Marseille 2

Tags

Bleu de Chine, Bruno Catalano, Chateau d'If, Les Terrasses du Port, Marseille, Marseille Cathedral, Notre Dame de la Garde, Sherakhan, Vieux Port

Another lovely sunny day.  We decided to make for the basilica, Notre Dame de la Garde, on foot from our lodgings. The guide book said 45 minutes on foot for the courageous from the Vieux Port, but we were starting from nearer.  Firstly past the Prefecture, then the Palais de Justice, and along the noisy Cours Pierre Puget.  On the map it looked as if this road had greenery, but that just proved to be an avenue of trees sheltering the traffic. From the end of it there was quiet – but upward and upward.  At one, surprisingly speedily reached point, it looked as if we were almost there, but it proved that there were many more steps to go.  We walked anti-clockwise round the basilica.

Close-up of the Vieux Port

There was a corner turret with several boards in ceramic like this with explanations, but I spent no time there.  Dozens of people leaning back taking selfies obscured them for the most part, and this was the best I could do.  The Chateau d’If can be made out.

I had mixed feelings about not being able to go up the tower, but Harvey clearly did not, as he was feeling poorly again.  He had done very well to make it all that way. We went down again by a different route  to the centre, and sat for a short while in the Jardin Pierre Puget.  We had hoped to find somewhere really to stretch out and relax, but the park proved to be rocky and steep.  Continuing on to the Vieux Port, we eventually selected from among the many restaurants one which pleased, and had a main meal.

Salade nordiste for Teresa, salade sudiste for me and a burger for Harvey

After lunch, after another wander looking in vain for somewhere for Harvey to relax, he went back to the mas for a rest. Teresa and I decided to walk around the Vieux Port, which is now only for leisure craft, in order to visit part of the present-day commercial port.

We had seen this glide in during our lunch.  It had no commercial name attached, so we speculated as to which billionaire it might belong.

The name Sherakhan enabled us to check her out later.  For a little less than half a million US dollars – plus expenses, which I take to be fuel and provisions – you can charter her and her 19-strong crew, and her jet skis, and her jacuzzi, etc, etc, for a week, sleeping up to 26 people in 13 cabins. 

Past the cathedral again.  A visit inside is on the list for another time…

We saw just the part of the harbour serving the ferries for the Mediterranean, though there was a lot more of it further on.

It was Teresa who spotted this sculpture first – I was looking through and past it!  As we stopped to examine the sculpture, a local couple – well, the man – entered into conversation with us.  He had lived in Sicily – I decided not to reveal that I had been there quite recently or we would never have got away –  then lived in North Africa for quite a while, and had retired to where he was born. Well, I think that was it.  The wife didn’t say a word, but the man sadly demonstrated some racist views on the large immigrant population of the city. However, he did recommend that we stop at the ‘wonderful’ Les Terrasses and go up two floors to take in the view.  Wondering what was so wonderful about Les Terrasses, I asked what was there, and he just said ‘De tout !‘ ‘Everything’ turned out to be a very large shopping centre with all the usual suspects, which didn’t interest us at all.  But without his recommendation we would not have gone up to the viewing platform. A coffee on the ground floor, and a wander back through commercial roads, brought us back to the Vieux Port, to the health food store, and in due course to our lodgings. Teresa’s phone told us we had done more than 19,000 steps in the day, if I remember correctly.

So much had we enjoyed our soup the previous evening that we returned to the Japanese restaurant, to sin again (as the French say – récivider).  It was just as good the second time.

 

The next morning our hosts kindly served us a breakfast an hour earlier than they normally start, and it was at this stage that we learned the story of the building.  I did indeed take the metro back to the main line station, while the youngsters walked.  Both main line trains were on time, and, with a few hours to kill in London before my coach would leave for Somerset, I had the pleasure of meeting up for tea and a pastry with an old (in the sense that we sang together in the 1970s) friend.

Oh dear, Marseille is added to the growing list of places to which I want to return to explore further!

Marseille 1

Tags

Calanques, Chateau d'If, Eurostar, Gare de Lyon, Gare du Nord, karst, Le Figaro, limestone, Marseille, Mas, Notre Dame de la Garde, Notre Dame du Mont, Paris, People's Vote, Port-Miou, quarries, St Pancras, Un Mas en Ville

After the excitement of the London March for a People’s Vote the day before, on Sunday 21st October I met up with my cousin Teresa, and her teenage son Harvey, at St Pancras station to take Eurostar to Paris, and from there to travel onwards by train to Marseille, for just three nights. With the exception of problems at the Gare du Nord, (trying to buy metro tickets for the Gare de Lyon from a machine that was only taking coins, and then forcing those tickets through the unco-operative ticket barriers), the journey went entirely to plan, and we emerged on the classic (I’d say ‘iconic’ but the word is so over-used) very long flight of steps at Marseille St-Charles station late afternoon. We decided to walk the kilometre plus to our lodgings, which, in addition to the steps, proved to include lots of ups and downs. With more luggage than the other two, I resolved there and then that I would return by the metro on Wednesday morning!

