An Enchanted Day in Vaison-la-Romaine

 

From the parking garage next door to the Marché les Halles d’Avignon, the city’s marketplace near the Palace of the Popes, we zigzagged our way northward through the ancient narrow streets until we exited the city’s old ramparts through Porte du Rocher to join Boulevard de la Ligne (Route D225). Avignon is a maze and we would have been totally lost without a GPS. Running all along the mighty Rhone River, the boulevard later becomes the Route Touristique des Bords du Rhone, The Tourist Route of the Rhône (Route D907/D225). We followed the road until it swung away from the river and at the first major roundabout where the D907 heads north to Sorgues and the D225 heads to Carpentras, we went north. My clear intention was to avoid any major highways or autoroutes. I wanted to explore the backroads of Provence, from roundabout to roundabout, through lanes bordered by fields of fruit trees, vineyards and old stone farmhouses, and whenever we got to the outskirts of a town, the road was flanked by factories and warehouses, and filled with service trucks. No problem! There was no rush. We had time on our hands.  We were slow traveling France.

It may have been lunch time and shops were closed but the wares were still displayed outside in Vaison-la-Romaine

When I recently wrote about Spain and the magical day spent in Barcelona’s Bari Gotic I mentioned that another enthralled travel day was a visit to Vaison-la-Romaine in the Haut-Vaucluse region of France, loosely defined as the northern section of Provence.  It was our last day in Provence before returning to Paris for a further dose of enchantment.

Caesar Augustus statue high up on the stage's wall

Our first destination for the day was the town of Orange, a major Roman period town. Later it became a unique Dutch Principality (from 1544 to 1702) in the south of France before it was ceded to Louis IV of France. It was a popular Protestant destination during the French Wars of Religions (1562 - 1598). However, the Dutch, the House of Orange-Nassau, never ceded the title, Prince/Princess of Orange. For that matter, neither did the Kingdom of Prussia, the House of Hohenzollern, which also laid claim to the title. The Dutch continued to use the title for the heir apparent to the Dutch throne. Today, the thirteen year old Princess Catharina-Amelia, current heir apparent to the Dutch throne, is the first Princess of Orange to claim the title in her own right since 1417 when Mary of Baux-Orange, the last Princess of Orange, died.

 The back of the stage area of the Amphitheater.

 

 

The itinerary for Orange called for a visit to the weekly market, the ancient Roman amphitheater and the Triumphal Arch, the oldest complete structure in Orange, possibly built during the reign of Augustus (27 BC - AD 14). In the end we spent most of our 2 hours in Orange at the magnificent amphitheater and the adjacent museum, before a short walk through the market and never got to see the Triumphal Arch. But that’s the way travel days sometimes goes.

 From the top row of the seating area the people looks tiny near the stage.

The lonely figure in the first row on the right is M. 

The Amphitheater, still in use today as a musical venue, is ginormous, even by today’s standards, and a glorious testament to the skills of the builders of the Roman Empire. Started in the 1^st century AD under Caesar Augustus, it is the most well preserved Roman amphitheater in Europe. It was extraordinary to see such an ancient building still in relative good condition. While M stayed on level ground near the stage I climbed all the way to the top of the seating area. The seats of the amphitheater rest against the side of St. Eutrope Hill, which dominates Orange. Below the hill’s summit is the St. Eutrope Park, this at one time housed the Chateau Nassau, but because of William III, the Prince of Orange’s protectionism of Protestants it was destroyed in 1672 on the command of Louis XIV, the sun king, in his effort to enforce Catholicism.   

 A Pink Floyd concert at the Theatre Antique L'Orange

From Orange we travelled along Route D977 passed the turn offs to classic Provençal villages, with names that flow off the tongue like liquid poetry: Gigondas (little brother of the Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine region), Sablet, Segúret, and Rasteau until the road started to run more or less parallel to the Ouvèze River, which took us into the town of Vaison-la-Romaine.

The 1st century Roman bridge 

We parked our car just inside the new town on Avenue Cesar Geoffray about 200 meters from Pont Romaine de Vaison-la-Romaine, a bridge built by the Romans in the 1st century AD and which is still in used today.  We first explored the lower town or new town, where the ancient Roman settlement was located. We walked uphill along Grand Rue until it becomes Avenue General de Gaulle and at the tourism office next to the Musée Archéologique Théo Desplans we stopped. It was lunch time and in the south of France lunch time is sacred. There was nearly no one around. The place felt deserted. Shops we all closed. It felt like we had the place to ourselves. M and I annexed a bench that overlooked the city’s Roman ruins to eat our lunch that we brought along from our apartment while we waited for the museum to open again after lunch. Lunch consisted of some rustic black olive bread, sharp pale yellow cheese we bought at the Gordes market a few days ago, fruit and some “to die for” yogurt.

