Why Not Go?: Off to Biarritz, Bergerac, Saint-Émilion and Life in the French Countryside

After our standard pub breakfast of coffee, croissants, and fresh squeezed orange juice, we packed the car and departed Haro. It was a five hour drive to Max's place in France and our first real encounter with the Spanish and French freeway systems. Spain is drunk on signage. For example, there would be a sign IN FRONT of a tunnel telling you that you were about to enter a tunnel. Approaching an exit, you'd have four or five signs in a row each with different numbers and names for basically the same road. There are even blank signs where they hadn't yet figured out what to say but someone must have had the feeling there should be a sign about there. In France it is the opposite. You almost can't find a sign when you need one. Day and night difference.

To break up the road trip, we took a detour into Biarritz, France. It's purported to be a playground of the international rich and famous along with a pack of surfing dudes. Of course, we added to the zoo, but we didn't bring as much color.

We ate on the boardwalk in front of the white building.

It was indeed a beautiful place and we had an appropriate ocean side lunch each with something fishy. It was odd to be so directly looked at by everyone. I think they were scanning us for labels and status markers so they could instantly categorize and put us in our right place. It's the only time I've wanted an ACE Hardware shirt. I mostly loved looking at the ocean.

Arrival at the Studer house was like falling into a cozy 5-star accommodation all packed into a quaint French farmhouse. Beautiful, perfectly appointed, unassuming, and surrounded for miles (literally) in every direction by soon-to-be-picked grape vines.

If you add to it the most gracious hosting skills of Max's wife Margaret, the playful energy of their dog Molly and new puppy Bimala (Bee), we were well set up for a needed respite from our first 10 days of travel. And all took place in a postcard stetting.

After a rest day, the Studers took us off to the Wednesday farmer's market in the nearby town of Bergerac. It is, in fact, the home stomping grounds of Cyrano de Bergerac and his relatives. His statue adorns a central square and is surrounded by some very well preserved medieval streets and houses from the early 1600's. Just for a moment, it felt like I should be in tights, with leather knee-high boots, a blousey shirt, and a big hat with a feather in it. Brief though it was I enjoyed the idea.

A day later, Max, drove Gwen and myself on a road trip passing through endless fields of grape vines, literally visible to the horizon on the way to Saint-Émilion. The town is another UNESCO World Heritage Site, with Romanesque churches and shops and restaurants all along steep and narrow cobblestone streets. It is easily the most beautiful and well-restored old town we've seen this trip.

In this part of the world, when we say old, it means things like the Romans planting vineyards in the area as early as the 2nd century. I mean that's old. The town is named after a travelling confessor monk named Émilion, who settled in a hermitage cave carved into a rock somewhere near Saint-Émilion in the 8th century. That's what hearing too many confessions will do to a guy. Émilion planted a few vines, but it was the monks who came after him that really started producing wine on a commercial level. So it's no wonder the town is all about wine, with shops everywhere offering a range of mostly local wines from the affordable to terribly expensive varieties.

Can you read these prices?!

We had a standard, mid-afternoon meal of cured meats, local cheeses, salad, and, of course, a glass of one of the very affordable red wines in the area. While you can pay thousands of Euros for a bottle in this town, it's easy to get a really wholly adequate bottle with Saint-Émilion on the label for 8 to 10 Euros. Staying awake for the drive home after a lunch with a glass or two is a more difficult matter.

Trail between house and river

The next day Max took us on a hike from Port Sainte Foy et Ponchapt on the La Dordogne river back to their house. The "walk" followed the Camino De Santiago in reverse. There's a story in there somewhere about getting farther away from what counts, but I'll let that go. As we walked along the river, Max described how, during WW II, the opposite bank marked the border where German troops occupied the area. I just can't imagine life on either side of the river under those conditions.

The hike climbed out of the river valley to a summit that was home to what's left of an old windmill. In the photo, Max and Gwen are taking in the view. There are only a few around these days but this one had a 280 degree panorama of the countryside. It was a great rest stop.

The remaining 2 hours back was literally walking through vineyard after vineyard. We'd taste the grapes along the way, imagining the promise they held for the bottle. That old monk Émilion couldn't have imagined what he was kicking off when he planted a few vines outside his cave.

We had wonderful, chatty breakfasts and dinners each day with the people staying with the Studers. Margaret has what I've learned is called a "piano" arrangement for a cooking area and puts it to great use. Because of her love of cooking and considerable creativity, that ole piano kept cranking out wondrous creations. Soups, breads, roasted chicken, fresh garden veggies, breakfast porridge, jams, and great coffees. It was all served in an artful way and with Max's wine parings in support (well not breakfast). As I said to the Studers on departure, rather than being guests in the home of dear friends, it felt more like coming home to family. That's just how they do it.

Fully rested, nourished in so many ways, and with freshly laundered clothes, we bid our dear friends a somewhat sad adieu, and departed for our week near the ocean at Llanes back in Spain. The story of the road trip, Llanes, and the Picos de Europa National Park will be in the next post.

Below are some photos I didn't have room for.

Thanks for hitchhiking along, more soon,

Love from Earl and Gwen