Nadine Feldman, Author

celebrating strong female characters and whatever else strikes my fancy

provence

Sometimes You Need a Pizza

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We’re nearing the end of our monthlong travel odyssey. Today we visit Aix-en-Provence, and tomorrow we travel to France’s Grand Canyon. Saturday we return to Geneva, where we catch our plane home on Sunday. I love to travel–and I also love to go home.

Our stay in Provence has been a pleasant one. We are in Menerbes, perched high on a hilltop, with great views from our apartment. From there, we zip around easily to the spiderweb of towns that surround us, some in the hills, others in the valleys. We have traveled tiny roads where we sometimes need to back up to let another car through. We have visited the summit of Mont Vontoux, where nothing grows because of le mistral, but is made famous by the Tour de France and therefore qualifies, for Henry, as almost a religious experience. We visited wineries, and in one instance found a wine-grower who speaks the Queen’s English (his father Parisian, his mother British).

Picasso once owned a home here in Menerbes, which he gave to one of his lovers, Dora Maar, an artist, photographer, and poet in her own right. Dora was his muse for some of his better-known paintings. She lived until 1997, and her home is now used as a retreat for writers and artists. The selection process is administered by none other than the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston! It is indeed a small world. For any writers reading this blog, it’s well worth checking out as a possible retreat spot.

Then there is the food. As I write this, Henry is at the boulangerie, picking up the day’s supply of fresh croissants and baguettes, just out of the oven and still warm. We have found several restaurants favored by locals, with reasonable prices and delicious food. Since it is fall in Provence, pumpkin often appears as a side dish, either in a soup or a sweet potato-like affair, mashed and seasoned.

The best deals are the fixed-price meals, where one can get a salad or appetizer, a main dish, and a dessert. These combo meals are based on what the chef can get fresh at the market, and the prices beat the individual items on the menu by far.

Still, after all these fabulous meals, I have moments when I long for the simple, the familiar, the known. Last night I announced that I was sick of multi-course meals, that I needed pizza. In Provence, that is easier said than done. The pizzeria in town was closed for the day (every restaurant is closed one day a week, and is sometimes closed even when it’s supposed to be open). We knew of a recommended pizzeria in nearby Isle Sur La Sorge, but alas, it was closed, too. On our way to another restaurant that we knew had pizza on the menu, we found a tiny pizzeria in Coustellet. When the waiter scolded us for ordering red wine with our pizza (I quickly switched to rose, which is quite good here in Provence), I knew we would be okay.

Provencal pizzas are different from Italian ones, but I consider this a good thing. When my veggie pizza arrived, filled with zucchini, eggplant, and black olives, I still felt like I was eating real Provence food.

Today, as we resume our touring, I think I’ll go happily back to the fixed-price meals. For now, I am satisfied with a bit of home, with the simplicity of a single course.

Food, Roman Ruins, Food, Van Gogh, Food…

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After our decision to end our misadventure in Avignon, we were rewarded with the more charming Arles. On the way there we visited Orange, where a Roman theatre exists with the most intact stage of any left in existence. The theatre once had a tiny village built inside of it that has since been removed! In this part of the world, the ruins are used wherever possible. This stage has been the home for theatre, opera, and rock concerts.

Arles, our new home for three nights, proved to be a lovely choice for us, although it rained so hard when we arrived that we failed to notice the Roman ampitheater right next to the hotel! The next day, when the sun came out and we explored the town, it was QUITE obvious. This ampitheater is used as well, this one for bullfights. I never pictured the French as being bullfighters, but apparently it’s popular in these parts, anyway (yuck).

Eating in Arles has also been a pleasurable experience. We found several little restaurants with a traditional French feel…lovely tablecloths and china, art that often pays tribute to the local bullfighters, and elegant, imaginative meals. We have been brave enough to try the local rose wines, which are far different and better than I expected.