[Please let me indulge for a minute about French yogurt. If you haven’t eaten French yogurt yet, put it on your “foods I must try” list. I am not a big yogurt eater, or rather I never used to be, but I fell in love with their yogurts during my travels through France, especially the ones that come in tiny delicate glass jars with the clear fruit and fruit juices at the bottom and the thick, creamy yogurt on top. It is simply heaven in a jar.
The difference between American and French/European yogurt is a higher fat content. French yogurt contains nearly double the amount of fat than the American standard percentage. And fat means flavor. There is a French word vachement.
In Google it translates to: really, bloody or damned! If used as a superlative, it means “unbelievable”, or in American English “Oh my god, it’s frigging awesome.”]

 

 



Apart from some kids also waiting for the museum to open, there was no one on the streets.

 

After lunch we visited the archeology museum, walked along Rue Burrus and beheld the splendor of the Roman ruins. Through a public garden and along more Roman ruins we arrived at the Cathedral Notre Dame De Nazareth, a classic Romanesque-style church, the present building dates back to the 1200s, although some parts inside dates back to the Merovingian period, early 8^th Century. It was by far the oldest church building I have ever been into. We lingered for a while, and then in a roundabout way, passed more Roman ruins, we arrived back on Rue Grand and made our way back to our car.

More Roman ruins, a tranquil garden and the cathedral in the distance 

 

The Cathedral Notre Dame De Nazareth

 

 Inside the Cathedral Notre Dame De Nazareth

And we nearly missed the magic of the day!

 

It was already late afternoon and had more than an hour’s drive back to Avignon ahead and I was ready to go in order to avoid driving in the dark. But then M suggested we took a quick walk through the old town on the other side of the river. Bless her soul for making the suggestion. Our “quick” walk turned into more than an hour of being transported back to a 14^th Century “stone sanctuary.” What was so strange was that there were no tourists. We walked the ancient streets all by ourselves.

 

After visits to the charmed hilltop villages of Gordes and Roussillon, and spending time sipping wine in various historic Châteauneuf-du-Pape wines cellars, and watching the sun set over the Rhône River at Ponte d’Avignon, and finding some beautiful classic French copper kitchen utensils at a flea market on Place Pie in Avignon (the seller specially unpacking his wares again because we came to the market very late), I didn’t think anything could beat our Provençal experiences so far until we cross the Ouvèze River into the old medieval town on the left bank and entered a time machine, which transported us centuries back.

 

The old town, perfectly restored, or maintained, I am not sure, retained its ambiance of centuries ago. Steep narrow cobbled stone streets, flanked by ancient grey stone houses, gardens hidden behind iron gates and tall walls, multiple tiny plazas with water fountains, and here a house with blue and there one with green and further down the road a house with burgundy red and around a corner one with brown shutters. On one square a bed & breakfast hotel, around a corner an artisan’s shop. On top of the hill, very strategically placed and overlooking the new town and the valley behind the old town, the ruins of Chateau Comtal, the old castle of the Counts of Toulouse, which provided the town’s folk a safe haven during the Religious Wars. The pictures really tell the true story of the magic of those ancient streets in this enchanted hamlet with houses and gardens clinging to the steep hill like rock climbers ascending El Capitano in Yosemite National Park.

 Looking down from the top of the hill beyond the old town, farms and vineyards

The twilight hour was near when we eventually left Vaison-la-Romaine and we had to totally rely on Samantha, our trusted Garmin GPS to lead us back to Avignon and its narrow ancient streets. That evening as we walked back from the parking garage we didn’t directly went to our rented apartment, but meandered along the many quieter backstreets in the vicinity of our apartment, away from the small squares, populous and noisy, and the busy streets that house banks, neighborhood bars, a Carrafour supermarket, and other shops. On a quiet pedestrian-only street we came upon a tiny restaurant, a true mom-and-pop (actually a husband-and-wife) hole-in-the-wall, with space for only 5 or 6 el fresco tables. It had no diners occupying any of the tables and we were initially skeptical as we studied the menu on an easel near the entrance. A very friendly lady asked if we were Americans and in English explained that their food was traditional French.