We knew in advance that our chambre d’hôtes, Un Mas en Ville,  was not in the chic-est part of the city, but it was very near the heart of it.  It was an amazing old building, entirely renovated about ten years ago in the style of a Provencal mas, or farm.  Having settled in our rooms, single ones aligned with each other on the first to third floors, each with its own teensy private bathroom on the landing, we went out to find a meal, and chose the first open restaurant we could find having headed towards the centre of the city. This turned out to be a popular Chinese one, where we enjoyed a good meal. Or rather Teresa and I did, as Harvey was feeling under the weather, and not up to eating much, a state in which he sadly remained, though improving, for the rest of our short stay.

Breakfast the next day was taken in a room semi-open to the small but perfectly formed swimming pool, an addition to the original building.  What fun the designers must have had in creating this, and converting the original building! All the transformational work had been done by local stone masons, though the stone they used came from Normandy, as we learnt in due course. (As the water in the pool was unheated, there was absolutely no question of my trying it, neither did the others.)

We set off on foot for the Vieux Port, via the tourist information office, and over a coffee made plans for the day.

The church of Notre Dame du Mont, which gives its name to the quartier where we lodged

The Prefecture

It being Monday, we could not, as we had hoped, go by boat to the Château d’If, so we booked instead to do the three-hour trip with the same company along the coastline of the Calanques national park. Before this we had time to follow one of the tourist office’s suggested walks.

Hotel de Ville/City Hall

Taken from the Fort Saint-Jean

This lace-clad building was so new that it appeared on neither of the maps we were using.

From it, the Cathedral, and two very modern buildings, each of which was completed within the last few months.  (They featured in this article in the French national newspaper, Le Figaro, two days after our return!)  The right-hand one changes colour depending on whether it is in sunlight or not.

Having crossed the footbridge to the top of the building, we found a café on the next floor down, but didn’t stop.

We continued on down via slopes and steps.  The building appeared to house and be about to house offices and meeting rooms.

With time running out before the boat was due to leave, we didn’t hang around as we returned, past the Cathedral front and the Hotel de Ville to the port, but I did notice this on the side of one of the old buildings near it.  Subject to correction, I think it means that all citizens of a given commune are collectively liable for damage done to people and property of that commune.

The serendipitous discovery of an organic sandwich bar near the port provided our lunch, which we started eating as the boat set off. It was a very enjoyable trip in very pleasant weather.

Ours was the green circuit (no stops).

The lacy building and the Fort Saint-Jean

Close-up of the Château d’If

The basilica of Notre-Dame de la Garde, which we had first seen from the steps of the station, dominates the city.

The limestone is very fossiliferous, as we had seen on paving stones and other buildings in the old town.

This is a close-up, but…

… this is not, and the size of the people gives an idea of the scale of these cliffs.

There were a few little villages along the coastline.  In WWII, according to the commentary, these hills provided hiding places for the resistance.

I snuck this photo of Teresa

and she got her revenge

For geologists – evidence of karst formation, I believe

Just turn left…

…for turn round point – Port-Miou

The old quarries, which provided stone for most of the monumental buildings in Marseille

In the evening, Harvey, again not feeling like a proper meal, stayed behind at our lodgings, snacking on provisions we had bought at a health food store near the tourist office. Teresa and I this time turned in the opposite direction from that we had chosen the night before to find something to eat.  We ended up in a Japanese restaurant in the Place Notre Dame du Mont, which had particularly advertised its vegan dishes.  Having ordered the soup and a main dish, when the soup arrived we saw that it was a meal in itself, and were able to cancel the rest of the order.  The huge bowl of soup was delicious and filling!

 

 

Killerton

Tags

Acland, Broadclyst, Ellen Terry, Exeter, Henry Singleton, House of Commons, Killerton, M, National Portrait Gallery, National Trust, New Zealand, Octavia Hill, Saudi Arabia, Suffragettes, Suffragists, Women's Marseillaise

Killerton, Broadclyst, Devon.   With nothing in my diary for the day, and having noted long ago that I wanted to catch an exhibition there before it closed, I took myself on Friday to this National Trust property a few miles north-east of Exeter.  It is one of the county’s largest estates.  The house was originally intended to be temporary, but the grandiose mansion planned was never built. The late 1780s Georgian property was extended twice, early in the nineteenth century and again a hundred years or so later.  I came across this description of the estate at one point.

