Le Rhone: the River, the Valley, the Hillsides and the Wine

 THIS BLOG IS DEDICATED TO GEORGE VETTOR, WHOSE PASSION FOR BICYCLES BENEFITTED SO MANY.

FAREWELL, GEORGIO!

 

Looking down the Rhone river

When I first suggested to Minas that we spend the first week of our trip pedalling down the Rhone Valley, I envisaged finding a small flat road that gave me a view of the river most of the time. This was not the case.

The Rhône River is wide and beautiful; swollen this year with the extensive rains that have fallen, and are still falling, in this area. It is moving swiftly these days but, despite the speed, it is flat and shiny in the early morning light.

hydro-electric dam

It seemed odd to me to be looking at an enormous hydro -electric dam that would seem to generate enough power to service this region of France, if not the whole country and, at the same time to be able to see the plumes of the nuclear power plant, Tricastin, situated just over the adjacent hill.

boat coming out of lock

There is quite a bit of boat traffic on the river: from the long narrow cruise boats that we saw anchored in Vienne and which disgorged their small group of passengers into the cafes near the dock to the even longer barges carrying a variety of goods up and down the river. Next to the hydro-electric plant we crossed over was a set of locks to allow the boats to pass by.

cargo boat and blasted hill-side

The Rhone valley is narrow and the roads that run along it very busy. In fact the hillsides along the Rhone often run straight up from the river banks.  In some places the road has been blasted through the hillside leaving a large, rocky scar.

It gets tiring riding the flat ground of a valley road and it gets annoying to be constantly subjected to the traffic: the fumes, the noise, the speed. On the plus side there were some sections where we actually got to ride along-side the river. 

Le Rhone

On day two Minas decided to leave the busy highway and take us up the hillside to stay in a small town. Quite an effort for day two on the bike!  Of course, the next morning, down we came by another road to the river.

On day three we got to our hotel which happened to be on the busy valley road at lunch time. After eating the sandwich we had made at breakfast perched on the edge of the bed, we went downstairs for a coffee on the very nice terrasse crowded with mid-day diners.  Minas proposed that we have a rest and then get on the bikes, free of luggage, and take a trip to the nearby town of St Romain de Lerps which was reputed to have lovely views.  "How far?” I asked. “Nine kilometres,” he replied. Deducing that it would be all uphill as there was no other way to go, I figured it would be four or five kilometres up and then I could coast back down, so I agreed. 

view from St Romain de Lerps - 680 m

Not more than five minutes through the town we found ourselves climbing. Two hours and nine kilometres later I finally reached the belvedere of St Romain de Lerps.  I was not pleased. It was day three on the bikes and it was a tough ride from river level of a few metres to over 680 metres at the top.

view from St Romain de Lerps - 680m

 But I know why he did it.  He wanted to make sure I could do that kind of a ride without the bags in preparation for the Gorges de l’Ardeche ride which was coming up a few days later. I did it but when we got back at six, I had a shower and went downstairs for the most enormous dinner. And the view just wasn’t that spectacular although I must admit I slept like a log.

While I like the views of the river, I prefer to look much closer to the wheels of my bike as I ride. All along the Rhone, trees and bushes were in flower, purple and mauve flags crept under the fences, poppies grew with wild abandon along with their yellow flower mates and intensely pink rock plants glowed from the rocky hill-sides. They take my mind off the work of the bicycle and give me courage to get up the hills. But the most comforting view is that of my husband's back as he cycles the way in front of me.

It is in the valley that you find the largest cities. I was not looking forward to Montelimar. It conjured up childhood memories of Christmas and that Pot of Gold chocolate box. Remember the paper with the pictures of the chocolates and their names: one was Montelimar. Every year I had to recall what that tasted like. 

Well .... it is nougat and that is what the town in famous for.  Minas bought some of the soft and chewy nougat at the famous artisan maker, Escobar. The next day when we were sheltering under the eaves of a closed restaurant while it poured with rain, I was starving. So I bit off a large piece of nougat and promptly broke part of my tooth and its filling. That will teach me. I won’t likely forget that Montilimar on a chocolate box lid means chewy nougat.

our small hotel in Montelimar

However, I was surprised that Montelimar is such a pleasant small town. We had a lovely little hotel in an aristocratic old mansion. It was in Montelimar, during our afternoon wandering around, that we saw policemen on horseback in the pedestrian part of the town. They actually stopped a young man on a vespa and made him push his vehicle out of the shopping area. I felt like cheering.