Arles, I realized, has a familiar feel because Van Gogh painted so many scenes from the town. In fact, one can stand at any street corner and imagine replacing the actual buildings and furnishings with his unique brushstrokes.

When Van Gogh lived in Arles, the locals weren’t excited about him. It’s understandable, given his erratic behavior, but the net result is that not a single Van Gogh painting exists in Arles. Undeterred, the locals came up with a unique and exciting idea: to create a tribute museum, where artists would create their own interpretations of Van Gogh paintings, or portraits of the artist. It sounds like an odd idea, but it works really well. I was moved by the art in the museum, all of which was high quality and honored Van Gogh in a special way.

The next day, we drove to Nimes, Uzes, and Pont de Gard for still more Roman ruins. We saw the arena, main temple, and Temple of Diana at Nimes, and we enjoyed a pleasant lunch outside on the main square. Quick factoid: the fabric denim originated in Nimes (de Nimes, or from Nimes).

Anyway, the high point of the afternoon was the Pont de Gard, a huge aqueduct in excellent condition. We finished our day by returning to Arles and yet another awesome meal. By the way, we were told we would be sick of olives by the end of this trip, but last night was the first night we were served any! We have both now had dishes made with olive oil, and the flavor is much richer when tasting fresh, locally made oil. Yum!

We are in our last week of the trip now, high on a hilltop in a town called Menerbes. The view from our apartment is fabulous, and since it’s another nice day we’ve opened up the windows to let the fresh air in. Although we plan a longer trip tomorrow to Cassis on the Mediterranean, we will spend most of our week tooling around the little hilltowns here in the Luberon. There are some wineries we want to visit, and we’re going to seek out those out-of-the-way Michelin-starred restaurants to see what all the fuss is about.

We made another swing by Rousillon to get more pics of the ochre in the hills. I’ll get these up on Facebook as soon as I can. Hopefully this time I captured the rich colors better.

Jesus and the Sex Shops–We’re in France!

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A 24 X 30 portrait of Jesus stares at me from the kitchen wall between two windows, and outside an old church faces our apartment. In the bedroom, a nun looks over us. And around the corner, the whole block is lined with sex shops.

Yep, we’re in France!

France Feldman style, anyway, where we never quite know what unique surprises await us with the apartments we rent. Inside, we are peaceful and safe. The rooms are bright and cheerful, the bed is comfortable, and we are locked up in three different places.

Whenever we arrive at a new place, I have to adjust. It takes me about a day or so as I let go of the previous experience (or home, if early in the trip). When I realized that this apartment is so bare-bones that I needed to buy toilet paper, I had a moment of asking myself, “What have we done? How are we going to stay here for two weeks?”

Well, it’s simple. We buy toilet paper (except it’s not toilet paper, it’s paper towels, and poor Henry has to go back to the store when we hit emergency levels). Then we get some sleep. The next day everything looks easier and more fun, and I’m ready to jump in. We figure out the shower–“C” is for chaud (hot), not cold. Oops.

Anyway, we are in the oldest part of Avignon, a town that is somewhat like old Paris but drearier, somewhat like Siena, Italy, but more cheerful, and that seems confused about what it wants to be. Old or modern? Charming or rundown? Even our proprietess reflected this confusion. On the phone, as we came closer to town, she seemed brusque to the point that I wanted to find somewhere, anywhere else to stay. When we met in person, though, we were instant friends, and she conveyed warmth and caring as she told us where we could eat good food for reasonable prices. She even told us which booths in the marketplace were the best.

Sunday morning, with no food in the apartment, we walked to said marketplace, Les Halles, one of the more famous markets in Europe. It has a permanent structure instead of being in the open air, and it is open six days a week. After some initial overwhelm that was cured by a yummy pain au chocolat, we made our rounds. Each vendor seemed helpful, cheerful, and even playful, and our purchases were all rewarded by some little extra treat that got slipped into our bags. The bread guy, for example, would cut hunks of bread off of loaves up to 18” in diameter and reveled in showing the customers the bottoms of each loaf so they could see and choose the one they liked the most. His extra little gift to us was a slice of brioche, sweet and fresh.