It was donated to the National Trust in 1944.  After the obligatory coffee on arrival, I left the elegant Georgian stable block, which now houses café, shop and plant sales, and took a backward glance at it.

At the end of the drive lay the house itself, presently housing three exhibitions relating to the long campaigns for votes for women. A stark reminder of how the campaign could divide members of the same family, aunt and niece in this case, each living on the estate, greeted visitors. The first exhibition was a collaboration between the NT and the National Portrait Gallery, London.

Octavia Hill.  Octavia Hill! Against! Social reformer! She who had so much to do with the founding of the National Trust!

Ellen Terry – pro women’s suffrage

I had not previously realised just how strongly some women felt that they should not get the vote, and I felt uneasy all the time I was in this small exhibition, very conscious how another political debate today, on which I feel so strongly, is dividing households and friends. (My cats are totally apathetic on the matter, so my household is tranquil.)

The other two exhibitions, fashion related to the suffragette/suffragist movement, and more about the two Acland women, left me less emotionally troubled. I could not have been a suffragette, but am equally sure that I would have been out there marching with the non-violent suffragist movement.

The music room

I was very tempted to sing this out loud, but I didn’t quite dare.  I’m pretty sure though that onlookers and volunteers would have been delighted!

A set of playing cards laid out on the console table, with pro and anti themes

A House of Commons with not a woman in sight …

The drawing room

The Pastor’s Fireside, by Henry Singleton, the 19th Baronet Acland reading to his family

The library, somewhat spoiled in my view by all the panels of quotations

The dining room

The movement had a long history

None looked like achieving anything, until the World War I when women proved their worth in ‘men’s’ jobs. I actually got a little angry inside as I looked at the changing pictures , some of which are in the slideshow below, showing just what work they had done.

 

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Why did they have to do ‘men’s’ jobs to prove they were sufficiently responsible to vote?

This map showed that New Zealand was the first country to give women the vote (1893), and Saudi Arabia (2015) has been the latest

A delightful respite in one of the bedrooms from all that politics

On emerging from the house, I went looking for a snack in the Dairy Café. But it was closed, so I went back to the entrance café, not wishing to take a meal in the main restaurant in the house. After having my soup, I went off in search of the old 1950s Post Office, but reading the notice saved me the tramp over there, though the path looked enticing.

I’m glad the fence was strong!

This was Friday

So I went back to the house and started exploring the gardens, which, as this slideshow proves, still had plenty of colour, this early October day.

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From there I went further into the grounds.  I came across a granite cross, which I have since learned was erected in 1873 in memory of the 10th Baronet who did so much to develop the estate, by 40 of his friends. But for me the main interest was that it was swarming with harlequin (i.e.  non-native) ladybirds, scurrying about, never still and occasionally flying off and returning. 

Harlequins come in many colours

Were they enjoying the warmth that the granite had absorbed during the morning?  Were they preparing to swarm together to find a place to hibernate?  My researches have not got me very far… But some of them came far with me.  It was a good fifteen minutes and several hundred metres away before the last one emerged from my hair.

I was keen to leave Killerton in time to avoid Friday evening traffic, but still had time for a gentle stroll in a small part of the parkland, where I met scarcely a soul. 

A glimpse of the Victorian chapel

Lovely spot for a romantic picnic

Autumn rolls on

This post has been very long, but here is a slideshow for any reader with stamina for 12 more pictures with details.

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Forde Abbey

Tags

Centenary fountain, Cistercians, Forde Abbey, Hallowe'en, houses and gardens, Mortlake Tapestry, plant sale, Raphael cartoons

Forde Abbey.  Until a few weeks ago, when friends took me to a most enjoyable summer fair there, I had never heard of this lovely house and gardens complex on the Somerset/Dorset border, I immediately decided to return before too long to see the place in more peaceful circumstances, and it seemed the ideal focus for my friend, Mary’s, recent visit to the west country from London.

The Abbey was founded by Cistercian monks in the 12th century, and, because at the dissolution the Abbot went quietly, many of the original buildings remain (though, curiously, no longer the abbey church, which is the reverse of what usually happens). In 1529, the house and grounds were initially leased by the Crown, for the princely sum of £49 6s 6d a year. Most of the subsequent occupiers have looked after the buildings extremely well, and some developed them. The same goes for the gardens.  The ancestors of the current owners moved in in 1905. The family celebrated their first 100 years there by installing  the Centenary Fountain in the Mermaid Pond. It is the highest powered fountain in the country, and it plays for 15 minutes three times a day.  One room in the house is entirely devoted to the remarkably well-preserved Mortlake Tapestries, based on the Raphael Cartoons in the V and A.

Photography is not allowed inside the house, which is perhaps as well for the length of this post. First, here are some angles on the beautiful Ham-type stone buildings.

