Ménerbes

When I was 20 years old, in December 1969, I came to France for the first time. I had been learning French for seven years in high school and college, but I didn't really know much about France the country. I knew a little bit about French literature, grammar, and pronunciation. I certainly knew very little about Provence, where I spent the next six months, in Aix-en-Provence.

 



You'd think I and my fellow students would have traveled 25 or 30 miles north from Aix to see the hilltop villages of the Luberon. But we didn't. We went to cities like Arles, Avignon, Nîmes, Marseille, and even Cannes, but not to villages like Ménerbes, Bonnieux, Gordes, or Lourmarin. It was probably because none of us had a car. We took trains to the cities, but there were don't think there were trains to the villages just north of us. I really wonder what that part of Provence was like back then.

It wasn't until 1993, after the publication of Peter Mayle's book "A year in Provence" that Walt and I went and spent two weeks exploring the Luberon. We went back in 1995 and again in 2001. I wish I had memories of 1970 in the Luberon. The photos above are some I took in and around the village of Ménerbes in 2001.

Lacoste

 


Lacoste, pop. 400 or so, is another of the hilltop villages in the Vaucluse. The village has existed at least since the year 1038, but it was pillaged in the 16th century at the time of the religious wars, and was gradually rebuilt in the 17th. The family of the marquis de Sade acquired the château de Lacoste, which was a ruin, in the 18th century. The marquis de Sade repaired the château and lived there for a few years. In 2001 the fashion designer Pierre Cardin acquired the château. He had the château and village repaired again and started a summertime music and theatre festival at Lacoste. Thanks to Wikipédia for the information.

Gordes, un village perché

Gordes is just 25 miles east of Avignon. It's the hilltop village in the Vaucluse département that gets the most visitors. Gordes has a population of about 1,700. It has more houses (close to 2,000) than residents, however. It has about as many houses used as résidences secondaires as it does houses used as résidences principales.

In the photo on the right above is the abbaye de Sénanque. It was founded in the middle years of the 12th century by Cistercian monks. By the way, I took these photos on Sept.11, 2001. Here's what I wrote about that day:

Early in 2001, Walt and I started talking about our travel plans for the year. We were both working, so we had to coordinate some time off. Our first idea was to go to New York City around Labor Day and try to get tickets to the US Open tennis tournament. We went so far as to find an apartment we might rent by searching the Internet. It was in Lower Manhattan, not far from the World Trade Center. But it was really expensive — something approaching two thousand dollars a week for a small apartment. It looked nice and was a good location, but I started wondering about paying that price.

Instead, I started searching the Internet for places we might rent in Provence. I had a couple of weeks of vacation that I needed to take or I would lose it. It had been six years since our last trip to southern France. I was always ready to spend a few days or weeks in France, anyway. Then we asked our friend Sue if she would like to go with us. She was interested and she had been to France before but never to Provence. I found a gîte — a furnished house rented out by the week — in Cavaillon, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms for about $400.00 U.S. a week. Even with plane fare and car rental, it would cost less to go spend two weeks in Provence than to spend two weeks in New York.

I don't know if we would actually have been in Lower Manhattan on September 11, 2001, but we might well have been. Instead, we were in Provence that day. It was a Tuesday, and we drove over to Gordes in the morning and then on to some of the other villages toward Lourmarin. I had a bad sore throat and was definitely coming down with something, but the weather was nice. That evening, we got back to the gîte and put something on the table for supper. At about 8:30 we decided to turn on the TV to see the weather report for the following days. When we turned it on, what we saw was the World Trade Center in New York with smoke pouring out of the two towers. It was 2:30 p.m. in New York, so we weren't seeing it live. Walt and I stood and listened in shock, trying to figure out what was going on. Sue doesn't understand French, so she just watched.

At first, I thought we might be watching a science fiction movie or some kind of documentary about something that in somebody's imagination might happen one day. And then when it became clear the buildings really were the Trade Center in New York I thought it might be some kind of documentary about the earlier terrorist attack on those buildings. And then they showed footage of the towers collapsing. Anyway, it gradually became clear what was going on and we explained to Sue as best we could, translating what we were hearing on French TV. We all went to bed that night pretty freaked out, and none of us slept much, I'm sure. It felt strange to be so cut off from big events taking place in the U.S., but that has happened to me many times in my life.

By the next morning, I was exhausted and had a raging fever. Walt and Sue didn't know what to do, but it didn't make sense for them to be stuck at the gîte with me. I certainly couldn't go anywhere — I was too sick and needed to rest. Sue had never seen Provence, so there was a lot of stuff she wanted to do and places we wanted to show her. She and Walt left for a day trip to Aix-en-Provence. I didn't need to go to Aix again, I thought. I'd get better and then go see some places I hadn't seen before. But I was feeling a little sorry for myself, I'll confess.