We came back with cheese, bread, yogurt, eggs, and plenty of produce. Then we finished at the supermarket, where a few simple purchases gave the apartment all the comforts of home. It may sound odd to some, but market shopping is an important part of the Provencal experience, and our first encounter was a pleasant one.

In the afternoon we hit the road and drove to Gordes, a village built on a rocky hillside. We took a long walk through the winding streets of town and got some great views not only of the town itself, but the vineyards and olive groves below, and the mountains in the distance.

From Gordes we found a Gothic-era abbey that we visited briefly, and then the village of Bories, which consists of restored stone houses that were used from the pre-Christian era to the 18th century. Each dwelling sat directly next door to a sheep or goat pen. Not sure I would like that much!

Since we had time, we then drove on to Rousillon—a place we will definitely return to. We had time just to wander around a bit before everything closed, and there’s a lot to see. The hillsides and soil of Rousillon are famous for its ochre pigments, and great Impressionist painters came to Rousillon to get just the right colors. The walls and shutters of the village buildings are painted in a wide variety of cheerful yellows, oranges, purples, and greens in addition to light and dark ochres. There’s a whole self-guided “ochre tour” of the area that we plan to take when we go back.

As we made the return trip to Avignon, we took some winding roads (a GPS is a great invention) and, as it turns out, ended up somewhere near Peter Mayle’s first Provence house. We didn’t see it but Henry looked up the info later. Apparently after A Year in Provence hit it big, complete strangers would come over and jump in Mayle’s pool or otherwise disturb his peace, thus eventually forcing him out. He’s a bit vague these days about where he is, or even if he is in Provence full-time.

Today we took a walking tour of Avignon that led us into a Gothic church, to the old Jewish quarter, and finally to the Pope’s Palace. We finished with an elegant lunch at one of the hotels. All the food has been great so far, even when it isn’t specifically French (I had sushi last night). I will rest, write, and do yoga while Henry works, and we shall eat in at the apartment tonight. Visit me on Facebook for all the latest pics!

Packing Lightly

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Despite frequent travel, I never find the right amount of clothing to pack. Sometimes, as in when we went to Italy, we locate a laundromat on the Internet ahead of time so we know when and where we will get to wash clothes. In Israel, however, our laundry plans went awry when we had to change hotels unexpectedly, and we ended up washing our underwear in the hotel sink. Add to that an Air France strike that delayed our return home, and I ended up wearing clothes on the long plane ride that, well, weren’t quite as fresh as I would like. Usually, though, I overprepare and end up bringing clean clothes home.

This time, we’re headed to Switzerland and France. In addition to the clothing options, challenged by three different sets of temperatures, we have hiking gear to consider. Still, I am determined to pack lightly. Yesterday, all packed, I then unpacked everything to move it to a smaller suitcase, which forced me to make some hard choices. I decided I didn’t need to take two vests, for example,  just because they’re both cute, when one will do. I discovered that in my panic about being gone for an entire month, which is new for me, I WAY overpacked. Now I am happy with a smaller suitcase that will work much better as we navigate the Swiss railway system.

In addition to lightening the suitcase, there are other ways to pack lightly. For me, that has meant working hard to get writing projects to a certain point so they can “cool” while I’m gone, and I won’t feel compelled to work on them. I have promised myself that for this month, in the midst of exploring and hiking and immersing myself in different cultures, I get to work on new stuff. In working hard ahead of time, my mind is relaxed and clear, making room for new stories.

I read a lot of travel narratives, and I’m not sure what I can offer that is new or different–Peter Mayle, for example, seems to have Provence locked up–but my job is to travel lightly, with a light suitcase and a light heart, and to write whatever comes of that. So, the next installment of this blog will come to you from Grindelwald, Switzerland, where I have a date with mountains, cheese, and chocolate, not necessarily in that order.