The café is in a vaulted room in this oldest part of the house.

Details. You could see the house from nearly everywhere in the extensive gardens. And this was a view from the kitchen garden (of which more later). Now some views of the beautiful gardens. 

The Long Pond

The Great Pond is the only monastic structure remaining in the gardens. It was used to power a mill.

The Rock Garden

The Spiral Garden

The Centenary Fountain in the Mermaid Pond

A closer look at some of the flowers

The choice was under- or over-exposure, and the camera chose the latter. No doubt manipulation in Photoshop beyond my capacity would deepen the pink to reflect it more truly.

Exit was through the kitchen gardens, bordered by flower beds.

Getting ready for Hallowe’en

And even the plant sale area was a feast for the eyes.  I resisted this time.  I’m told the gardens are wonderful in spring, at snowdrop and crocus time…

Two days in London – Friday

Tags

fourth plinth, Glenn Miller, Junius, London, Mail Rail, Monet, Mount Pleasant, Natioanl Gallery, National Museum of Iraq, Panther House, pavement entertainment, Penny Black, Postal Museum, Rowland Hill, Sainsbury Wing, Tommy Steele, Ulysses

I spent two days in London last week, and, quite apart from social time with my friend, Mary, I had three very different experiences.  The timing of my trip was determined by the fact that the ‘Monet and Architecture’ exhibition at the National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, was very soon coming to an end. Moreover, I was very glad that I had pre-booked my ticket as there would have been no chance of a walk-in ticket.

Pavement entertainment outside the Gallery

The ‘fourth plinth‘ in Trafalgar Square is currently occupied by ‘The Invisible Enemy should not Exist’.   It is built entirely of the packaging of Middle Eastern foodstuffs (some sources say date syrup cans) and Arabic newspapers, and is a commemoration of the artefacts stolen from the National Museum of Iraq, in Baghdad, in the aftermath of the American invasion of Iraq in 2003. It represents a determination to recover the more than 7000 objects still missing.

The Sainsbury Wing, temporarily showing the 77 Monet paintings

Looking back from the entrance

No photography inside the Monet exhibition itself was allowed, but I did manage to get these pictures at its entry and exit.  I thought a better title would have been ‘Monet and Landscape’. But perhaps they’ve done that already.My other visit that day was to the Postal Museum, including a short trip on its Mail Rail, the underground post transport system, which opened in 1927 and closed in 2003.  As there was no really convenient public transport between the two places, I decided to walk, and the 35 minutes estimated by online research turned out to be very accurate. I walked fast but made stops for a few photos and to check that I was on the right route.

More pavement entertainment in Trafalgar Square

I had a crush on Tommy Steele back in the   … ties, but I’m a little young to remember Glenn Miller.

Paris? No, London.

It was a noisy walk with much traffic and many people, but once I turned off Grays Inn Road into Mount Pleasant (the road), it was totally quiet.  I have tried to find out more about the Panther Building, and it seems that it is currently workshops and studios.  Planning permission exists for the redevelopment of part of it.

Two big surprises awaited me just before I got to the Postal Museum in Phoenix Place:  the beauty of the 1929 Mount Pleasant building, and that, while much shrunken, there is still considerable Post Office activity on the site – a great deal of redevelopment is going on there also.  I had a bite of lunch in the café at the Museum, then crossed back over the road to Mail Rail, where likewise I had a timed ticket. This rather blurry picture shows the size of the ‘wagons’, ideal for postal parcels, packets and letters, but only just large enough for tourists to sit in!

 

There were four stops on the 15 minute ride, at which there were projections on to the walls about Mail Rail’s history. 

It very much resembles the London (passenger) Underground of course – but it’s on a much smaller scale.

After the ride, the exit was through a small further exhibition about it. 

‘Ulysses’ banned – by mail as well!

‘…ever needed again…’

And at the end I watched a short film which I had not had time to see beforehand, from which the above is a still.

I then crossed back over the road to the award-winning Postal Museum, which opened in 2017.  It was very well presented, with plenty to keep both adults and children interested. Here are just a few of the dozens of photos I took there.  Firstly, why do we call it ‘the post’?

“It is not the cause of faction, or of party, or of an individual, but the common interest of every man in Britain.” Yes, well. (Junius was not, by the way, a Roman philosopher, but the nom de plume of an 18th century writer.)

Rowland Hill introduced the penny black, the very first postage stamp in the world. This exhibit was not lit, perhaps for fear of fading, so a decent photo was difficult to take.  I shudder to think how many millions of pounds this exhibit is worth, though apparently it’s a plate proof so doesn’t count as real stamps.

