AS 2020 GRINDS INEXORABLY TOWARDS ITS MISERABLE END one is minded to reflect that some have had it much worse than one, some have not managed to stay safe, some have asked for trouble and a very few of those have had trouble. Most folk will put this year down as a shocker, too many folk will have tragic memories and long lasting reasons for sadness … all of us will have cause to wish the year had unfolded in a radically different way… and all that is before we consider the total f**k up of Brexit, now coming to bear on us, one and all. Words on that score utterly fail me. Sorry for the language.
But for us, Mme Melling and me, well, it has not been too bad at all. We did squeeze a month or so of absence out of the year, when we crossed over to an equally besieged France (at least Covid-wise) and took refreshment by doing so. The Driving-on-the-Right blog is not about giving out the minutiae of the what and when of our visiting, but I thought I might just reflect on a handful of moments or events that lifted my/our spirits in the few weeks we took, away from Blightey: simple moments of exhilaration and uplift that spring out of my recollection of our 2020 autumn expedition … not all of them, just the ones that particularly come to mind at the moment, as we approach the shortest day of the year … I know my public crave this intelligence and who am I to deny them what they desire of me? Just who am I kidding?
Like the moment one gets, out on the terrace upon arrival, to catch the tail end of a rainy day, giving way to some late afternoon sun, lighting up the 'stirrup' mark on yonder northern slopes, last seen on ITV4 as stage eleven of the delayed 2020 Tour de France passed under it … (that's the header image explained).
THE ASCENT OF VENTOUX gets covered elsewhere: that always provides a pretty generous refreshment factor for us: Le Géant rarely if ever disappoints. And this year I noted it was thirty years ago (three oh!) since we first came up to the top. We hardly miss executing an ascent whenever we turn up in the Vaucluse…
ANOTHER PLACE WITH A BIT OF HEIGHT is the hill on which the restoration of the Chapelle de St Hilaire is taking place. We have climbed up to it from Beaumes de Venise, a stiff hill footpath, but we cheat now by driving round the back and walking up from the north side. It is just very beautiful up there: lovely views toward the Dentelles and Le Géant… Such careful craftsmanship is being applied to the ancient ecclesiastical site amidst its newly established terraces of irises and olives. There is a real spiritual frisson, particularly if one can get the place to one's self. Which we often have, or near enough: a sense of place if you know what I mean. The location was chosen well by the founding fathers; long views in all directions and with limits to accessibility taken into consideration. A place of real refreshment, wish I was there right now…
Rabais Sud is also
uphill. Conveniently, we can readily zip up to this vantage point after sinking a good lunch under the white mulberry trees at L'As de Coeur, our nearby favoured restaurant in Roaix. We went up to Rabais Sud three times in this autumn period; there are a number of moderate walks one can take from the top spot with lots of charm, colour and interest. The views are very wide and big! The Baronnies are spread out before one … and there it is: another
sense of place. The wine from up the adjacent vines is rather special too, although I suspect somewhat beyond our modest reach. Ah me. What is it like there —
right now? We park by that solitary cypress tree and below a pylon, high up on the skyline we can just discern from our terrace in Sablet. The name is on a footpath post — it has been knocked over since our last visit before this one and they've propped it up against said cypress. I think it's a cypress…
I could gaze out to the ranges of hills from up there at Rabais Sud all day. I don't tire of it … the Kaisers took to it when we introduced them to the spot this autumntide – so it must be good! But look here, these snaps don't begin to do it justice: the hills wrap around, the slope is more marked than these images suggest, and there is extra hill behind and beyond this sighting. You'll have to visit it to get the full experience. We'd take you if we could. Currently, of course, we are stuck here…
One can add into the Rabais Sud prescription the not-so-far-away Rasteau Round, a circular walk we do through the upper vineyards —the quality —and which is undertaken each and every time we are in Sablet. It sports helpful explanatory interpretation boards at intervals to enlighten the visitor as to what they are looking at (in French for some unaccountable reason). We've done the circuit at least a score of times and there is always something extra to see.
The vistas are good, the viniculture is interesting, cyclic, attractive: Rasteau is a Cru, you'll be aware. Lots of little birds and a sleepy but friendly bar back in the village square where we sink a beer (other refreshments may also be obtained) after doing the round.
Once a hare bounded across the road between Mme Melling (leading) and self (bringing up the rear). This autumn we drove a flock of partridge before us for quite a way … Serins, vine warblers the odd kite. Spanish pickers (that's the grape harvesters, not some exotic oiseau). Rather nice. Needless to say, the views north feature Le Géant in no small measure … as is the case in most views, like the one below, from another favoured walk…
Yes, here I include another favourite of mine, a long undulating and mostly straight unmade track that skirts the vines above the valley of the Eygues, north side. It runs along a hill top above Saint Maurice, in the direction of Vinsobres and it serves only one domaine as far as I can tell. An agricultural routeway.
Now, I am not generally a fan of tracks that give the impression that they go on forever, but this one is airy, under big skies and the watchful presence of Le Géant (of course, sporting sweeping panoramas of the local Baronnies, even some of the distant Alps on a very clear day. There is a much admired tree, (see above); there are occasional small clumps of grapes of singular sweetness to be found — left after harvesting; there are fringing windbreak copses on the northern side. There is ample opportunity to stride out! Next time we go up there I think we should start from the other end of this track, where a minor road runs up to it, and walk east to west rather than our more usual west to east … possibly …
When we are in the mood for striding out [and quite often when we are not
—ed.] we are quite likely to wend our way to the banks, levées and trackways that fringe the great waterway created from and including that local stream, namely
Le Rhône. Favourite bit? Chateau de l'Hers over by Châteauneuf-du-Pape and opposite Rochemaure. Completely different sort of place to the one above, this is.
Apart from the attraction of the great river itself we can usually expect plentiful butterflies (particularly clouded yellows) herons, both great and grey, cormorants, the odd passing barge, and a dusty walk between the kilometre markers and flood gauges.
We might walk north to the crossings of the TGV, alongside the A9 autoroute, just upstream of the D970 suspension bridge; or we might walk south to the older bits of abandoned but still watery former River Rhône water courses that bring in other rivers and confuse matters. Again, it is about air and sky; we enjoy the passage of boats and trains, even the thump thump of lorries crossing the expansion joints on the A9 bridge, which have a sort of mesmeric effect.
We've taken folk with us on occasion to C-d'l-Hers and I think they generally twig why we visit…
I could have added in here the 'étang' with central hide and board-walk that we take a turn around, not far from Courthèzon. But I've had enough.
So these are a few of our oft-frequented places then, there are others, clearly. And anyway, this ramble is mostly for my benefit — so if you have got to this sentence and are not me, then all I can say is well, I warned you up top that this would not be my usual more erudite style, didn't I? I meant to … now then, less of that sneering ……
Pictures herewith were taken during our 2020 autumn visit (except some of the Chapelle de St Hilaire montage), while my camera was suffering from particulates on its sensor and motes within its lens assembly. It reduced my appetite for snapping somewhat: some judicious editing has been required amongst the images I did obtain. I am a martyr to my craft … I have had the camera cleaned now, in Tunbridge Wells no less, together with Mme Melling's, so we can both now expect to be painting with light as usual in 2021. If things improve that is … they need to, and that's a fact …
