.") Someone told me that I'd enjoy the wine in France more than anything, and it's true. I can see how the French can consume so much wine when it doesn't assault your senses. And here you just order rouge (red) or blanc (white) or rose' (rose'). None of that snotty label or year or vintage crap. If wine was like this in the USA, I'm certain more people would drink and enjoy it. In fact, so far that's probably going to be the one thing I miss the most.
Tomorrow we visit the evil village across the valley, Bonnieux. A few hundred years ago that village attacked and slaughtered everyone in Lacoste. The rason? Bonnieux was a Catholic town, and Lacoste Protestant. I'm so glad that we've put those bad times behind us, when religion was so barbarous and the cause of such bloodshed.
Comments
Why are you in France, exactly?
It belatedly dawns on me, as I read your reference to lectures, that you didn't mention your excuse for traveling to France -- I gather you are at some event?
And don't forget as you try to speak Fraaaanch, to talk as if you were Maurice Chevalier in Gigi. This will be wrong, but it will be less wrong than talking as if you were John Wayne.... he he.
mac
Nice Pictures
Love the old stone arches...would look amazing in black and white...wish I was there to take some pictures..sounds like you are doing a great deal of walking...Keep enjoying the wine! Best Tricia