So what was there for me to do all day? Take aspirin, drink hot tea, and eat soup. Wrap up in a blanket and watch TV or listen to the radio. I couldn't read because my eyes were stinging, burning, and teary. Besides, I didn't have the mental energy to focus on the written word. And what was on the TV and radio? Nothing but full-time coverage of the situation in New York. It was pretty depressing. I heard on the radio that it was impossible to put a telephone call through to the U.S. All the lines and cables were saturated, over capacity, with calls. And we didn't even have a phone at the gîte, or a cell phone. So all I could do was sit there and try to get over the cold or flu or whatever it was I had. That was Wednesday 9/12.

I stayed in all the next day too. On Thursday night, I actually got in the car and drove into Cavaillon at midnight to try to call my mother from a phone booth and tell her we were okay. I couldn't get through. I made a call to a French friend in Normandy just because I wanted to talk to somebody and not feel like I had wasted my time by going out. By Friday the fever had broken and I was starting to come back to life. The three of us went into Cavaillon to go to a pharmacy. I wanted something stronger for my cold and sore throat, and we needed some kind of sleeping pills because none of us was getting any rest at all. The shock of the New York events on top of jet lag had us all completely discombobulated.

When I explained to the woman behind the counter at the pharmacy that we were Americans and we needed something to help us sleep because we were having nightmares and were com pletely exhausted, she looked at me and said something like, "Monsieur, I understand. We are all having nightmares right now, you know." She recommended a somnifère that turned out to do the job.

We continued our trip and our sightseeing, of course. There were no flights back to the U.S. those first few days, even if we had wanted to fly back home. That Friday, the woman at the pharmacy also gave me something for my cold symptoms. I told her I had bad pollen allergies in California, and she said with the winds we were having — the Mistral was blowing — there was a lot of pollen and dust in the air. Maybe all that was aggravating my condition. I still think it was just a cold that I caught on the plane on the way from California to France. But a year or two later an allergist in San Francisco told me that I shouldn't even consider living in the South of France because I have severe allergies to the pollen of cypress and olive trees, which abound down there.

Changement de décor

In September 2001 we went to Provence for a two-week stay. Our friend Sue from California went with us. We arrived on September 10. We had rented a gîte near Cavaillon. We wanted to see all the hilltop villages in the area, as well as nearby cities including Avignon and Aix-en-Provence. The weather was clear and sunny — and very windy.

The picture above left shows what the gîte looked like. It was a very big house with two bathrooms and two or three bedrooms. It was close to the center of Cavaillon. We could walk into town.

One of the first places we went to see was the village called Bonnieux. That's it on the right. Walt and I had spent two weeks in Provence in 1993 to celebrate our 10th anniversary together. I don't think Sue had been there before. I had spent six months in Aix in 1970, when I was a student.

We did a lot of driving, but we also took time to cook nice dinners for ourselves. The kitchen and dining room made that possible. We didn't have to be out driving around in the dark.

La Vendée à Brillac

The gîte rural we rented for our trip to the Vendée five years ago was in a hamlet (un hameau) called Brillac on the territory of a new commune (town) called Auchay-sur-Vendée. It was also on the banks of the Vendée river less than five miles from the big town called Fontenay-le-Comte (pop. approx. 15,000). We were just a few steps off the river walk that runs along the left bank of the Vendée. It was a great place for long walks with Tasha.

The Vendée is only about 50 miles long. It flows through Fontenay-le-Comte and then dumps into the Sèvre niortaise just before that river flows into the Atlantic ocean.

We enjoyed seeing cows grazing and people fishing. Even though it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, we were about the only people out walking.

These are just a few photos I took along the Vendée near the gîte on our first full day in the region.

Le Marais poitevin

West of Niort, north of La Rochelle, and south of Fontenay-le-Comte is an extensive area (approx. 400 mi²) of marshland or delta that has been drained and "tamed" over the centuries. It's the largest marsh along France's Atlantic coast, and the second largest area of marshland in the country after La Camargue, where the Rhône river flows into the Mediterranean. The main river flowing into the Marais poitevin is called la Sèvre niortaise. A network of man-made canals and islands have turned the marsh into a big park for hikers and boaters.

Don't get the idea that the Marais poitevin is a wilderness. It's been populated for thousands of years. In the Middle Ages, the village called Maillezais [my-uh-ZAY] became a Catholic bishopric and the abbey church above became a cathedral. The draining and improving of the marshland had started in about the year 1000. Today the village has a population of about one thousand. It's 30 minutes from Niort by car, and 45 or 50 minutes from La Rochelle. I grabbed the image above from a YouTube video about the place. I didn't take the picture myself.

The wars between French Catholics and Protestants in the 16th century were not kind to the towns and villages of the Marais poitevin. Neither was the French Revolution at the end of the 18th century. Not all the churches were reduced to ruins. Anyway, the ones that are in ruins are pretty picturesque.

Seen in Niort

I really enjoyed the few hours we spent wandering around in old Niort. As the Michelin green guide says, « Niort dégage une impression de prospérité et de quiétude bourgeoises qui n'est pas sans charme ». The day we were there, there weren't many people out, and there was little or no activity at the big market hall near the old castle. Walt walked around with Tasha on her leash and I walked around being a shutterbug. The few people we saw paid us no mind. There was no car traffic on the town's narrow, winding streets. It was the last day of our week-long trip to the Atlantic coast, and it was relaxing. The following day would be the long drive-day to get back to Saint-Aignan.