Post boxes have not always been red.  They started – in the Channel Islands in 1852 – painted green, but people in the countryside thought that dreary, so from 1874 they were painted red. I think that splendid mail coach was the best, but here are some other forms of postal transport.I rather fancied this tunic, but my attempt to try it on reflectively was foiled by the height of its plinth. Is nostalgia the same as feeling old? I felt both as I recognised the famous ‘Press button B’ telephone booth.Near the end there was the chance to sit and watch an hour’s-worth of short PR  films made by the Post Office’s Film Unit (founded 1933). The most famous of them all, ‘Night Train’ was just about to start as I passed, so I sat and watched it.

On leaving the Museum, I took a backward look to the splendid Mount Pleasant building. Then I wandered through quiet back streets to the bustle of King’s Cross, and took a bus back to Mary’s place.  We had a very nice meal at a French restaurant in Camden Town, though I could have wished that the moules marinières I ordered for my starter had arrived instead of the spicy moules provençales!

Madeira Revisited 2

Tags

Balcoes, Echium candicans, Fringilla coelebs maderensis, Funchal, levada, Madeira, Madeiran chaffich, maderensis, Pico d'Arieiro, Pride of Madeira, Ribeiro Frio

Madeira Revisited 2.  Wednesday 6th June. On my previous visit we had covered a lot of ground, and it was inevitable that this time I would repeat some places.  But this was no problem, as the nature and extent of the visits were very different. On this and four of the following five days (the fifth was free) our focus was nature, and since there seemed sadly not to be many butterflies or a great variety of birds, it was plants and their flowers which were the main interest, so it was a good thing that our principal guide, Martin, was a superb botanist. That said, I had not a hope of retaining the English names – where there were such – let alone the Latin ones which  tripped off his tongue, so I just enjoyed myself taking hundreds – literally – of photos, from which to choose a few for here, of the plants and the views. (Many of the species had ‘maderensis’, Madeiran, in their names.)Each morning the minibuses picked us up at 9 a.m. for the day’s touring. I had indeed been to our first stop, the Pico do Arieiro, pretty well due north of Funchal, halfway between north and south coasts. As it is 1818 metres, nearly 6000 feet, high, the third highest peak on the island, I was pleased the buses took us all the way there, and also that, as before, while we had driven through cloud, we were well above it by now, and indeed this time it cleared while we were there. Previously, we had hung around the top by the radar station and the café/shop centre, admiring the wonderful views.  This time we walked among them along a ridge for an hour or so, learning about the plants.

Echium candicans, ‘Pride of Madeira’.

All the rock is of volcanic origin of course

Our next stop, nearby, was also familiar, Ribeiro Frio, but this time, whereas it had been cold and misty before, the sun was out for most of the time, but not too hot, ideal for walking.

This fungus, Martin explained, is pretty rare because it will only grow on this particular tree, which is endemic to Madeira.

Indeed, on the previous occasion I had noticed that there were ‘levada’ walks from that place, known for its trout farms, and I was pleased to have the opportunity this time to follow them up. We did two, one before our picnic lunch and one after. The first took us to a viewpoint at Balcóes.  I took all these following photos within ten minutes of each other and from the same spot!

Looking down

Looking across

Looking back

Looking up

Looking down and leaning sideways

After lunch, a little way from Balcóes,I struck out on my own, as did most people, leaving the very keen botanists with Martin, along a broad levada walk, again from Ribeiro Frio.  Levadas are watercourses built from the 15th to the 20th centuries to transfer water from the much wetter north of the island to the dry south. They now also provide walking paths, some narrow, crumbling and dangerous, some very broad, with only imperceptible inclines.

Marsh orchid

A soft drink at the end at a café back in Ribeiro Frio was well-deserved, and provided us with entertainment from Madeiran chaffinches like this one (which has ‘maderensis’ in its Latin name). After a rest at out hotel, we walked down to town for a meal in one of the dozens of restaurants in the Rua de Santa Maria, where you take your liberty in your hands if you haven’t already a booking (we had) or at least a target firmly in mind!

 

Madeira Revisited 1

Tags

Funchal, Madeira, Naturetrek, Residencial Pina, Restaurante dos Combatentes

Madeira Revisited 1. When I went for the first time to the island of Madeira in November 2016 (posts Madeira 1 to Madeira 8), although I had been a little disappointed in certain respects, or perhaps because of that, I really wanted to return to see the wilder parts of the island. So I booked three back-to-back trips, each with a different focus, with Naturetrek for this month.  The middle one did not attract sufficient numbers, so was cancelled, so I decided only to do the first and longest one, called ‘The Floating Garden’.

Madeira is a small island, about the size of the Isle of Wight, but it has a number of different ecologies, all based on the volcanic geology that made the island a very recent 7 million years ago.

