Travel info meter is set to 81% Insanity meter set on high! Saturday May 27 Today we will be going on a wine tour in the Sainte-Victoire region in the afternoon so there was no need to rush to leave our flat early as in past days. 11:55 saw us on our downward journey on Avenue Paul Cezanne after a leisurely petite dejouner including espresso, juice, small toasts with marmalade, fresh melon, and chocolate. Attention news flash: Escaped lunatic seen riding bicycle up our hill! Photos at 10.
A little melancholy today as we pass some of our favourite boulangeries with only one more day to keep them in business. Sweet Jacqueline gives us a tearful wave through the shop window, holding a baguette in one hand and caressing a fresh flan with the other and trying to entice me in. Alas, it is not to be today dear child as we have important matters to attend to, the liquid variety.
With a couple of hours to kill we decided to load up on calories and stop at a creperie in the old town. We hunted for the right table in the mottled shade because it is a scorcheralready and we had given our hats a rest (plus the fashion police were looking for us).
We settled into our chairs rubbing thighs with an American family, young mother, father, 2 small children and of course the mother-in-law who would be footing the bill. Their children were drawing on napkins with crayons that would soon be framed and mounted in the mother-in-law’s living room over the fireplace, then probably sold at Sothebys 20 years hence as the work of a child prodigy. Actually these kids looked like they would have trouble spelling mud if you spotted them the m and the o.
We ordered after a few false starts, “uh, oon crap donnez avec froites (pause),… oh just give me a number 7”. I was going to break new ground and order a Spritz as my beverage. In the back of my mind I recollected that it was something that you had to have if you were going to be in France, so when in Rome… It came toute de suite and it looked beautiful so I snapped about 8 pictures of it from every angle (the one where I was laying under the table on my back proved to be the best). It was in a thin, tapered wine glass, with a slice of orange, effervescent and with a thin orange straw; and looking very drinkable (as most alcohol set in front of me is). With the waiter having delivered it with a flourish, no doubt surprised that someone would order an $11 drink so early in the day (I swear I pointed at the $3.20 version), I picked it up and could smell the sweet citrus notes and promptly began sucking on the stir stick which I thought was a straw! I cocked an eye towards the garcon but he was already slapping his hip and hurrying into the kitchen to put it on Twitter about the stupid American and what I had done. (I had left my hat on the table with the NY logo facing up). Whew, that was close; that could have been really embarrassing.
Then my day was really made when an older Irish couple sat on our other side. Jim and Betty were enjoying their only freedom day from the bus tour that they were on and were about to embark on something new, crepes. Jim, a farmer, was about 70 or so, stout, wearing suspenders, sandals with socks, work pants, and was sweating profusely. You could tell he wasn’t trying to stand out. Oh did I mention that his accent was so strong I would have had a better chance understanding him if he had a mouthful of bees.
Betty liked to talk as much as I did and soon our spouses were a distant memory as I embellished life back home (“Yes, I was prime minister for a short time before I had to quit because of my bad knee”) and she told me about Irish politics and her favourite sheep. We both talked about Trump as that is everybody’s favourite topic when they think about North America, with everyone having the same opinion of him.
They were an incredibly nice couple although Carol was giving me the hairy eyeball as Jim was slinging words in her direction that she had as much chance of understanding as a fisherman from Newfoundland at an astrophysics lecture.
We left after promises to meet again sometime in the future with me buying a round of Jameson and Jim mumbling something about moose pots.
Off to the Tourism Information Centre (numero 8 time) to join our new group of comrades. Stephan, driver and guide, led the introductions. 2 more Aussies, 3 American girls, 2 friends and the other was paired up with her young Italian boyfriend who was from Venice. This time we had a new Renault 8 passenger van, very nice. I decided to spread myself around and Graeme and I were on the same page as he was a handyman of sorts and we both liked wine. Oh ya, the scenery was nice too.
Today’s trip was taking us into one of the great wine areas of Sainte-Victoire where it is very sunny year round, with limestone gravel mixed with some clay to give an earthiness to the wine. Stephan was a winemaker for 17 years, mostly in South Africa and knew the wine business inside and out. As with the history lesson from the previous day it was too much information to absorb at once but over time it might escape my lips through my own filter.
The first of 2 stops was Domaine de Saint Ser considered a boutique winery producing only 120,000 bottles per vintage. A tour of the rooms with the stainless steel holding tanks and some French oak barrels and an explanation of the process and precise timing to get the desired results. The wine industry is tightly regulated for each wine region and in order to carry the name or crest of each area strict rules apply to percentages of which grapes can be blended . The producer can experiment to get different results but will be missing the seal of approval that guarantees exclusivity and in hand a bigger and higher priced market.
You could tell that the young Italian knew his way around a Granache or Rolle as he tested the notes, determined the legs, judged the clarity as he held it to the light, and swirled the wine in his mouth. I on the other hand asked for a lobster bib to keep the wine off my shirt (I had just washed it 5 wearings before).
Lorraine, Graeme’s wife, was not an imbiber but came for the wine lesson and scenery. So Graeme being of the male persuasion, of course asked for her share to be added to his. Stephan smiled at the joke, but Graeme and I looked at each other and thought it made perfect sense. If Lorraine could finish his vegetables at the dinner table than it was completely within the bounds of decency that he be allowed her allocation. I rubbed my hip pocket where I had stored my flask and gave him a wink.
It was an interesting crew that we had today and the 3 American girls (anybody less than 30 is a child to me) were busy with questions and photo ops and using their gadgets to the utmost.
On down the road to Mas de Cadenet a slightly larger location with an ancient tasting room filled with their wine library that held vintages all the way back into the mid-70s. They used lined steel tanks, concrete tanks, and some oak barrels also. Provence produces mostly Rose wine and it requires no oak seasoning, only the reds (see, I did remember something).
At both stops we were treated to fabulous vistas of the valleys and grey-white mountains. The history and geography is unique to the area and it was more than a treat. I would recommend either tour that we took to anyone that follows in our itinerary.
Homeward bound, final goodbyes, and exchange of contact info with some and then back on our way through old town looking for our dinner purchases to fill my backpack and attack the hill one last time on the upward slope as we would be leaving for the Italian mountain area of Comparosso tomorrow. I must add that the grueling trek up the long hill was a bit of a success story for me as I only picked the wrong way up twice of the four times and that only because my gaze was at my feet instead of the insanely hard to find street designations as I panted along.
Here’s to tomorrow. Bonappetit.
Blue Delivery 