 

A man standing nearby leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette also chipped in and said the restaurant was a neighborhood favorite and that the food was very good. Between them they convinced us and we sat down and enjoyed a fabulous plat du jour; a mixed greens house salad, a creamy Normandy pork stew with vegetables (a la chicken pot pie style), presented in tiny Le Creuset-like pots, followed by a delightful local Provençal version of Tiramisu in tiny Mason jars. (It reminded me of those delicious yogurts in glass jars.) As the evening matured more diners filled the empty tables, lively conversation ensued and the quiet thoroughfare became a joyous celebration of that quintessential French pastime, dinner. It turned out to be one of our best open air dinners in France. It was quite late in the evening and after many glasses of Côtes du Rhône red wine we found our way back to Rue Carnot and our apartment. A perfect day to end a truly enchanted stay in Provence!

A tranquil garden space 

Another fountain. The old town is littered with fountains

 

M next to the Ouvèze River with the ancient Roman bridge in the background

 A last look at Vaison-la-Romaine at the twilight hour

Provence, France Revisited

It is already quite something to find a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in a Kentucky liquor store, but then to find one of the vintage from the same year that I actually walked through that specific Château’s vineyard is really magic. Pure nostalgic value! What a coincidence! Of course, if you live in a wine region then this kind of thing can happen quite often, but not when you live a continent away and a visit to France is a rare occurrence.

The Discovery

But that is exactly what happened a few weeks ago when I wandered through a local liquor store’s aisles and stumbled upon three lone bottles of 2012 Château Mont-Redon. They were standing on the edge of the French section, alone by themselves with no indication of price. I thought I had to relieve them from their loneliness. I saw the store manager nearby and asked him to check the price, expecting to hear something close to or above $40, the usual price for an average Châteauneuf-du-Pape. After a few minutes of trying to find the wine in their computer system, he said that the wine was supposed to be sold out and there is no price in the system. So I gave him the eyes and said “Well, obviously it’s not.” He then asked me where I found it and I said “It was standing near other bottles priced at $16.” I did notice that they were in the process of reorganizing the store.

Then he gave me the eyes. He was deep in thought for a few seconds, looked at the bottle again and then smiled wryly, and said, “Ok, you found it. $16.” I thanked him, took the bottle, quickly walked away before he could have second thoughts and then went to collect the other 2 bottles too. Returning home I search the internet and saw that wine.com is selling it for $42 a bottle. What a bargain!

 

What’s for Dinner?

So come Sunday, M took out a frozen packet of ribs for barbequing, thinking it was pork ribs, but instead it was beef short ribs. Which, off course, can also be grilled successfully if you like your beef tender and still half bloody on the inside, but my family does not like their steaks that way. In any case, that Sunday by 1:00 pm it was 95 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, the humidity in the 90s, meaning the heat index could have been well over a 100 degrees, and we fled inside to the cool of the air-conditioned house. There was no way I was going to stand in front of a hot grill in that heat. So it became another experimental Sunday afternoon in the kitchen.

I was not in the mood for a boeuf bourguignon; I made that a few weeks ago to accompany a bottle of Allesverloren Shiraz that M bought me some time ago. So I stuck my nose into Jacques Pépin’s near 700 page culinary bible, Essential Pepin, to see if I can find a Provençal classic to bring the best out of its Châteauneuf-du-Pape neighbor. And on page 323 I found something that looked interesting and which I could adapt to put my own stamp on, a Boeuf Daube Arlésienne, a beef stew that comes from the Provençal town of Arles.

 

Starry Starry Night

Arles, located on the banks of the Rhone River, and the surrounding area have been populated for the past 2,800 years by various civilizations, among other the Ligurians from northern Italy, the Celts, the Phoenicians, the Romans, the Moors from Spain, and eventually in 1378 it became part of the kingdom of France. During the late Roman era, the 4^th and 5^th Century AD, the town was very popular with Roman Emperors that used it as their headquarters during military campaigns in the region. The town still boasts several Roman ruins and buildings, including the magnificent colosseum-like amphitheater. But the town is probably more famous today for the 200-odd paintings that Vincent Van Gogh painted here during his 14 month stay in 1888 and 1889. The Night Cafe, the Yellow Room, Starry Night over the Rhone, L'Arlésienne and of course, Café Terrace at Night, is among the famous paintings Van Gogh painted here.