We were 15 with two leaders, and travelled around – when not on foot within the capital, Funchal, in two minibuses. But this first day, once we had settled in to our very nice hotel, the Residencial Pina,  – noting that it was going to be a steep hike up from the waterfront – and had a bite of lunch, we set off for an exploration of the centre of the town.

We reckoned that this was probably an abandoned school building

The clothing is misleading. The weather was quite mild. The steepness of the road is not misleading!

Our botanist guide was giving us the names of all the trees and plants we saw. My brain couldn’t cope!

The trees are called ‘Pride of Bolivia’, Tipuana tipu

Once at the municipal gardens I decided to peel off and do my own thing. 

The 1982 statue celebrates the octocentenary of St Francis of Assisi’s birth in 1182 – three centuries before the island had been (re)discovered by the Portuguese. Brugmansia flowers.

The tree was in the street, not the gardens. The black and white building materials are typical.

Detail of tree

It was nice to be back in roads I recognised, though I didn’t stay very long, and made my way back up to the hotel.

I learned in due course that the hotel was about 70 metres from sea level.

The view from my balcony

We walked down again in the evening, after a briefing on our next day’s activities, and ate at the very good (all the restaurants we ate at were very good, though some were not as good as this one at handling our need for separate bills) Restaurante dos Combatantes, right by the municipal gardens. Some returned by taxi, and some of us walked back up.  I could see I was going to be much fitter by the end of the seven days!

 

Toulouse and Tarn 7

Tags

Albi, Albi Cathedral, Palais de la Berbie, Toulouse, Toulouse-Lautrec, Toulouse-Lautrec museum

Tuesday, Albi and Toulouse-Lautrec.  When I planned this trip I had no thoughts of spending any time in built-up areas, other than Toulouse.  I had already visited Albi in 1990, including the Toulouse-Lautrec museum, and I really had wanted to just relax in the countryside for the rest of my trip.  But clearly that was not on today.  The weather for forecast for Tuesday was the same as the day before, though thankfully a few degrees warmer and with less wind. My options were limited.  Spend all day tasting wine in the Gaillac area – bearing in mind that I was driving myself around, and travelling home by plane! – or a further visit to Albi.  Or stay at my lodging feeling cold and sorry for myself.

So Albi it was. In 1990 we had had no problems in parking, as best I recalled.  28 years later it was impossible.  I drove round and round the main city centre car park, and found nothing.  I drove round and round the streets nearby.  Nothing.  In due course, I found, some way away, a meter space, and at least it was for four hours, not one.  To get back to the centre of town fortunately I was able to see and make for the 78-metre/356 foot bell-tower of the immense cathedral. (I had only the sketchiest of maps, of just the very centre of the town.)

Next was the search for the tourist office, to buy a joint ticket for entry to part of the cathedral and the Toulouse-Lautrec museum.  Nothing signposted.  In due course I found a building on the cathedral square with an old panel saying ‘Syndicat d’Initiative‘, the old name for a tourist office, but the door was firmly shut with a notice saying the tourist office was now on the opposite side of the square.  I followed a young man who had read the same notice and was heading 180° away to where we had been facing. Nothing.  He asked a passer-by, and I listened in.

The tourist office was in fact only 90° from the old one, slightly round a corner – and hidden by a large white van. The very helpful young woman inside was patient as I prevaricated. To cut a long story short, time was running out on my meter, the museum would not open until 2 pm, and I just couldn’t work out what to do.  Having in due course bought the ticket, I went to have a much needed coffee (all these wanderings had been under drizzle), and decided to visit the Cathedral, have a bite of lunch, go to feed the meter, and then come back to do T-L.

The cathedral claims to be the biggest brick building in the world.  Perhaps it was my mood, certainly not helped by the dull weather, but I felt decidedly grumpy and unimpressed as I entered the cathedral, even if it was dedicated to St Cecilia, the modern-day patron saint of musicians.  I knew that the ticket I had bought would get me in to the ‘Grand Choeur‘, but the high altar seemed to be to my left as I walked in, whereas the layout of the building would lead me think it should be to the right.  No-one was checking my ticket either, which was puzzling.  Anyway, I did like this modern altar and lectern.  And I was impressed by the rood-screen behind me, of which this is just a segment.  Once I had the audioguide all became clear.  The west-facing worship is the result of the desire to save the very intricate and huge rood-screen, carved from a limestone which hardens over time. At the time when Catholic worship changed to include the congregation, not just the monks and priests, most rood-screens were destroyed. Here, however, they decided to turn worship round, and have the congregation facing west – most unusual. What I had seen already was not the Grand Choeur. My ticket was to get me into that – facing East – and the treasury, and supply the audioguide.  I visited the treasury first. This window on the way up the steep spiral staircase to get to it is a reminder that churches were fortified in those turbulent days of the bastides. Then I moved into the Great Choir itself, which was very ornate, a great contrast with the outside of the basilica.  On emerging from the cathedral into the wet again, I went back to the previous café for a bowl of soup, though on seeing the menu I had a very nice salad instead.  Clever clogs then thought she would try another, seemingly more pleasant, route back to the car to feed the meter.  And couldn’t find the car. Found herself outside the metered area, so knew she had gone too far.  Felt very frustrated, not yet despairing, but really didn’t want to go all the way back to the centre and out again.  Then….. I remembered that I had my satnav with me, and that I had registered on it where the car was parked!  Only three minutes’ walk away but I would never have known.

