02. October 2012 · 1 comment · Categories: France

This morning, Gaston and I listened to the CBC Quirks & Quarks podcast in which Bob MacDonald interviews the York U researcher who had determined the clock-work timing of a wood-thrush species’ migration. Every fall, on the exact same day of the year, from year to year, the birds begin their migration south. And every spring, on the same day, from year to year, they arrive north in Canada from their southern wintering grounds.

During our hike through the Razès countryside this afternoon, we encountered another variety of precision animal timing. Today was the day that the fig wasps in the region swarmed. Fig wasps are very small, black insects that don’t bite or sting and are pretty much harmless. They are essential to pollinating fig blossoms, however, and the females lay their eggs on figs, which provide delectable and sweet nourishment to the wasp larvae when they hatch.

We walked through the first swarm we encountered, and discovered that they are attracted to light colours. Gaston was wearing grey; I—lucky me—was sporting a white t-shirt. I was covered. They were on my hat, in my hair, in my ears, on my neck, and—despite the strap of my backpack pressing the neck of my shirt to my skin—down my shirt. ick. I managed to pick all of them off of me and out of my cleavage, but spent the next two hours of the walk fighting the psychological itchy-scratchies.

We avoided subsequent swarms after that.

It was a clear, clear day, but drifts, rivers, clouds, tornadoes of milling, swarming wasps billowed and streamed above the landscape.

And, as it is fig season, the smell of ripe figs perfumes the air.

The first time I visited this region, I paid little attention to the flora around the house. It was green.

The second time I came, I noticed that, lining the long driveway to Montplaisir, were hundreds—thousands—of bright green heather shrubs. All native. Many more than a metre tall. It being September, none were in bloom, as had been the case before.

This visit to France, we went first to the Tarn, where heathers were in bloom. Being slightly further north and with a slightly different climate made the difference.

When we moved on to the Mirepoix area, heathers, again, everywhere. This time, I was able to identify that at least two varieties grow around here: the bright green, tall kind, and a lower, leggy, dark kind. On one trail, the tall variety was blooming: greeny–yellowy–white flowers, rather typical of the heath-tree flowers one can see in Victoria.

Then we too a day trip down into the Pyrenées to Axe-les-Thèrmes. The hillsides above Axe and below the fresh-snow–covered peaks were aflame with fall colours and bloomin’ heather.

Chateaux Lastours

This was our first big hike of the vacation. It occurred towards the end of the day, after a visit to our favourite vigneron (and accompanying wine tasting—by Mimi. Gaston abstained from more than a few slurps, as he was DD), lunch below the troglodyte village of Minerve (two stars on the Michelin road map), and a winding journey across the southern slopes of the Black Mountain.

It was one of the first days of 35° temperatures, and the climb almost did Gaston in.

chateau régine, at one of the four lastours castles

Chateau Aguilar

Aguilar chateau

One of the “National Monument” ruined Cathar castles in the Aude.

Aguilar chateau

Looking down on the vineyards below chateau Aguilar.

Chateau Roquefixade

Gaston and I caught the Friday market in Foix, took a heap of photos as the light was crystal clear—that would have been the first day of Autumn light—then departed to conquer Roquefixade.

We’d been intimidated by this chateau on previous visits. The approach appears vertiginous.

The pog of Chateau Roquefixade

Chateau Roquefixade: the wee red flag at the top of the peak marks the ruins of this Cathar stronghold.

First visit to the area, which encompassed only six days, we gazed at it from Montségur and noted the cathar-cross flag flying at the top of the peak. On visit #2, we explored the town at the base of the cliff, climbed to the rock face, then decided, “Another day.” I believe a mild case of food poisoning or airplane stomach-bug played a role in that choice.

Even this time ’round, as we drove towards it from the west and saw how steep the outcrop on which the ruins are perched, Gaston and I were each dreading the endeavour. But, of course, we didn’t say anything. Which I think is mighty big of Gaston, who has confessed to me that, actually, he really doesn’t care for hiking, and especially doesn’t care for hiking up steep inclines, especially when it is warm out.

Does this mean he was humouring me? Who cares!

It turns out the hike to the chateau is deceptive: it isn’t nearly as rigorous as it appears from up the valley or from the village.

Roquefixade village

At the base of the village, overlooking the valley to the southwest, was a small “villa” (modern house) with a million-dollar view and cracks so large in the walls, you can see into the interior. Said house is for sale “on condition of unbuilding.” The edge of the hill beneath the house is subsiding. What a heartbreak for the owner who invested.

Don’t believe me? The trail winds around the base of the rock to the back side of the pog, then ascends at fairly reasonable, albeit still steepish, incline to the back of the fortress.

And we saw our first Griffin vulture whilst lounging at the top: a freaking HUGE, black bird that was riding the thermals off the crest.

 

Chateau Peyrepertuse

01. October 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: France · Tags: ,

Next to the entrance to the local supermarket, the owners have parked a spiffy trailer-wagon that has caught Gaston’s eye.

It’s small enough and light enough to tow behind a gutless Yaris. It has collapsible side bars that can be raised or lowered, together or separately. It would be the perfect alternative to Gaston folding the seats of his Toyota down, lining the back with a tarp and stuffing the works with the bi-weekly batch of garden waste en route to the municipal compost facility.

This being Europe, where they made peace with the ridiculous price of fuel back in the ’70s by embracing small, energy-efficient cars, accessories suitable to such vehicles exist here.

Watching the covetous gleam in his eye everytime we walked by, I suggested to Gaston that he get an import license and set up a business bringing items like this into Canada. That won’t be going anywhere.

Instead, he will be keeping that eye out for the time when wagons for wee cars become available on our home turf.

The word la peyre is a derivation of la pierre, or stone. We have encountered a number of places whose names incorporated “peyre.

La Peyre

La Peyre

Chateau Peyrepertuse, which translates roughly into (tee hee) Stone-Whooping cough Castle—the spectacular mountaintop ruin of a former Cathar fortress, then French-border fortress and chapel to Saint-Louis/Louis IX, north of the town of Maury, in the Aude.

Peyrefitte-du-Razès—a farming village in the Razès region of the Aude, where we’ve hiked.

The double-hitter Peyrie-et-Peyrols—a hamlet near Mirepoix.

La Peyre—a village built into the cliff, close the the Millau Viaduct in the upper Tarn. These kinds of places, in which past architects and builders took advantage of how rivers now far below had eroded overhangs, caves and natural shelters out of their former banks to erect shelters, Anasazi-style, are called villages des troglodytes, or villages of the cave dwellers. The original church in La Peyre, now a private residence and art gallery, is once of the cave dwellings.

One of the most renowned troglodyte villages in southwest France is Minèrve (in the Minèrvois region of Languedoc, funnily enough). Alerted to its potential by the two stars the Michelin road map marking its name, we visited this cliff-village after we picked up our month’s supply of wine from our favourite winery just to the south. We had lunch in the riverbed, the river flowing underground for most of the year.

Minerve

Minerve

Minerve bridge and fortress gate

The tower of rock is all that is left of Minerve’s former defensive wall