Night Farming

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Francine and I are very familiar with this campsite. It has become one of our firm favourites, both from a quality of site and basic interest points of view. Our hosts are dairy sheep farmers, Luc and Nadine, and, besides the wildlife that lives in and around their lake (used for watering crops in the dry season),  they have a herd of 320-ish ewes whose milk is collected for the production of Roquefort cheese. Luc and Nadine are great hosts who hold aperitif evenings for their camping guests. In turn, we are fascinated watching the day-to-day business of their farming.

IMG_6561_Piquenique IMG_6560_Barbecued_sardinesToday was market day in nearby Bram. Bram is a fascinating town whose shape cannot be fully appreciated other than from the air. It is circular radiating out from a central square but we land-lubbers cannot really do it justice. You have to buy a postcard. Some markets in France seem to target tourists in particular but the market at Bram seems to be targeted more at locals. Tourists aside, French markets are always very well attended and it is quite surprising how much of their weekly produce some folks actually buy at them. Having been starved of good barbecue weather of late, Francine and I couldn’t resist buying some sardines to grill for lunch. We have, after all, got one of France’s finest sites for a pique-nique right on our doorstep.

The land that Luc and Nadine farm, together with one of their sons, Cedric, is mainly used to grow fodder for their sheep herd. In the summer the sheep are allowed out into the fields to graze but in the winter they are kept in a barn, the bergerie, where they are fed on a mixture of hay, barley, and luzerne (alphalpha). Luc and Cedric had been busy cutting some of the fields of luzerne and turning it to dry a little. At today’s evening aperitif session, Luc told us that he was going to be making a noise tonight, to compete with the frog cacophony, baling one of the fields of cut luzerne. Baling work would start at 10:00 PM.

IMG_6599_Night_farmingThis was a new experience for us and we were keen to stay sober enough (very difficult) to try and take photos of their night farming activity. Francine used the tripod and time approach while I tried with my flash gun. Not wishing to be run down by a baler (and Luc was anxious not to run us down with a baler), we stood at a safe distance – so safe that my flash really wasn’t powerful enough. After a few trial shots, however, Francine had much better success with the timed tripod approach. Luc likes to have copies of our pictures and I’m sure he’ll be happy with this addition to his collection.

Never believe anyone who says that farmers do not work hard, even French ones.

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Minerve & Moules

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Luc, our host and local farmer, has put considerable effort into documenting several day trips based around his wonderful farm campsite. As committed fans of the viticulturists’ art, one trip that we have always been interested in but have never actually taken is to Minerve, about 50 mls/80 kms away. Minerve is the town that gives it’s name to the Minervois wine region and so, would seem like something of a natural habitat for us.

IMG_5584_Minerve Minerve is a classic French hilltop town with a very impressive approach down an unexpected (by me) gorge. In fact, the town is curiously positioned between the two gorges of the Brian and Cesse rivers. There’s nothing curious about the position from a defence point of view, of course, since the place must have been something of a stronghold. In practice, though, it was a not-quite-strong-enough-hold because, having turned Cathar at the beginning of the 13th century, it became a target for Simon de Montfort’s crusade and was taken after a seven week siege. The poor souls were “purified” by burning. That should do it!

IMG_5578_Pont_naturelFrancine and I followed signs to a pont naturel (natural bridge) which turned out to be an enormous tunnel carved through much of the surrounding rocks by the Cesse river. By enormous, I mean about 30 metres high and a hundred or so metres long – huge! The river goes underground in the dry season and the tunnel was, indeed, dry. I found that a little surprising given all the rains of late in the south of France; “dry season” was not a phrase springing readily to mind until today.

IMG_6525_Moules_caravaniereBeing a wine centre, we just had to get some of the precious local product to help dinner go down. What did we fancy, not too heavy in the welcome higher temperatures, to accompany chilled white wine? Our “local” supermarket came up with a splendid package of fresh mussels, ready to cook. Some butter, half an onion, fresh spring garlic and moules caravanière was soon served up and washed down with some white Minervois. Excellent – and not a single mussel failed to open!