Having fed the meter, I headed back to the centre and the Toulouse-Lautrec museum. This was established by T-L’s mother, after her son’s early death, in the Palais de la Berbie, formerly the bishop’s palace.  It is a splendid building in its own right. Another audio-guide took me round.  I did much enjoy this visit, and here’s just a small selection of pictures I saw.

Alphonse de Toulouse-Lautrec [father] en fauconnier, 1882 

La Comtesse Adèle de Toulouse-Lautrec [mother], 1882

Vieille femme assise sur un banc à Céleyran, 1882

Aristide Bruant, 1892

Views from the windows. The river is the Tarn.

Le Divan Japonais, 1893

La Troupe de Melle Eglantine, 1896

Yvette Guilbert, 1895 (ceramic)

1894. (photographe is ‘photographer’)

1896. The Simpson Chain was short-lived, and its only claim to fame these days seems to be that Toulouse-Lautrec designed a poster for it.

La Vache enragée, 1896

There was the chance to see more of the Palais de la Berbie after seeing the T-L exhibits, but I was pretty tired by now, and only had a quick look around.

I couldn’t resist taking a photo of a photo of this famous poster, though it’s not by T-L

These two also are photos of photos inside the palace

This one particularly gives an idea of the immensity of the cathedral.  The huge palace is dwarfed by it.

I was on the first or second floor when I took this photo.

By the time I made my way back to my car (by the tedious sensible route this time!) it was rush hour, and raining solidly once more by now.  But I could look forward to another excellent meal, courtesy of my host.

 

Toulouse and Tarn 6

Tags

Aveyron, Bruniquel, Cordes, Gaillac, Ingres, Montauban, Montricoux, Puycelsi, St-Antonin-Noble-Val

Monday, Hilltop Villages. Today’s weather was forecast to be worse than ever, and indeed so it turned out to be.  At no time did the temperature rise above 9°C/48°F, and with the wind chill factor added, I was absolutely frozen at times, and wished I had gloves with me.  A complete relook at plans was necessary, and I decided to drive to the fairly large town of  Montauban, about an hour away, as there was a substantial Ingres museum there to occupy me.  I had gone about halfway when I realised it was Monday, so thought I’d better check that it would be open, as so much in France is closed on the first working day of the week. It took me a while to obtain a signal, but in due course I was so glad that I had checked.  The museum was indeed closed, but not (only) because it was Monday. It was undergoing substantial renovation! At this I really could think of no alternative but to set off on the trip round the hilltop villages and countryside that I had imagined would in fact, in decent weather, occupy me for the two full days I had in the area.

The first village was Puycelsi, and I drove up and up and up and up the wind-y road until I reached the main square, where I was delighted to find an open café.  There was no-one of course sitting on the extensive terrace, but there were two pairs of apparent tourists inside.

View from the terrace of the café

I spun out my coffee as long as I could, then ventured outside to explore.  Magnificent views on two sides.  Being so high up though, this corner took the full force of the wind.  I did my best to take photos and this video, my camera in one hand and my umbrella in the other.

 

At this point the wind broke two spokes of my brolly. I continued walking round the village, somewhat more sheltered from the wind, and the rain ceased for a while. My hands were still bitterly cold. 

Note a couple of dots at the end of the alley

These are they. Puss doesn’t look too pleased at the weather either.

I drove on

…taking a backward look at Puycelsi…

to Bruniquel of which I had very pretty memories from 1990. By now it was nearly lunchtime, so I looked out for either something to buy or somewhere to eat.  Everything shut – it was Monday, as I explained to some Canadian (?) tourists who approached me to ask firstly if I spoke English and then if I had seen an open restaurant.  I walked up to one of the two castles.  Given the age of each, I was not sure whether this was the old one or the new one, but I took a few more photos up there. 

The Aveyron

I remembered this view – in brilliant sunshine

As I recall I didn’t actually have my umbrella up at all in this village, and the wind was a little quieter.

 

The next stop was Montricoux, where I was happy to find a bar, serving meals, and open.  I only wanted a soup and a coffee. They were happy to serve this to me, but the computerised till was stumped in due course.  The soup was just the first course of their set menu, and there was no icon to press for that alone.  So the proprietor decided to charge me as if I had had a portion of chips (frites/French fries)!    I wandered round the town for a while, until it started raining again. 

