In which we say Hola to Spain…..

Nimes is barely an hour and a half from the Spanish border, so we decided to head to Spain for a short week. First we drove along the Costa Brava, with its arid mid-section leading down through granite cliffs to little coves lapped by gentle waves from a cerulean sea. We lunched on tapas in the white-washed fishing village of Cadaques and slept next to the El Far lighthouse in the white-washed fishing village of Llafranc.

It looks pretty idyllic, but looks, as we all know, can be deceiving. We get fresher fish at Les Halles in Nimes. You may find it surprising to learn that intrepid Brunhilde did not make the trip with us. Instead we drove an Avis car. It turns out that European parking garages are for tiny (read “fuel efficient”) cars only. Brunhilde’s stature simply doesn’t suit, as attested by the dent in her roof as Bernard was backing her up in a particularly tight spot in one garage. Did I just say that Bernard dented the car? Yes, I did!! Of course, Bernard didn’t make the dent; the section of concrete bulging from that garage’s absurdly low ceiling did. Still, the number of bonus points ka-chinging into my “Mistakes” account is hard to believe!!

It took me all of half a day to fall in love with Barcelona. And half of that was spent with my jaw open, in and around Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia cathedral. You’ve probably seen images of this unfinished masterpiece. So have I.

Those photos don’t convey in the slightest what it feels like to be inside the building. I was spellbound by how Gaudi was able to take the basics of gothic architecture and create a space of such tremendous warmth and light. The man was a genius and we spent our several days in Barcelona enthusing about the houses, buildings and parks that were designed by him.

Barcelona also is famed for its version of Les Halles, called Boqueria. I don’t know what it is about markets, but I never tire of wandering around them. And if fruits are just too healthy for you, stick your hand in some of the candy bins which do a good job of mimicking the bright colors of real life.

!!!!SPOILER ALERT!!!! DEAD ANIMAL PARTS ABOUT TO BE DISPLAYED…..

Boqueria is the place to go if you want truly young animal parts for your meal: suckling pigs that were barely a foot and a half long, infant lambs. And there was the usual complement of body parts that aren’t usually mentioned in polite U.S. society, but that are the grist of many a succulent meal in Europe.

Even though it was only ten in the morning, we had to stop at one of the lunch counters and eat immediately, garlic be damned. Miniscule squids for Bernard, mammoth prawns for me. We’ve done this a couple of times in Nimes as well, where I get to indulge in rabbit hearts and duck giblets, while Bernard eats a more traditional white sausage with some excellent potatoes.

I have been out and about with my camera, collecting the images you would expect when living in an old French town: church steeples, cobbled lanes, quaint balconies, Christmas decorations.

Still, when one walks narrow stone-paved streets every day it all starts to seem so, well, ordinary. Instead of more cobblestones, Roman arches and stately trees with leaves in the middle of winter, I thought you’d like to see something the French do really well: cute dogs. My subjects were beside themselves with delight to be in such demand. The young ones couldn’t hold still, the old ones just wanted to get back to bed, while their owners cordially regaled me with the particulars about their pet. In order of appearance, I give you: Hungry 6 mos: crepe stand dog; Viva 8 yrs; Pelouche, 2 yrs; Baccio 3 yrs: tea room dog; Canelle 13 yrs; Monsieur Fenetre: doing his job.

Every evening the shops in the pedestrian old town of Nimes and Barcelona pull grills and metal shades over their front windows for the night, irresistible canvases for street art. Seeing them throughout the town, one after another, I was struck by how much brashness and color they added to the cold beige stones of buildings and alleys. I think when you see them all together, you’ll get some of the same impression I did.

Here’s the next amazing fact about Nimes which I promised you. In 1530, a certain Jean Nicot was born in Nimes. As ambassador to Portugal he spent two years there organizing the marriage of a French toddler to the 5-year-old King of Portugal. The little princess refused to stop growing long enough to fit in her wedding dress. The king was more interested in his toy carriages. On his return to France he brought with him certain plants that enabled him to introduce snuff to the French court, quickly hooking Catherine de Medici. In thanks for his assistance, the plant was named after him and we remember him to this day with the word for that perniciously addictive chemical in cigarettes: nicotine!!! Which is why I find it so amusing that there’s this shop in the center of town:

Here’s me at the end of our flight from Denver to London in mid-November.  Honestly, I felt more cheery than I looked.  After all, I was arriving in the EU, of which I am now a member.

Brunhilde fairly leapt for joy when we drove out of the LandRover-crammed storage lot where she’d been cooling her wheels for the past year.   Ahh, the delight of being back on the road again, finger on the map, uhh, I mean ear cocked to the British voice  on our new Tomtom GPS who (which?) politely but firmly told us every move to make and then repeated it three times.  I am trying to take heart and learn from her example, but it’s discouraging.  My British accent just doesn’t cut it.  And then there was the thrill of crossing the English Channel (why does no one call it the French Chanel?) in only half an hour, on a dry (that IS the point) and efficient car-train.

That was followed by the damn nuisance of the French toll roads whose pay machines could not understand our American credit cards, continually rejecting them in favor of cold, hard curos.  Not to mention the utter unfairness of the dense fog that obscured the undoubtedly lovely countryside we  drove through for two and half days.  The new GPS proved her worth by guiding us to a garage when Bernard mistakenly filled Brunhilde’s empty tank with high octane gas instead of diesel. Wait!  Did I just say that? Yes, I did.  I have so many bonus points in my “Someone else made a mistake,” account that I don’t know what to do with them!!!