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Godot Arrives!

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Well, wha’ d’ ya know? Godot is actually here in the form of some sunnier, drier weather. The wind is still with us but we beggars won’t be choosers and we’re very relieved. All our fellow campers look much relieved, too. I’m sure, also, that the locals are feeling a little relieved that their uncharacteristically long run of unsettled meteo seems to be changing.

IMG_5564_Dragonfly_exuvia Nature is also much relieved. This site is one of the richest Francine and I know for wildlife and the business of eating and mating has been on hold for the last few days in the wind and rain. Now that Godot is here again, not only are all the campers emerging but so is nature. Once again dragonflies and damselflies are buzzing about over the lake beside which we are camped. A quick walk along the margins of the lake revealed several dragonfly exuviae, the husks remaining after their transformation into adults.

IMG_5706_Frog The lake is swarming with frogs which are once again basking in the shallows soaking up some sun. The lake is actually pretty much overrun with frogs and, throughout the entire night time, there is a ceaseless cacophony of their croaking. Francine and I love it. The raucous noise is so constant that we can push it into the background and sleep, listening only when we want to. Not everyone is quite so keen on it, though. We have known campers be driven to distraction by the frogs’ noise, shutting down all ventilation in an attempt to deaden the din. With the cooler weather, the frogs have actually been noisy during the day, as well. Their calling is apparently heat related, the daytime racket lessening as the temperatures increase.

IMG_5613_Tree_frog The more observant campers rightly become slightly curious when noticing that some croaking is not actually emanating from the lake. Some of the noises seem to be coming from the trees. The culprits are painfully cute, bright green tree frogs which, with a little patience, keen pairs of ears and eyes might track down. I’m used to tree frogs featuring in wildlife programs based in a jungle but here they are enjoying a spot of southern France.

Marcel (local farmer senior) tells us that the weather should be good until at least the weekend. Let’s hope he’s right. If so, the wildlife situation can only improve.

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Cricket Season

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There are usually just a couple of months of the year that offer sane people some respite from the tribal fanaticism of the erstwhile sport of soccer. Cricket should take over and, whilst not as gentlemanly as it used to be, still beats soccer hands down. Regrettably, once every four years, what would normally be the halcyon days of a football-free summer are ruined by the World Cup. Such is the case this year though, because we are in France where the national team seams to be doing as poorly as our own, it is not being rammed down our throats to the extent that I might expect.

Up until this trip, I’d have said that the French knew nothing of the existence of cricket. However, Francine did spot a reference in our campsite book to a site that is “close to a cricket pitch”. She can’t remember where but I assume it has to be in a region with a substantial number of ex-pats. The weather back at home in England is consistently beating our French weather so there, cricket may be continuing relatively unhindered. Were there a cricket season here, by now it would surely have been cancelled due to weather if not to soccer.

IMG_6486_Field_Cricket The halcyon days of summer are on hold in France, at least. Once again, yesterday we suffered a 15-hour deluge. Today was technically an improvement with the rain being light and very intermittent, though we were still being battered by very high winds. However, the ground is now so waterlogged that caravan Guillaume was surrounded by pools of standing water. The water wasn’t draining anywhere very quickly so we decided to move Guillaume up the slope of our pitch to what might hopefully be drier ground. In doing so we uncovered another poor critter that also seemed to have the impression that cricket season had been cancelled this year. I’ve never seen one before but it’s a Field Cricket. I was surprised by its size; it’s about 2cms long. It should be chirping away in the sunny fields but couldn’t seem to find anything to sing about.

We know how it feels.

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Waiting for Godot

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Today marks the end of our fourth week in France for this trip. In those four weeks we have enjoyed just five days of sunshine and one of those was the day we arrived. The last week has been a complete wash-out and today, once again, we are inside sheltering from lashing wind and rain. Other than the fact that there are leaves on the trees, it feels and sounds like winter outside. The middle of June in the south of France and I’ve put our heater on. Fans of France as we may be, Francine and I are both getting pretty cheesed-off with it now.