We had finally seen La Rochelle and its Vieux Port (after an earlier failed attempt). We had finally spent a few hours on the Île de Noirmoutier (but we had skipped the Île de Ré). We had enjoyed eating seafood and local brioche and préfou breads. Tasha had been well-behaved. The weather had been very good for October. And we had enjoyed driving around and taking photos in the region's Marais Poitevin and long walks along the Vendée river near our gîte — more about all that tomorrow...

Niort landmarks

Above left, the former hôtel de ville de Niort, built during the French Renaissance (16th century). It's an art museum these days. A new hôtel de ville was built at the end of the 19th century. Above right, l'église Saint-André, built in the 19th century on the site of an earlier church.

Les halles de Niort (the town's central market) occupies a building that dates back to 1869. It replaced two older market halls, including one from the 13th century that was reputedly the largest market in France at the time. Today's market hall faces the donjon de Niort (see yesterday's post) across the place with the same name (la place du Donjon).

Another 19th century church is the église Saint-Étienne-du-Port. The first church on this site was demolished during the French Revolution. I haven't been about to find much information about the older church. The church's belfry rises to a height of 42.5 meters (140 ft.).

Le donjon de Niort

When Henri II Plantagenêt married Aliénor d'Aquitaine in the 12th century, he decided to fortify the town of Niort and make it his capital to better protect the territory that Aliénor had brought to their marriage. He had a huge fortress built there. He died before the project was finished, and his son Richard Cœur-de-Lion finished the job. This is what remains of that château-fort. I took these photos when Walt and I spent a few hours walking around in Niort in 2018.

The French Wikipédia article this about what was called le château de Niort and now is usually referred to as the donjon de Niort: C'était une véritable cité englobant des habitations, des jardins et une place d'arme sur laquelle il y avait la collégiale Saint-Gaudens, qui a été détruite au cours des guerres de religion. Plus tard, le château servira de prison. The taller of the two towers is 95 feet (28 meters) tall. You can read more about it in French here, or in English here.

Lightning strikes Descartes church

© Photo Sdis 37

The 12th century église Saint-Georges in the town of Descartes, an hour southwest of Saint-Aignan on the Creuse river, was struck by lightning last Sunday 09 July 2023 at 7:30 a.m. As you can see in the photo above, the roof was set on fire. It's reminiscent of what happened at Notre-Dame de Paris a few years ago. The wooden trusses holding up the roof collapsed into the church. Let me hasten to add that I didn't take these photos; I got them off the internet and I'm including copyright information.

© Photo NR Mariella Esvant

This incident makes me wonder again about the wisdom of restoring Notre-Dame de Paris with a wooden roof structure rather than steel or concrete trusses. What if ligtning hits Notre-Dame cathedral and sets it on fire again? I think the job of restoring the cathedral in Paris is nearly done, so it's too late now.

Here is what the église St-Georges looked like before the fire. I haven't found a lot of information about the interior of the church, but I've read that certain element of it are listed as monuments historiques. I have never been inside. The town of Descartes (pop. 3,300) is named for the philosopher René Descartes — of Je pense, donc je suis fame — it was his birthplace.

Nieul-sur-l'Autise, Aliénor, et l'abbaye

Nieul is a village just 10 miles west of the city of Niort (pop. 75,000) and less than 10 miles east of the big town of Fontenay-le-Comte (pop. 13,000). Nieul is no longer an independent village but has been merged with several other little villages to form a new municipality called Rives-d'Autise (pop. 2,000). It's complicated, but merging small villages or absorbing small villages into larger villages and towns is happening all around France these days. The goal is to reduce the number of mayors and mairies and municipal councils, thereby streamlining the bureaucracy and reducing administrative costs.

There is credible evidence (but no proof) that Aliénor d'Aquitaine (Eleanor of Aquitaine in English) was born in Nieul. Her mother's tomb is in the abbaye Saint-Vincent in Nieul. As you probably know, Aliénor was the queen of France for 15 years in the 12th century. Her marriage to the French king was annulled in 1152 and two months later she married Henri Plantagenêt who would become king of England in 1154. She was a queen again, of England this time, and she reigned for nearly 35 years — that despite being held prisoner for fifteen of those  years in France (Chinon) and England (Salisbury) by her husband.

  

Before all that happened, the abbaye Saint-Vincent was founded in Nieul in the 11th century by monks who were working to drain and decontaminate the marshy, swampy land of the area. Only the west front of the abbey church and the cloister remain mostly as they were back then, despite the church having been severely damaged during the 16th century wars of religion. I wish I had had a chance to see the cloister, but... There are a couple of pictures of it here. In the 19th century the church was drastically altered. A steeple was added to the front of the Romanesque church, changing its appearance completely.

Some of the old statuary and stonework remains at Saint-Vincent. The building just above was the mairie of Nieul and is now the mairie of Rives-d'Autise, I believe.