We did stop for certain marvels, like the steel Pont Canal which spans the Loire in Breare; a certain Mr. Eiffel of Tower fame was part of the design team.   This aqueduct carries a side canal OVER the Loire and is entirely navigable even though it goes above the river.  We saw a good several feet of it……

In what has turned into quite an aquaduct-related trip, we also saw, and drove over, this marvel, which spans the river Tarn near Millau:

But all that is a tale from far-away times, as since then we have been enjoying a peaceful existence a mere stone’s throw away from southwestern France’s best bakery as well as a most lavish indoor market.

Our routine is firmly established.  Early morning one of us walks the 100 yards for a fresh baguette for breakfast.  Some time later, I take two satchels and head to the market for fresh fruit, salad, radishes, olives and whatever else strikes my fancy. We eat all day long….and I don’t have to prepare any of it!  Thank goodness for the three flights of stairs to our garret apartment; I call it my free, personal Stairmaster as well as proof that, despite my French passport I remain sadly calorie-conscious.

We’ve had visitors, too, with whom to share our local pleasures.  Bernard’s sisters Odile and Laurence have both spent some days here.  We’re eternally grateful that both of them brought sunny and warm weather with them, so we could eat lunches outside on our rooftop terrace.

To be honest, believing in a snowy winter here is kind of a stretch.  Even the stringing of sparkly lights cannot disguise that palm trees in the small squares of old town, where we live, have fronds, not needles.

The evergreens that the city has splurged on to winterize each plaza have been sprayed with a white gunk more reminiscent of melted marshmallow than snow.  Despite the dearth of snow, it’s definitely been chilly enough on many days for me to happily patronize the street stand where a large paper cone of roasted chestnuts warms my fingers before becoming a satisfying afternoon snack.   And there’s a kiosk serving hot mulled wine in the plaza below, which I have my eye on. The rivers of lights overhead on the pedestrian streets are a dreamy vision on a warm evening when Bernard and I go out for an aperitif at a nearby bar (yes, I realize everything is nearby here), or in search of a new restaurant to try for dinner. We saw them being put up, which is kind of like seeing your Dad put on a Santa beard the night before Christmas.

We’ve accomplished a lot of regional inspecting, visiting quaint cobble-stoned villages like Uzes, the bustling university city of Montpellier, along with the well-known towns of Arles and Avignon.  In Arles we caught the acrobat act of a small traveling circus; human and goat alike performed daring feats of balance before our very eyes!!

We’ve perused the countryside in between, where treasures such as the Pont du Gard still capture the imagination.Part of a 50 km aqueduct built in the first century AD, the bridge stands 160 feet high and carried 44,000,000 (not a typo!) imperial gallons of water to Nimes every day, which back then was one of the Roman Empire’s great outposts.  We feel especially fortunate to be here in the winter, when the lovely old buildings and squares are quiet and empty, rather than the summer when even seeing the cobblestones underfoot would be an accomplishment, so crowded is the region at that time.  Even our few days in Paris, accessed by superfast train in 3 hours (!!!), were a pleasure of normalcy.

As Christmas approaches, Nimes is lighting up all its monuments, including not only the arena…

…but also a ferris wheel which is the crowning feature of a children’s amusement area just outside old town.

I have been indulging in two photographic studies, which I will share with you in Part 3 of this newsletter, along with some amazing bits of information which I am certain will impress you as they did me.

It’s been a year since we’ve seen Brunhilde, during which time she has patiently waited for us to reappear with some driving in mind. Well, we’re on our way, though not to the far-flung, exotic locales of usual. No, we are going to be civilized for awhile, renting a small apartment in the center of the old town of Nimes and spending some weeks doing a few of our favorite things: exploring small roads and out-of-the-way villages, sampling local foods, drinking agreeable wines.

One big difference between this trip and, say, Burma, is that we will handily speak the local language. Even if we cross the Pyrenees to dip our toes in the water along Spain’s Costa Brava, we will not be tongue-tied (or, at least, one of us won’t be). And, BIG NEWS, we will both be EU citizens, as I have recently received my French passport! It only took four years……

Why Nimes, some have asked? A quick look at this weather chart will give you one easy answer, especially as compared to the 25mph wind (constant) and -7 temps (yesterday morning) of recent days here at the ranch, where snow is already covering the fields.

But here’s another, less well-known reason to go there. Nimes is linked to every one of our lives. Intimately so. If you’d like to have your “Aha!” moment of the day, read on: As early as the 18th century, there’s been a sturdy fabric called serge, originally made in Nîmes, France, by the André family. Originally called Serge de Nîmes, the name was soon shortened to denim. Denim was traditionally colored blue with indigo dye to make blue “jeans”, though “jean” then denoted a different, lighter cotton textile; the contemporary use of jean comes from the French word for Genoa, Italy (Gênes), where the first denim trousers were made.

Wow, you’ve gotta love those French!!!! And here I thought blue jeans were invented for me and my hippy friends in the 1960s …..

Jeans, wine and weather aren’t Nimes’ only attractions. Our apartment is literally two minutes walk from Les Halles, Nimes’ enormous indoor food market, with everything from meats and olives to abundant fruits and vegetables, from baked goods and daily fresh baguettes to prepared foods galore, cheeses and charcuterie!

Our apartment has a little balcony overlooking this plaza in the old town, a spot that undoubtedly is packed with visitors during the summer, but at this time of year should be pleasantly occupied by locals. And us, of course.

Here’s other news, this time related to publishing. My book is making its way through the publication process with amazing (alarming) speed. It’s already finished with the first pass of typesetting. This means that what used to be a long, double-spaced Word document now looks like something you’d pick up from a bookstore or library shelf. In other words, it looks like a real book. This is extremely exciting, as you can imagine. Though the publication date is 6 months away, here’s a sneak peek at what the cover will look like once the book is out. Let me know what you think!