WE TOOK TO SUNDAY CONSTITUTIONALS this Autumn. At least that's how it seems in retrospect. Our constitutional proceeds from Rasteau village square, round and through the hilltop vines and returning to said square via the back road to Roaix, to take refreshment at the sleepy bar before collecting the wheels and rolling back across the Plan de Dieu for a simple lunch back at the abode. We did it every Sunday we were in residence, save one. A very simple and untaxing little habit thus sprang up. We've been doing the Rasteau round ever since we got the keys to 1 rue FB and made our home there. You'll have heard of Rasteau if you are at all up on Fr. wine. It is the business. A Cru in fact – the red, and their vin doux – distinctive desert wines: syrupy, fruity and delicious. Originates from these chaps…… those are the Dentelles beyond…
From the terrace of number one we can look across the Ouvèze to Rasteau: Séguret is closer in the view from up there, arguably more scenic in aspect, but it's Rasteau that catches our eye. It beckons. Perhaps because we entertained an aspiration to buy our spot there, given its sweeping views across to Les Baronnies and Le Géant, not available in Sablet. Nothing came of that aspiration: there was zero on the market in Rasteau when we were looking and I doubt anything would have been in our price range anyway … up on the hill that is, with them views. We are content with the way the cards have fallen (well almost, let's not go there in this post my dears!) but still frequent Rasteau village (the original bits) and exercise in Rural Rasteau: it's a firm favourite.
We park the motor in or on the edge of Rasteau's lovely square, usually quiet of a Sunday unless some event is being staged therein: the exception rather than the rule. We plod up a steep little street and turn left behind houses, passing the clock tower and the school, to come out quickly onto a country terrace road flanking an orchard. The views are good already, across to Sablet, Gigondas and Les Dentelles.
The road we follow shrinks to a track and gives up on tarmac before skirting round then up to the top of the first hill that forms the northwest corner of the Rasteau commune. There are pines and river pebbles, and Rasteau's finest vines. An outdoor classroom for tots etc. has been put together under the trees – planks for tables and long benches. Never seen it in use mind, but there is another such facility on another wooded bluff which we pass coming back into Rasteau: that one is associated with a botanical trail. We pick our way up the pebbly track skirting the trees to the topmost hill. The views have grown more extensive – to the south and east, across to Orange, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, nearby Cairanne et Ste. Cécile, the more distant hidden Rhône and the far distant Cévennes. East and North it is the Baronnies particularly, and of course, Le Mont Ventoux plus Les Dentelles. My, it is capital.
As we traverse the upper terraces, we encounter a 'snug' with barrel table and baulks of timber to perch on, put together beneath a clump of mediterranean pines, to rest up under shade, catch a breeze in the stifling summer heat. Take your own drinks though, it isn't manned. There are butterflies, there are grasshoppers. In Summer the hilltop copses are loud with cicadas. Wood larks are in song in every direction. And some!
There are surprises… Mme Melling strode out on the returning road one time, when a very large hare crossed the road between us. Passed right behind Mary, without a second glance. More recently, in Spring, we encountered a skein of cranes battling their way north against a sudden mistral upsurge, only a few metres above our heads. In the same place, more or less.
There may be kites, possible harriers, kestrels and serins, even the odd vulture on a day out from the higher Baronnies. And unless the harvest is in progress, there is quiet most often; they still pick the grapes by hand up here… There's a bench back on the returning road one reaches: shaded by evergreen oaks and with a nifty roadside shelter on the other side of the oaken clump, should it be coming on to rain. I love a bench, me. And a shelter to watch the rain from. Not had that privilege as yet…
From here the round brings us (by unfrequented country road) to the uppermost part of the village, the cemetary, the church and its tower. Footpaths snake down to the old gateway avec horlorge (with hours chiming, and repeated as they should be – this is Provence after all). There are variations one can make, both out in the country and whilst returning through the habitations, with the aspiration (and intent) for a snifter coming to the fore.
So we filter back into the capacious square (…might have picked up a pastry or two from yer boulangerie, or a baguette, depending on plans for lunch) where I join Mme M at the table she has selected to her liking… and where we eventually secure liquid refreshment…… (it can be slightly sedate,
one might have to nip inside to secure the tipples desired) then bask in the blue of the sky over the borders of middle age planes, watch anything that might be taking place, soak up the ambience of the pre-lunch drinkers, of which there is rarely more than a handful and they can often be Spanish.
We bond with this space. Fringed with bright and quite classy houses, sheltered and shaded by carefully managed planes, sporting a fountain with runnels, and the war memorial. The square slopes downhill and is gently terraced. Is airy. Has a play area. And it is very often canopied overall with that Rasteau blue sky. No school on sundays obvs, but on a weekday there is playground chatter across the square, if it isn't half term that is. Pleasant children's play: just far enough away to be agreeable rather than earsplitting… the place with the prison bars is the tourist office…
The walk we've been a-doing of is augmented with explanatory information panels, (as you can see in the cloudscapey panorama earlier) recently replaced, upgraded and refettled, explaining the viniculture, highlighting the views etc etc. Normally we'd be a bit sniffy about such intrusion but these seem to be alright generally. Apart from the challenges of fr. texts of course (I blame my school). But as a guide to the making of fine wines (and flogging it, no doubt) and explaining what you are looking at, then they serve. Rasteau is a Cru after all. I think I mentioned that before. So does that mean (the adoption of this round as an official educational perambulation) that there are others traipsing round this commune approved route? Well, out there, à la campagne, one can occasionally come across such a person or persons… but generally we have the circuit to ourselves. We have variations we can utilise if we feel at all compromised by a party of walkers: they are rare enough. And now it has become a Sunday thing. I'd give my eye teeth to go round it, right now. What say you, Mme Melling? Exactly. Simple pleasures, with a glass of Rasteau Kir at the end of it (or pastis, pression, un-demi: other drinks are available…). …and if you've been a visitor to the Melling–Smith enterprise in Sablet, you'll have been coaxed round this two miler – so you'll have some idea of what I am writing about here. You might have bought the drinks, although Mme M claims she does that. Rasteau… The Round… Nice, ain't it? At any time … although as yet we've only caught the rain up there just once. Surprising… it does rain y'know. On occasion.
Footnote: The pictures included in this post were obviously not all taken this autumn. Spring summer and autumn are represented here. There was snow on those distant hills on occasion.
Lots of work goes on over the winter interval amongst the vines: it is intense. Such as two major pruning cycles, replanting, weed control, terrace reconstruction – in fact starting all over again from scratch from time to time. Look it up! Hard work or what?
Raise a glass to the workers!