In Provence the forecast for tomorrow, the summer solstice, is for a high of 21°C. It’s almost unbelievable. We know that parts of Spain have also been suffering from poor weather and we were told that Greece has had unseasonably low temperatures also. Together with the fact that it is the southern half of France that is being battered, it sounds as though there is a particularly nasty weather system positioned over the Mediterranean. It seems to be stuck.

Several years ago we realized that we could buy the occasional Aujourd’hui newspaper to follow the weather prospects; it carries a weather forecast from Meteo France for today and three days hence. Being a realist about we humans’ ability to understand and forecast weather systems, I tend to regard the third and fourth day as a complete guess but today and tomorrow are normally a reasonable guide. The forecasts for the past week have been cruelly tantalizing. We’d buy a newspaper showing the day after tomorrow as having a little improvement in our meteorological fortunes with even more improvement on the fourth day. Two days later we’d buy another paper and, lo and behold, more rubbish today and tomorrow with the situation improving thereafter. When we arrived here yesterday, we were told that the weather was expected to start improve this afternoon but it has completely collapsed. Today we bought a paper that shows it improving in two days time. It’s a lot like waiting for Godot.

As I recall, Godot never showed up.

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Condom

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According to the Rough Guide, there is actually no connection between the French town called Condom and the contraceptive device of the same English name. This leads me to wonder quite why such a name was chosen for the contraceptive. Since I just about remember, from more youthful days, some folks referring to sheaths as “French letters”, I assume there to be some historic connection with France but any connection is apparently not with Condom, itself. A case for some Internet research, maybe. Incidentally, the French name for a contraceptive sheath is préservatif.

IMG_6452_Condom_Cathedral_cloisters IMG_6472_Condom_Cathedral Rather curiously, the town of Condom has clearly willingly adopted its nominal English association with sheaths. The French are not usually given to adopting anything foreign. As a result of this atypical adoption, postcard displays around the town offer, amongst the more traditional tourist shots, rather predictable visual gags concerning condoms. Condom (the town) does have a reasonably impressive cathedral with some interesting and much photographed cloisters. Naturally, one can buy “straight” postcards of the cathedral and cloisters. One can also buy postcards depicting said cathedral with its tower encased in a gigantic sheath. I assume such wit (?) to be aimed at passing English school boys. Having said that, I did weaken just a little and bought Guillaume a Condom sticker bearing the town’s shield – and only the town’s shield. Well, it had to be done. 😉

The main reason for most rational alcoholics to visit Condom is its association with Armagnac. Armagnac is a French brandy differing from Cognac in that it is the result of a single distillation rather than a double distillation process. To my palate the single distillation leaves Armagnac with slightly more flavour and, perhaps, slightly less fire than Cognac, and I personally prefer it. Unfortunately, we were on just a night halt and didn’t have time for an Armagnac distillery tour. Next time, perhaps.

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Flocin’ Warm Welcome

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After 36 hours of more or less constant rain – there were a few pauses of a minute or two – we were getting a little stir-crazy and finally awoke to a morning dry enough to pack up. Everything was still very wet but it wasn’t actually raining on us. Still, things could have been a lot worse and, indeed, in the Vars region (southern Provence) they were worse; the poor folks there had suffered fatal flash flooding. 11 days on one campsite is our record and we’d just equalled it. It was definitely time to move.

Many years ago I headed for  a place in Germany called Titisee, for no more reason than I felt the need to visit a place with such a name. It was in the Black Forest and, as long as you avoided Titisee Neustadt (Neustadt = Newtown), it turned out to be very pleasant. For much the same reason, I’ve always had a hankering to visit Condom in France.

IMG_6470_River_Baise We’d found four campsites, a municipal and three farm sites, listed under Condom and sallied forth. Let’s get the joke out of the way now. After 5 hours of towing along side roads, I arrived in Condom. Wow, the boy certainly knows how to make an entrance! OK, done, back to reality. Reality was that, following the lengthy period of rain suffered by much of southern France during the last week, the river Baïse flowing through Cognac looked more like chocolate or coffee than water. I’m sure that this isn’t its normal colour.

