Tag: Ariège

For Two Days Only: Le Jardin Extraordinaire at Lieurac

Last year was a first for us at Le Jardin Extraordinaire. This weekend, we were back, and we’ll be back next year too, and every year.

The members of Artchoum enjoy growing flowers, vegetables, plants of every kind. They relish creating beauty, fun, intrigue, from anything – a discarded table becomes a woodland creature, an ancient trainer a Grumpy Old Man, a few stones in the river a symbolic gathering.  Professional artists work alongside interested members of the public for months and weeks beforehand just for this one weekend in September.

And we all turn up, in our hundreds, to explore this very special walk through woods, or along the shaded river bank, in this normally secluded spot.  Families, couples, groups of friends all come to share the atmosphere –  friendly, fun, joyful, peaceful, reflective.  Have a look at the photos, and enjoy the walk too

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Forecast: Rain. Stiff Upper Lip Not Required

We’ve finally made it back to France, after 4 weeks of family, fun, and titivating our house there for marketing purposes.  When we arrived, stocking up with food was a problem.  The shop was closed: the baker’s was closed: holidays you see.  Then I remembered the evening market at La Bastide sur l’Hers.

Over the last few years, during July and August, evening markets have grown in popularity in the towns and villages in this part of the world.  Originally, the idea was to attract people in to spend a pleasant hour or two browsing at the stalls offering hand-crafted goods and bits of this and that.  Increasingly, they’ve become somewhere to come to have a night off cooking, and spend a cheerful hour or two eating or drinking with friends.  There are always plenty of food stalls: couscous, paella, oriental stir fries, pizzas, barbecued meats…..   Bring your own knives and forks, don’t forget the corkscrew, find a place at a communal table, sit down and enjoy!

Well, that was what we planned for yesterday.  Then it started to look grey. Soft warm raindrops slowly started to drop intermittently from the sky.  With no food in the house, we had to go anyway.  We knew we’d be alone.  The French seem to have no appetite, like we Brits, who are used to such things, for hiking in the rain, or market shopping in a storm.  In the past, we’ve been victim of the cancelled walks, we’ve seen the empty market squares.

This time, we were wrong.  We chose a spot at a table under a row of plane trees which sheltered us from the worst of the rain, bought our food, opened our wine, and tucked in as we got gradually damper and damper.  We people-watched: there were plenty of people to watch.  We saw others doing the same.  We saw families arrive with their cool boxes, determinedly striding through the puddles.  We saw chivalrous men standing with opened umbrellas protecting the rest of their party from the worst of the weather. We laughed and shared the fun with our neighbours at table as the rain got heavier and heavier.  Obé’s paella has never tasted better.

Some lucky people - including the musicians - kept dry under the shelter of the market hall

Emily, Sophie and the Crapahut Experience

Sophie & Emily at Puivert

Emily (that’s our daughter, the 21 year old) and her friend Sophie have been to stay.  After all that cold, rain and gloom, they brought the sunshine with them, and a holiday mood.  They quite rightly wanted sightseeing, markets to mooch round, and sunbathing opportunities.  Most afternoons, we finished off with a swim at either Montbel or Puivert.

Emily starts off

Yesterday was their last day, and they wanted Action, with a capital A. We’d seen the publicity for something new: CRAPAHUT PARC AVENTURE – a sort of mile-high adventure playground in the forest at Fontestorbes, near Belesta.

It’s the sort of thing that makes you wonder why on earth you’d pay to be scared witless.  It involved serious safety harnesses, and a training session on clipping karabiners onto safety wires so you were secured at all times.

…and the journey begins

Malcolm and I watched from below.  Often, the two were so high up in the tree canopy we could barely see what they were up to.  Whizzing through the forest on zip wires seemed to be the pay-off for challenges such as rope bridges, swaying wooden fences with equally swaying footholds.  High up on the wooden security platform between each section, they had time to contemplate the scariness of the next challenge whilst unclipping and reclipping their karabiners.  Sadly, my camera battery gave out after they’d gone round the first of three sections – the ‘easiest’ one, so I can’t show you the scariest bits of all: such as swinging on a rope, Tarzan-like, to a large vertically strung net, which you have to climb along, crab-like, to reach the next point of safety.

A zip-wire experience

Or the longest zip wire of all, so much higher than the others, which sent them screaming through the trees, across a river, through more quite dense forest, before they disappeared from view.  They came back into view as they returned across the river via precarious rope bridges and swinging platforms

Emily walks the not-so-tight rope

It was fun and a challenge for them.  But it was fun for us too, the two wimps left below.  We wandered through the forest following their progress and astonished at their courage: being safe isn’t the same as feeling safe.

Watch out.  If you come to stay, we may send you there.  Malcolm and I will be watching from below again

Emily strides from tree to tree

A Consumer’s Guide to Grass Cutting

Up at that garden of ours, there’s rough grass to cut.  We use a strimmer, and it takes a long, sweaty time.  We can’t do away with it, but perhaps we need help?