And it was in Montelimar that we had our meal of the week at Le Grillon. We chose the menu at 17 euros which we thought was quite reasonable. It began with a salad of white asparagus with a terrine of foie gras. The main course was called a parillade de poissons which proved to be a selection of small pieces of different fish served in a sauce with oven-roasted green beans and rice. The portion was perfect which was good because I had the most decadent dessert called tiramisu tarte tatin. This was the French apple tarte tatin upside down in a parfait glass with the tiramisu mascarpone mix on top. All of this was served with a Cotes du Rhone red wine of the St Joseph winery.  Full marks to the chef for this one!

the vines of the valley and right up the hills

It is on those hillsides along the Rhone where the precious grapes are grown.   As I saw on one sign: Cotes du Rhone – le grand vignoble de la lumiere which speaks to the light of the south of France noted by painters throughout the ages.  They plant in the valley and they plant on the hillsides and they keep tearing up the forests to put in more and more vines.  Who can blame them? It is a very good business.

the vines climb every mountain

So I will happily cycle the valley and challenge myself on the hillsides and I will enjoy the views of the river but mostly I will appreciate that earned bottle of Cotes du Rhone with my dinner in the evening.

small boat on the Rhone

 

Love Letter to Paris

the iconic Tour Eiffel

It has been eleven years since Minas and I were in Paris.

Pont Alexandre III with Grand Palais behind

The wonderful parts have not changed: the architecture, the food, the history, that amazing river, the museums and that undefinable feeling you get as you walk and you walk until there just has to be a stop at yet another sidewalk cafe. 

But, oh Paris........ You have made some big improvements in our absence. 

flowers in Les Jardins de Luxembourg

It used to be that all those adorable French poodles ruled the sidewalks and you didn't dare look around you for fear of stepping in the "crotte de chien" that was ever present. But now, Parisians walk their dogs both large and small, on leashes and clean up after them. Hallelujah! Tourists can now enjoy the scenery. 

Minas has gone so far as to suggest that there must be a new department of public works charged with making sure that Paris stays clean, beautiful and aesthetically pleasing to one and all. We certainly felt safe everywhere we went and we delighted in the views presented to us with each turn we made. 

 Paris has always been the City of  Love. There is something in the air, I think, and it is not expensive perfume or fine French wine, although those ingredients always help the "falling in love process".  We were surprised, when walking near one of the bridges over the Seine to see the ironwork glistening in a strange fashion.




On closer examination, we found that the structure of the bridge was covered with locks of various shapes and sizes, attached permanently and bearing two names. 

At first we thought it might be a tribute to the M. Hollande's new law that allows same sex couples to marry. But there were all kinds of names both female and male in all their variety of permutations and combinations. The whole bridge was an interesting ad hoc art installation and a testimony to the love held by many couples. Minas thought it might be fun to do but locks were five euros at the nearby kiosk and no permanent marker was at hand. So we did not add to the installation, deciding we didn't need the outward show but would focus on more personal manifestations of our feelings for each other.

 And the Seine was high this Spring: very high and fast flowing and extremely muddy. The "bateau mouches" boats couldn't get under the bridges and the lower promenades along the water were inundated with water and impassable. It was no different when we got to Lyon and saw the Saone and the Rhone coursing through the city and flooding the quayside underground parking lots.

Cathy on a bridge in Paris

Now, there were a lot of tourists in Paris with a surprising number of Eastern European tour buses, clogging up the streets; so it was often hard to identify the real French men and women with their inimitable sense of style. In fact, I think we saw far more of them after we left Paris and drove to Lyon. However, I can tell you that orange is this season's colour of choice in all the smart shop windows; that young girls are once again wearing shorts over tights and running shoes with a high wedge heel, and there isn't a woman on the streets of Paris or Lyon, whether tourist or not, who doesn't wear a scarf. So I was glad that one of my birthday gifts was an orange rain jacket and I always sported a scarf.

We had read before we came that the number one tourist attraction in Paris was taking a bicycle tour of the city and we saw quite a few. I prefer to do my biking on quiet roads and not in a group on busy city streets. In Paris, I would rather walk. 

Mind you, the Parisians have a system of city-owned bikes, which the locals use as a transportation system, speeding along the quays and streets as they go about their daily business. They seem to be well used.

My favourite meal in Paris was a lunch I enjoyed at Le Montparnasse 1900, an old brasserie not far from our hotel. We usually had big lunches which broke up the day of feet-breaking walking. I started with French onion soup with a thick cheese topping that ran down the edges of the mini-tureen and formed into a delicious crust. The main course was two small filets of grilled "daurade", a small Mediterranean bass, served with a dill cream and accompanied by roasted fennel. The portion was perfect, the flavours intense but complementary and I wanted nothing more except my small espresso with the chocolate on the saucer.

In France the perfection is in the details

Now, ten days after setting foot on French soil, we have done Paris well enough to last us for another ten years; we have put the bikes together in Lyon and come back from a nostalgic trip down to Saignon, our provencal village home for two winters.

So tomorrow, we get on our bikes and finally begin our adventure. You will be hearing from us.

au revoir for now