We drove first to the municipal site which, for a one night stop, would normally be fine. We found it without trouble but, immediately opposite the entrance gate was another large camping area – the largest encampment of gens de voyage (itinerants) we’ve ever seen. Itinerants may not actually be a problem but such a large gathering (there were at least 50 vans) doesn’t give one the greatest feelings of relaxation and security. The municipal site is probably fine and did have security barriers but we did a quick three-point-turn with the caravan still attached and headed for the nearest of the farm sites thinking that we could do better.

The farm site was very, well, rustic. Let’s face it, it was pretty darn shoddy and everything looked like a complete lash-up, particularly the single electricity connection box. We stopped and had a good look around but did another U-turn with hearts beginning to sink. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d wanted to visit somewhere but had had trouble finding a suitable campsite. We headed for the next farm site on the list.

What a difference! This site was a much neater and better arranged affair. This farmer had actually put some effort into a couple of fields, one shaded and one not, amongst his main fields growing vines for Floc de Gascogne. The farmer, a particularly jolly individual, greeted us with a handshake and began showing us around. He asked if we liked Floc de Gascogne and I somewhat sheepishly had to admit that we’d never actually tasted it. That would never do; he wandered off to fetch a key with which he opened a door into what looked like a bar area (on a farm?) complete with fridge. He rummaged in the fridge and extracted two bottles, one of white Floc de Gascogne and one of red Floc de Gascogne. A dégustation (sampling, tasting) ensued for our benefit accompanied by his commentary. Floc de Gascogne is the Gascony equivalent of Pineau des Charentes, a dessert concoction made from a combination of wine and brandy, the brandy supposedly distilled from wine of the same source grapes. After a 185 mile drive and a slightly fraught search for an acceptable campsite, it was very relaxing, convivial experience. How could one have a warmer welcome?

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Betting Bars

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The French like a little wager. They appear to be particularly keen on hippisme (horsey stuff). As well as horse racing, there are the less familiar (to me, anyway) trotting races whereby the drivers sit behind their horses aboard skeleton-like chariots racing round an arena. From what I can make out, the riders’ job is to make their horse go as fast as possible without breaking into something other than a trotting gait. (I admit to knowing v. little about horsey stuff but I can recognise walking, trotting, cantering and galloping gaits – he said, knowledgeably.) Trotting races are a little like Ben Hur but without the blood and guts associated with the Roman rotating-blade-equipped chariot wheels and swords. Actually, of course, it would be a lot more entertaining if the armoured chariot wheels and swords were reintroduced.

Anyway, one of the results of the French predilection for a swift wager or two is the reasonable prevalence of bars that double as betting offices. Along with McDonalds establishments (I absolutely refuse to refer to them as restaurants), neither Francine nor I would normally be seen dead in a betting office. However, both establishments here in France generally offer free wi-fi and so, for wandering bloggers, both establishments suddenly become very attractive places. On the road, Francine and I can often be found skulking in such places. Naturally, it’s still necessary to avoid the “food” (I use the term loosely) in a McDonalds but their espresso coffee is quite acceptable and is a reasonable price to pay for some Internet connectivity. Similarly, it’s necessary to avoid risking one’s shirt on a filly in the 3:30 at Royal Ascot but a beer doesn’t go amiss when checking email and posting blog entries such as this in a betting bar.

Speaking of Royal Ascot, there we were sitting in the local betting bar yesterday with the aforementioned beer and Internet connection. As usual, hippisme, in this case Royal Ascot, was on all the unfeasibly large TV screens scattered around the establishment. All seats can see a TV screen so that all punters can risk their shirt on the 3:30 and then watch as they lose it. Outside it was raining, which was largely why we were there in the first place. In between “Le Queen Anne Stakes” and the subsequent race, the TV broadcast cut to very pleasing shot of Her Majesty being driven along in an open carriage under blazing UK sunshine. Glorious sunshine back home in England – pissing with rain over most of France. TV is usually depressing but in this case it was particularly so.