We thought of  sheep:

We considered a donkey:

We discussed a goat:

We’re serious about hens:But when  came back to Harrogate, I saw that our neighbour’s 5 year old’s just acquired a guinea pig.  Every day the run is moved, and every day, there’s a new rectangle of freshly nibbled grass.  Hmmm.Nah, not really.  Hens it’ll be.  But that little guinea pig of Paul’s is very efficient and purposeful

Ronde de l’Isard

This is the time of year when France begins to limber up for the Tour de France, which happens this year between the 3rd and 25th July.  In truth, cycling never really goes away in France.  Out driving the car, one of the occupational hazards is overtaking largish groups of keenies togged up in bright Lycra cycling gear, with bikes that in some cases have cost more than a decent second hand family car.

I’d forgotten that this weekend is the Ronde de l’Isard.  This is a 4-day cycling event held here in the Ariège that began in the late 1970’s as a bit of a competition between local clubs.  It’s since grown to have entrants from nearly as wide a range of countries as the Tour de France itself.

Free baseball cap....

So, this morning I was strolling along to the baker’s – rather late – it was almost noon. Suddenly, I could hear hooting, sirens, tannoyed announcements, and a fleet of vehicles led by smartly polished blue gendarmerie motorcycles advanced down the street towards me.  Ronde de l’Isard, Advance Guard.  As with the Tour de France, they had gifts, and as I was the only person on my side of the street, they made sure I got the lot: a spotted baseball cap, a key ring, and a leaflet from Tourist Information.

And that as it, for half an hour.  At precisely 12.33,  as advertised, the riders themselves tore into view.  The whole of the rest of the Ariège gendarmerie were there on their motorbikes, advance vehicles of various kinds, and then – whoosh! – the cyclists, a l-o-n-g streak of them, flashed past: to be followed by support teams carrying spare bikes, ambulances, press.

Team support

Today they only had 149.1 km to do.  Just now, the thermometer at the back is reading 37 degrees.  Still, yesterday, just as hot, the distance was 175.5 km.  The winner for the day managed it in 3 hours 55.9 seconds.  Count me out

Malcolm and the Microlight

Malcolm and the Microlight

..celebrating in style for a 70th birthday

Starring Malcolm and Jacques.

Director: Henri

Producer: Margaret

Assistant Producers: Léonce & Brigitte

Script: Malcolm

Wardrobe: Jacques

Shot on location in the Ariège by Jacques, Malcolm & Margaret.

A Lawrenson-Hamilton-Clift Production MMX

‘Curiously, I had no feelings of fear or apprehension, perhaps because of what our friends had told us about Jacques, the pilot, and his machine – it’s his pride and joy, and he takes great care of it.

There was a sharp feeling of exposure after take-off – we were not in a cabin, there was no protection from wind, we were just vulnerable beings in a powered shell under a giant wing – it reminded me of riding pillion on a motorbike, but this was in the air.

The various destinations came up quickly – not like travelling on the ground, even though our speed was only about 80-85 kph.

Over the mountain peaks, it was very cold – temperature had fallen from 13 or so on take-off to minus 1 over the snowfields and the flat white surfaces of isolated frozen lakes were still clearly to be seen.  And suddenly, directly underneath, a herd of Pyrenean chamois, running and leaping, disturbed by the engine’s sudden sound in their snow-quiet world

A few minutes more and we were at 2600 metres, when the mountains seemed so empty and cold, even in the lovely morning sunlight.   We could see long distances in the clear air at this altitude – 200 km away, we could see the Pic du Midi

The warmth after we left the mountains behind and lost altitude was welcome, and I could concentrate on the views of walks we had previously done, and which had sometimes seemed long and meandering, but were now clearly visible with their beginnings and ends.

Then back to the field and the short grass runway.  As we flew over, I could see Margaret far below, waving.  Then it was down, very smoothly, and a turn, and back to rest.  What an experience!  And how kind of my family to make this possible.’

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Open Day at the Lycée

Having had three children, I’m no stranger to school open days.  City life meant they had access to any number of High Schools, so between the three of them, over the years I’ve been to Open Days at: Abbey Grange; City of Leeds; Granby;  Harrogate Grammar; Intake; Lawnswood; Pudsey Grangefield; Pudsey  Priesthorpe; Rossett; St. Aidan’s, and probably a few others as well.  You’d think that would be enough.  But no.

Today we had the chance to see the Lycée des Métiers J-M Jacquard in Lavelanet at work when it threw open its doors.  We couldn’t resist.

It was like none of the above.  I’ve not been to a school before where pupils trundled round a huge loading bay in forklift trucks, moving pallets of goods into a ‘shop’ area where they practiced using computerized stock control.  They’re the Logistics students.  In another department, white-coated teenagers in white rubber shoes conducted experiments into water purity, or calculated how much salt a particular water source would need to optimize dishwasher use.  They’re destined for the Water Processing & Treatment Industry when they leave school. In an enormous modern factory type space, several boys and one lone girl were applying their new skills to the Maintenance of Industrial Equipment.

Somehow, I don’t think any of my three would have wanted to be there – though they might have enjoyed driving the forklift trucks.

