Back again

Lovely and lush, Mollans welcomed us back with a sunny smile last week and we couldn't help but respond in kind. Despite the travails of modern travel, once we came down the home stretch towards our village and looked out over the vineyards and mountains that surround our little hamlet, we knew the journey had been worth it once again.



Hallie and I met up at the Charles de Gaulle airport, she flying in from LAX via Chicago and I from Minneapolis via Cleveland, of all places. The train was comfortable and speedy as always, making us wonder, as we do each time, just why America can't seem to offer a high-speed version of the TGV, especially now that energy is such a concern. We got off in Avignon with our bags full of bits and pieces, to be met by our good friend Steve for that last leg homeward.



My bag was laden with its usual assortment of oddities. I'd picked up a stack of soft car rags at Costco that we use here for chasing cob webs, wiping up wine spills and just about anything else that comes to mind. I'd also grabbed an industrial sized pepper grinder while passing through the Costco isles that will serve us--the two cooks--well in the weeks ahead. Of course, the suitcase contained more books to help pass the TV-less evenings and seasons one and two on DVD of Northern Exposure to watch on our computer.



We spent the first few days getting settled, making a run to the grocery store, going to the bank for money and to the Public Treasury to pay our water bill, all the ordinary details of opening a home and nesting that could be considered chores but are instead pleasures. After doing our errands, we rewarded ourselves with a stop at the best bakery in our area--right in Buis les Barronies. Walking into the baker's small space, there's something primal and timeless about the experience. Loaves in different shapes, crusty and grainy, wait to be consumed and savored, as did yesterday's breads and as will tomorrow's. Small, yeasty miracles send out tendrils of aroma in invitation and customers line up out the door in response. Deciding is the problem. There's any number of possibilities--part of a large loaf of multi-seeded bread that you purchase by the chunk found its way into our shopping basket, as did the ginger bread. What a marvelous concoction--rye studded with crystallized ginger, candied orange peel and spiced with cloves--and a heady breakfast treat that proved to be just right with our morning cafe au lait.

The next evening, one of our British neighbors, Ian, invited us for a curry, accompanied by homemade chapatis, nicely spicy and the proper antidote to jet lag. He fussed, it showed, and we felt welcomed.

As we did when we stopped for tea at Jo and Steve's. They have walnut trees in their yard and the slices of cake served alongside came studded with nuggets of hand harvested walnut kernels.

We greeted our town back by strolling the summer Saturday evening market, picking up crisp green beans from the elderly women in a puffy hat and other edible treasures along the way. In the evening sunshine, tomatoes glistened, eggplants and figs held a contest for the deepest purple, and zucchinis were as rampant as ever. From there, we drifted to our favorite table at the Bar du Pont to sip a verre (glass) and watch the rest of the villagers saunter by before heading home.

On Sunday, we caught the last of this year's village tours. We have an unofficial historian who, every Sunday in the summer, peppers his attentive audience with enough facts and figure to last two and a half hours. Perhaps because it was the last chance until next year, our tour was particularly well attended, with about 20 of us stopping at various landmarks along the way to listen and learn.

Later that day, we tried to go to a flute concert up in the mountains, held where rock climbers begin exploring one of the many precipices available for their enjoyment. The premise sounded great and the poster advised there would be a ten minute walk. Well, one person's walk is another person's steep climb. Hallie and I took one look at the rock "path" that led seemingly straight upward and decided that perhaps we liked our limbs too much to take a chance. Along with a few other reluctant souls, we watched as a fairly sizable collection of attendees--including dogs, women in flip flops, and a senior citizen or two--scrambled or adroitly sprang up the rocks and out of sight. We finally left and drove around instead for a few minutes enjoying the rugged landscape from the security of our car. The air smelled just as sweetly of pine for us as for them, sans flute it is true, but sometimes it is sound to know one's limitations. I could have managed the up portion but have enormous difficulty getting down even the smallest of inclines and Hallie basically does neither up nor down so we were entirely comfortable with our decision to skip the event.

Now we're one week in, with a pizza Monday and a visit to the Vaison market behind us once again. It's time to let the days lead us where they will along with ticking items off the perpetual to-do list every home owner has. Tonight, Mohammad is coming to get the dimensions for the last, unfinished bit of tiling in Hallie's bedroom (a project started over a year ago so what's the rush) and there's lots more for later musings.

Next: Mount Ventoux at dawn.