It’s been pissing with rain over most of France now for 24 hours. Grump!

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Gibier d’Eau

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While most of the rest of France suffers from unseasonably poor weather, we’ve stayed rather longer than anticipated on the west coast at the Côte Sauvage because it seems largely to be escaping. Normandy and Brittany also seem to be escaping but we’re damned if we’re going to head back north this early.

One of the VTT cycle routes that we tried introduced us to a new facet of our surrounding area. As swift right turn about a mile up the road from our campsite is a small lane at the entrance of which is a sign declaring “Zone Gibier d’Eau”. This is a new phrase to us and we’re completely sure what it is. However, gibier generally refers to game animals. Fond de gibier is game stock.

IMG_6429_Gibier_d'eauThe area has many small water channels and is not unlike the Marais Poitevin which we visited before coming here. Most late afternoons we’ve seen several locals with very rudimentary fishing rods (i.e. sticks with string attached) trying their luck in these small channels. The channels are clearly too small for any worthwhile fish but a sneaky peek into one of the local’s buckets by Franco revealed a collection of écrevisse (fresh water crayfish). Once again, a free food source was typically not being overlooked. Gibier d’Eau, seems to have something to do with game water though, if there’s anything other than crayfish there, I don’t know what it might be.

IMG_5510_Southern_Emerald_Damselfly IMG_5525_Black-tailed_Skimmer Given a decent collection of fresh water channels, when the weather is right there is a also a decent collection of dragonflies and damselflies. Regrettably, the weather recently has not been settled enough for long enough to encourage them to be very active. There are a few specimens, though, and today Francine spotted what I think is a Southern Emerald Damselfly clinging tenaciously to a grass stem in the stiff breeze. The situation didn’t allow for the best of photos but, since it’s new to my collection, here it is. Rather more cooperative was a pristine specimen of a Black-tailed Skimmer, though poor Francine got a little chilled waiting for me to capture it on pixels. 🙁

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Nesting Hoopoes

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For the last couple of days, flying rapidly across one of the two fields we have to ourselves on this still blissful campsite, we’ve seen hoopoes. The hoopoe is surely one of nature’s strangest avian creations, resembling a clown with a mohican hair-do. Along with the fact that man’s windpipe and oesophagus sit side by side such that food often attempts to enter the lungs, hoopoes are a fine argument against the existence of a god. Neither is a design befitting an omnipotent being. Long live Darwin.

Anyway, by observation between showers, we spotted the crested little tykes visiting the roof of one of the sanitaires blocks nearby our pitch, a block that is currently closed pending the high-season onslaught. Our bird guide says that hoopoes will nest “in the foundations of your house” which seems rather more curious than dangerous; a hoopoe – a little smaller than a blackbird – is not large enough to undermine any foundations. This pair, we think, is actually nesting in/on the roof of les sanitaires. Their nest is not visible but appears to be behind the top edge of a roof sky-light window, judging by their activity.

IMG_5457_Hoopoe IMG_5466_Hoopoe IMG_6417_Franco_stalking_hoopoes It’s quite uncanny how nature tends to pull an amazing disappearing act as soon as a camera appears with a relatively long lens attached. The hoopoes were no exception. It’s also quite uncanny how many times I seem to find myself pointing a camera with a relatively long lens at a toilet block. One day, Franco is likely to be hauled off by the gendarmes. [Ed: Not a comfortable experience.] However, after a couple of fruitless and less than easy hours hiding behind a suitable tree, and after receiving several strange glances from the adjacent van Dogs family, patience finally paid off. Although the brick-pink tiled roof of les sanitaires does not make a great background for a buff-pink coloured bird – the camouflage may contribute to their choice of nesting site – eventually some half-way decent shots of hoopoes delivering grub(s) to their nest did emerge, to inner whoops of delight, I might add. (Although the 1.4X extender was involved, the images of the hoopoe are cropped ~50%.)

With adults looking this weird, I’d expect young hoopoes to look decidedly odd. Unfortunately, I suspect that eggs are still being incubated and we wont be here long enough to see them fledge.

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