Of course, all the usual core lessons go on too – though no music, art or drama, and Mal and I had fun in an English class (none of those students wanted to be there, either).  Their teacher was showing them pictures of the sights of London, and she encouraged us to help her prise English words and phrases from their reluctant lips.

By English standards, it’s a small school – maybe some 500 students (and all aged over 14). You might guess that there are about twice as many boys as girls.  About 100 are weekly boarders, coming from as far away as Albi, almost 200 km. away.  We inspected small dormitories and games rooms, which seemed curiously impersonal spaces for teenagers who spend their evenings there.  In fact the whole school was a bit like that.  It was impressive – wonderfully equipped with every technological gizmo; polite, helpful and enthusiastic staff and students; views of the Pyrénées . The focus in this Lycée is preparing for the world of work, and there’s no room for the displays of pupils’ work, the pictures on the wall, the school Annual Production, that are typical of an English High School.

But it’s clearly a happy and successful school, and we’re glad to have had the chance of a glimpse through its open doors.

The Big Snow: Chapter 3

Extraordinary.

Sunday, March 7th. Malcolm and I go for a walk in the Aude, near Limoux.  The day is full of the promise of spring, bright and sunny.  The almond blossom is out.  We spot baby lizards darting along stone walls, and enjoy watching more lizards sunning themselves on the rocky ledge where we have our midday picnic.

Monday, March 8th. We wake up to snow.  And more snow.  It was snowing as we got up, and it continues to snow, hour after hour.  We watch the flowerpots in the yard as their hats of snow become taller and taller.  By mid-afternoon, they’re 24 cm. high, and by 7 o’clock, as it begins to get dark, they’re about 28 cm. high. Up on the roof, the icicles become stouter and as long as the snow is deep. The trees stand stiff and silent under their heavy bonnets of snow.  The snow continues to fall as we close the shutters at nightfall. TV news reminds us that we’ve has it easy – look at the deep drifts, and hundreds of stranded lorries backed up in the Pyrénées Orientales!

Today, Tuesday March 9th – no more snow falling- but it’s not ready to melt either.  The wind snatches the snow from the trees, and when we leave the house, slaps our faces with flurries of flakes whipped from the rooftops.  The birds are constantly busy at our ‘Resto du Coeur’, and we replenish their feeders several times.  Gym?  Cancelled.  Choir?  Cancelled

As I still haven’t got my camera, the snowy photos on this blog come to you courtesy of my friend Marianne, who’s been busy with her camera as she and Réglisse, her dog, slip and skate round the chilly streets of le Peyrat, just down the road from Laroque.  Thanks, Marianne!

Suddenly, earlier today, I remembered this ditty the children and I used to chant when they were small:

Whether the weather be cold,

Or whether the weather be hot

We’ll weather the weather

Whatever the weather

Whether we like it or not

A walk in the Aude

Last Sunday, we went off as usual with our walking group, Rando de l’Aubo.  We went a mere 20 km eastwards into the neighbouring Aude.  What a difference a few miles makes.  The rugged forests, with hillside pasture for cattle and sheep, fields of maize and feed crops in our own department are exchanged for an almost Tuscan landscape, with little hillside towns overlooking ranks and ranks of vineyards delineating the contours.  Both departments are lovely, but we hicks from the Ariège tend to prefer our less manicured and somewhat wilder countryside.

Still, Sunday’s walk was quite a sentimental journey for Malcolm and for me, because we walked through the village, Ferran, that was our first introduction to this part of the world.

A few years ago, an old friend of Malcolm’s sent him an email.  In his letter, he said that it was February, and he’d been sitting outside in his shirtsleeves, gazing out at his perennial view of the distant Pyrenees, at that time covered with bluish-white snow.  Did we fancy a visit to him in Ferran?  We did.  We were of course seduced by those hillside towns, those vineyards, and especially by those views of the Pyrenees.  Not too long after, we came over again, to house hunt, and of course didn’t find that elusive, perfect spot.  Only after we’d returned home did our friend’s wife, who’s an estate agent, spot the possibility that we just might like the butcher’s house in Laroque where we now live.

It was crazy really. We bought it without really knowing the first thing about the area.  But we’ve never regretted it.  We’ll never finish exploring the hillside pathways, always deeply mulched with fallen oak and beech leaves, or the craggier routes up mountainsides, or the gently undulating lower paths through meadowlands, bright with orchids and other flowers, as well as butterflies, throughout the spring and summer.

Ferran

But that’s the Ariège.  Ferran and the other villages we skirted last Sunday are typical of the Aude.  Colour washed houses and farms in shades of barley, corn and almond perch high on the hillside, looking down over their vineyards, and beyond – one way to the Montagne Noire, the other to the Pyrenees.  The hills roll away into the distance, not so blanketed by forest as our hills are, but at this time of year, green and lush. Though we only walked about 13 km, by the end we were exhausted, because throughout the day we’d been buffeted by the winds for which the Aude is known. But how lucky we are to have two such very different kinds of countryside within such easy reach of our homes.

St. Barthelemy seen from near Ferran

As I’m still camera-less, thanks to Jean-Noël, Michel and Anny for letting me use their photos from this walk, and a recent one near Donazac, also in the Aude