Vincent van Gogh's Café Terrace at Night in Arles

 Another connection and point of nostalgia; During our 2012 visit to Provence we did not ventured as far south as Arles. Our furthest point south was Les Baux-de-Provence and Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, where we visited the Saint-Paul Asylum. Van Gogh came to Saint-Rémy after his Arles period and spent a year in the asylum from May 1889 to May 1890. During his Saint-Rémy stay he painted many canvasses of the hospital’s garden, the surrounding fields and the famous The Starry Night and Irises. Two months after Van Gogh left Saint-Remy he shot himself and died in the town of Auvers-sur-Oise, north of Paris.  

Starry Night.

Painted by Van Gogh while staying in Saint-Paul Asylum in Saint-Remy-de-Provence

Of course, we also visited the tiny enclave of Châteauneuf-du-Pape (see my blogs here and here about our visit.) Although we never went for a tasting at Château Mont-Redon, we had lunch just up the hill from the estate, but after lunch our guide stopped at the domaine to give us a short history about the area and to tell us about the importance of the river stones that are the “secret” to the wonderful wines made in this valley. And we went for a walk through the vineyards.

Taking a walk through the vineyard of Château Mont-Redon

Perusing the recipe I realized I had all the ingredients required for a Boeuf Daube Arlésienne, but I decided to replace the white wine the recipe asked for with red wine, making it a little heavier dish than the original. A few days earlier I opened a local Kentucky merlot, but after a few sips I destined it to be more suited for the pot than for my palate.  The merlot now came in handy. In order not to change the recipe into a bourguignon one has to have a light hand with the red wine. I was maybe a little too heavy handed because I marinated the short ribs in the merlot, some garlic and dried Herbes de Provence for about two hours. That in itself made it lean towards a bourguignon. Nevertheless, I am not going to publish my recipe because I am sure my daube did not taste at all like that of Pepin’s and the method I used was also much different than his. So it will be a gross injustice to Mr. Pepin to publish my adaptation or his recipe, because mine, I am in no doubt, was a far flung deviation from his.

 

 

I tested a piece of the short rib after browning it in the pot and it was melt-in-the-mouth tender.

 It’s All About The Terroir

I have to admit I was in two minds about opening a bottle of Mont-Redon. It was only 4 years old, relatively young for a Châteauneuf-du-Pape red, but I was also charmed by its possibilities and by what it could offer at this tender age. I have learned over the years that modern wines could be surprising good at a young age and sometimes terrible at an older age. In the end my inquisitiveness and sentiment got the upper hand.  

The Château Mont-Redon.

In the family picture of the current owners, top left: Didier Fabre (front left), Yan Abeille, Jerome Abeille, Pierre Fabre and Jean Abeille (front right)

 Wine has been produced on the Mont-Redon estate since the age of the Avignon Popes and the estate was first mentioned in historic documents from 1344 as “Mourredon’. Between then and the 1700s not much is known about the property until Joseph d’Astier, a lawyer from Avignon, obtained the property. His descendants, the Mathieu family owned the estate until about 1856 when, at the death of Clara Mathieu, the property was divided between her children. Shortly thereafter the phylloxera epidemic of the 1880s devastated wine-making at the estate and in most of the winemaking regions of the world. In 1923 when Henri Plantin obtained the property, Mont-Redon consisted of only 2.5 hectares of scattered vineyards. Plantin and his descendants actively worked to enlarge the estate, buying up adjacent land when it became available and today it consists of 186 hectares with 100 hectares under vineyard,  making it the largest single-vineyard estate in the Châteauneuf-du-Pape valley and one of the most well-known and respected producers of crus in the appellation.  The current owners, Jean Abeille and Didier Fabre, the 3^rd generation descendants from Plantin, have also expanded their operations beyond the valley and now also produce Côtes-du-Rhône wines from 35 hectares they own across the Rhône River. 

 

In the glass the wine was a deep ruby red and still very purple at the rim. On the nose it was fruity with faint hints of chocolate and characteristically from a Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine, strong hints of licorice. But the proof is always in the pudding, and on the palate the initial taste had surprisingly strong tannins, with cherries and blackberries and the licorice was now shining through as if to confirm its terroir. The ending was rather abrupt and mildly spicy.

I thought I made a big mistake to open the bottle so soon with the tannins still grossly underdeveloped. So I let the wine rest while I continued with the Boeuf Daube Arlésienne, which by this time looked more like a bourguignon. In hindsight the Burgundian version was better suited for the wine in any case and I am sure there is a Provençal dish out there with red wine very similar to its northern cousin.