I liked this – deliberate or otherwise – green roof

I then drove on to St-Antonin-Noble-Val, a fascinating place, via the beautiful Aveyron valley and its gorges. When I eventually found parking, I saw from my satnav that the interesting old town was pedestrianised, and a five- to ten-minute walk away.  I didn’t get out of my car. A further long drive followed, and I was delighted that the satnav took me off the main roads and by some fields of wildflowers, and between rain showers.  Sadly, I don’t think these photos do justice their prettiness.As I was gasping by now for a drink, I just parked in the centre of Cordes, and went to the nearest salon de thé for a lemon tea. As I am trying Toulouse weight (sorry) I resisted, as I did throughout the trip, all the wonderful pastries on offer.  I also resisted wandering round the town, (although I remembered it was very pretty), because of the rain. In 1990 we had seen on a poster the name of its local choir: Cordes Vocale.

The final part of my circular drive, back to my lodgings, took me through mile after mile after mile of vineyards on rolling hills (Gaillac is the local wine).  I was very frustrated that I could not stop to take any photos of these, but I was on main roads in the rush hour.  There was just too much traffic for me to stop, and any laybys were in the wrong place for photos.

The day finished with another lovely meal prepared by my host, who by now had learned not to pile the new potatoes from his garden too high. I was in bed by 8.30, so cold was I (despite the additional heating provided) until 8.30 the following morning.

Toulouse and Tarn 5

Tags

Agout river, Albigensian crusade, bastide, flea market, GIroussens, Hndred Years War, Languedoc, Lavaur, Lisle-sur-Tarn, Toulouse

Driving from Toulouse to Lisle-sur-Tarn. Driving an unfamiliar car is always a bit nerve-wracking for me, so when a rainstorm started while I was on the shuttle bus to collect the hire car, I was a little worried.  Fortunately the rain stopped, leaving the gift of a cold wind in its stead, just as I reached the airport, and I found the car hire place with not too much difficulty.  A Fiat Panda was mine for the next three days.

I had plenty of time before I needed to be at my chambre d’hôtes/B and B, so I went the long way round, to places just picked off the map as having some tourist interest.  When I got to Lavaur, I found that some of the stallholders at a flea market were starting to pack up, but there was still plenty to see, and with permission I took a few photos, before wandering around the town for a short while.  Its church was unprepossessing from outside. I stepped inside to find almost complete darkness, and total silence.  I felt cushioned by the silence. No traffic noise, no resonance, not a rustle, no sacred muzak, no electric hum. Absolute, total silence. Lovely – a tiny bit spooky even.

In these photos, the camera lightens the view I saw, though I have photoshopped the first to indicate how my eyes first perceived the interior. The only other thing of interest I noticed in the small town was this Halle aux Grains. Whereas the concert hall in Toulouse had been hexagonal, this one had twelve sides. (OK, it was dodecagonal.)  I moved on to the next village highlighted on my map, Giroussens. A great viewpoint, with an interesting field shaped by the bend in the River Agout, but it was beginning to blow hard now, presaging rain, I feared.  I walked a little way on to the church, (many in the area have a semi-fortified look, recalling the bastides built in the times when village life was not as tranquil as it is now, what with the Albigensian Crusade and the Hundred Years War). And then I went briefly down a little road just to have a quick look at the chateau, now a porcelain centre.   Not a soul around anywhere!It was good to get back to the car, and make for my final destination, Lisle-sur-Tarn, the arcaded town square of which I had a brief and very sunny memory from 1990.

When I found my lodging, it was slightly outside the town, a former hotel of some 12 rooms, now having chambre d’hôte status, with only four rooms in use.  (My host told me in due course that it had been going to cost him far too much to bring it up to approved hotel norms.) I turned out to be the only guest for the entire stay.  No respectable French person was going to take an impulsive break in such weather! David, the host, who ran the place on his own, was an excellent trained cook, who used much produce from his own garden.  I appreciated all this greatly as I took my evening meals there for the three nights,  He was very garrulous (which tested my French quite hard, as his rapid musings were expressed in a delightful, but sometimes difficult to understand, Midi accent!)  But he was kind and attentive. It wasn’t his fault that the weather was worse, for the time of year he, or, he said, his father could ever remember.

This area, Languedoc, was the reason for my trip, based on my 1990 souvenirs of wonderful sunshine and fields full of wild flowers.  I had been intending just to relax and wander around in the countryside, with few plans other than taking the occasional coffee on hilltop village café terrace. Clearly, given that the weather was now forecast to be much worse than it had been before I set off two days previously, I was going to have to rethink how I was going to spend my time.