St. Jean de Fos – My even older Holiday Weblog

Talking food
One of the nicer things about food in France is that it is so fresh. We had figs straight from the tree that were just delicious; peaches were firm and luscious. You can hear the vegetables in the various markets saying “please buy me – look, I’m gorgeous AND I’ll excite your taste buds”. And that’s what we did, we let the produce seduce us into cooking and preparing our own meals. We didn’t eat out, we just bought the local produce and turned it into something delicious. Even the bread sold in local bakers had an attitude. I’d never seen so many types of bread as I did in St. Jean de Fos. Some of the grizzlier specimens were sold by the kilo (which I’d never seen before and only rarely since): It was as if it was saying “You want some of me? – YOU’LL HAVE TO PAY!” – and when you did it was wonderful, crispy, chewy (teeth were in danger of bending under the impact of such texture), full of flavour and even the shapes had temperament. Needless to say, I haven’t eaten much of the cotton-wooly, namby-pamby pap we have¹ to put up with back home and I have been tempted to start making my own again. However, that takes time and effort, both of which are under pressure at this time.

One morning, early in the week, we spent the time just driving through the hills and mountains of the area – l’Herault. The river gorge that is formed here is very picturesque and had it not been so hot (it was getting warmer every day now and less cloudy) it might have been nice to set off walking in the hills with a picnic.

However, the roads are narrow, twisty and need a lot of care. The villages are pretty, but it’s hard to see where their living comes from. The trees around the area were all pretty much the same, but very few of them olive trees. The farmers in the lowlands are being given grant to replace their old vines with olive groves, something they are doing with the usual French panache. You will see mile after mile of vines, both young and old but here and there are small pockets of land planted with olive trees. Obviously, the grants are sufficient to make it worthwhile pulling up their least productive vines but not enough to alter the landscape too much². Nevertheless, I honestly think that if there was to be a grant for planting porridge trees, French farmers would find a way to claim the grant – but not at the cost of their vines.

We stopped at the river beach for the afternoon. This is a very pretty place, formed where the mountain suddenly stops at the edge of the 30-mile plain that runs to the sea. The momentum of the River Herault is suddenly stopped by the lack of gradient and large, very deep pool is formed, underneath what is known locally as Devil’s Bridge. Here, like its namesake in Wales, there are a succession of bridges built (over time) one upon the other, at the gateway to the Herault Gorges. The beach itself is shale and pebbles (uncomfortable) and the water is very cold. Nevertheless, as the week went on it did warm up enough for me to swim. We could I suppose, have carried everything we needed to the river and left the car behind but it was over a mile back to the flat, so we didn’t. We drove the car to the beach and left it to melt in the hot sun.

Coming up – suicidal youngsters and the caves.

1 – And haven’t for a long long time now. https://saturdaywalks.wordpress.com/2012/01/18/chorleywood-bread-sic-process/

2 – Wines from Languedoc were JUST becoming more popular at that time and looking back, it seems to have been an odd suggestion (ripping up vines).

As soon as we arrived in Gignac, we went shopping, as once these shops have closed on Saturday, there’s nothing else until Monday morning, when the shops are usually rammed. We bought a pizza to cook in the oven that night. Nice and easy. Except, it turned out that there was no oven! (face palm)

The flat (Gîte) we were staying in was owned by the couple downstairs. They are English and had lived here in the village, for five years. They had been coming to the area for twenty years and have owned the property for eleven years – so they are almost locals. Their house was along a small lane just on the outskirts of St. Jean de Fos. The village itself is just off the main tourist route to Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, and the Grotte de Clamouse. It hosts the Devil’s Bridge river beach, which turned out to be very convenient¹.

The owner Lynn, speaks fairly good French but her husband doesn’t – he simply plays boules very well. I thought boules only involved two balls each but here they use three – perhaps this is petanque? Who knows! They told us that the recent weather had been truly awful, much the same as it had been in England. They took great delight by trying to make me feel guilty that the cloud we had driven under all the way down, was the same cloud we had had back home. As it if was my fault! It did clear up eventually however.

The flat was nice, with a large living/eating/cooking area – with a window to the outside. Very cool and airy. A long, cool corridor then takes you to two large bedrooms and a well-equipped bathroom, with both bath and shower. The owners are converting the back of the house too and will soon be able to offer extended accommodation, or two separate lettings.

The only problem that we had with the set-up was that any outside activities such as barbecuing or simply sitting outside, was shared with the owners AND across the road and down a flight of steps. By the time I had cooked a meal, I couldn’t be bothered to carry everything down two flights of stairs and across the road. Besides, we often had two or three courses which would each have to be fetched when ready. Barbecues are ok, but I’m not one for lighting one just to cook a couple of pieces of meat – I’d rather do that for a larger group.

Next – we venture out.

1 – The sea was about 30 miles away.