 

Finishing off a Mediterranean ensemble

An hour later to finish off the dish and to give it a more distinctive Mediterranean twist I added some Greek capers, Spanish Manzanilla olives, but to counter the vinegary taste of the olives and saltiness of the capers I added a teaspoon of “treasure” from our pantry to add sweetness, Confit d’Olive, all the way from Blaauwklippen Road in Stellenbosch, South Africa. The confit or mountain marmalade has a very unique flavor, and until I found it in a store in Lexington, KY, of all places, I would not have thought one could make jam from black olives. BTW, it goes very well with camembert or brie cheese on crackers.

The rest and the air did the wine a world of good. Although the tannins were still distinct, clinging to the tongue, it has mellowed a bit. The middle became soft and rounder and the aftertaste longer and a little spicier with a stronger hint of chocolate. (Oops! That sounds like I am describing a maturing woman. But don’t they always say a woman is like a good wine that gets better with time?)

The wine, made mainly from the Grenache, Shiraz, and Mourvèdre cultivars and topped up with Cinsault, Cournoise, Muscardin, and Varrarèse, was, to use a Kentucky term, a thoroughbred Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Overall the wine was a very good, fully bodied, well-balanced wine, a true grand cru that can only get better with age. It went very well with the food, which in the end turned out to be a classic I-like-to-cook-with-wine-and-sometimes-even-put-it-in-the-food experiment. How long the other two bottles will last time will tell.

What a bargain for $16?



My apologies Mr. Pépin, but in my hands your boeuf daube Arlésienne, turned out to be more of a Mediterranean-influenced boeuf bourguignon.

 The chef at work in the kitchen. 

Market Day in Gordes

 

We drove south east on the N7 from Avignon to Cavallion, but after crossing the A7, which runs south to Marseilles, we went east on the Route D’Apt, the D900 to Coustellet. I think it should be called the Perch Village Highway. North of the D900 the villages of L’isle-sur-la-Sorgue, Fontaine-de-Vaucluse, Gordes and Roussillon are easy accessible. Turn south from the D900 and the perched villages of Ménerbes and Bonnieux are not too far. Near Coustellet we turned north on the D15 to Gordes. If it’s Tuesday, it must be market day in Gordes.   

 

Along the way we stopped when I eyed this classical Romanesque-style chapel. Probably from the 12^th or 13^th century.

 

As we continued to climb into the foothills of the Monts de Vaucluse and made another turn in the road, the view opened up. On the right the valley stretched far into the hazy morning sunlight until it backed up against the Luberon Mountains. On the left, through cypresses and native shrubs, perched on a spur, Gordes. At the top, its centuries old castle next to the church, and down the slopes, its narrow alleys and stone houses cascade down like exquisite layers of lace over a flowing satin ballroom wedding gown.

 

The perfect French hilltop village.

I wondered for how many centuries they have held market day in the shadow of the Gordes castle. Typical French country, beret and all.

 

For nearly a thousand years, the castle has been standing sentinel supreme over the village. Thought to be built in the 11^th century by Guillaume d'Agoult, one of the earliest ancestors of the powerful feudal family who ruled large parts of Provence, including Gordes. However, habitation goes back probably to about 6000 BC when flint was mined here. D'Agoult successors strengthened the castle in 1123 to make it a nobile castrum – a noble fortress, and one of the most well-known among the many nearby castles. It was further strengthened through the centuries and then mostly rebuilt between 1525 and 1541, parts in the Renaissance style, by Bertrand Simiane, the Marquis de Simiane, who was then the lord of the manor.

Quintessential Mediterranean - Olive, garlic, chillies...

Cured Meats.

While M continued to meander through the market I explored the outer edges of the market square.

 

That sure is the biggest wine bottle I have ever seen.  

It seemed that door and that entrance were there for ever.

Time to explore the village. Down we went.

It doesn’t really matter which way you go. The important thing is to get yourself lost. And that is exactly what happened. Here and there were natural openings on the side of a street to lookout over the valley; places to adjusts ones perspectives again. But around the next corner the tall stone walls and darker shadows engulfed the narrow uneven cobblestone alleys again.     

 

A feline sentinel high above street level.

 

Another on street level. Totally disinterrested in the tourists.

We eventually found ourselves on an opposite hillside of the village with excellent views of the village itself and the valley below.

 

This house was for sale. It came with a beautifully carved stone cross.

 

 

And this is why the villagers moved up the hill to be under the protection  of the castle. The view. Probably not for the beauty of it, but as a lookout and an early warning system. Warnings against feudal armies and religious zealots during the Wars of Religion in the 16th Century. Theview is not bad either.

 

Totally stoned.

We walked back to where our car was parked on the outskirts of the village and continued our journey through the valley towards Roussillon.