Bad weather was on it’s way. The tale end of Hurricane Helene, which had just hit Florida, was making it’s way across the Atlantic to Northern Spain. Having experienced quite enough rain on Tour 10 already we decided to drive south towards Castilla La Mancha. The weather forecast for that area was much better and, anyway, we had never been to that particular Region of Spain before.
On the way, still some 40 miles north of Madrid, we stopped at Gargantilla del Lozoya for the night. The full name of this small village is Gargantilla del Lozoya y Pinilla de Buitrago but you’ll understand if I refer to it simply as Gargantilla
We checked into the Camping Monte Holiday and I had it in mind to walk the few kilometres to the town of Lozoya on the Pinilla Reservoir. However, a couple of locals advised against it because of the threatened bad weather and instead; I made the much shorter walk along a dirt track road to the village of Gargantilla.
The dirt track road to Gargantilla del Lozoya…… and the map I had in case of difficulties
It didn’t take more than half an hour to reach the village and I enjoyed the walk. The track was clear and there were sufficient reference points along the way (the reservoir and a railway line) to keep me on the right heading.
The village is small with just over 300 inhabitants and it holds little of interest other than a bus stop, a tiny church (Iglesia de San Benito) and a very friendly bar.
I sat in the bar nursing a couple of small beers for a good hour. It was fairly busy and there was a great atmosphere about the place. A group of four elderly men were playing small stakes dominoes at one of the tables and there were two other younger groups at the bar vying good naturedly with each other for the barmaid’s attention (or was it her company). The beer was good and a small tapas accompanied each drink. It was as good an example of a local bar as I have seen in Spain.
The walk back to the campsite was considerably quicker. I’d forgotten I had reserved a table in the campsite restaurant.
I made it back to the campsite in time and ordered a couple of drinks. I chose a beer while Vanya opted for Coca Cola. Those two drinks came to 5 Euros (with the coke costing more than the beer) but then some tapas arrived – 4 plates of tapas, free with the drinks. If they’d brought any more to the table, we would have had to cancel the meal; as it was we didn’t bother with a starter. Value for money or what!?!
And so to Haro; arguably Vanya’s favourite place in Spain.
This must have been our 4th or 5th trip to Haro in as many years. I’ll, therefore, keep this entry short. For more information on Haro you need only review my earlier blogs on the town.
We arrived in Haro this time during the late afternoon on a Wednesday and we found it the quietest we had ever seen it; not that I’m complaining. We divided our time that first evening on the Plaza de la Paz and wandering the tapas area before settling on an early night back at Campingred de Haro. I think the drive across Aragon had taken it out of me.
The next day was more like the usual Haro. The day commenced with us replenishing our supplies down at the Mercadona and then spending a leisurely hour or two over lunch in the courtyard of the Muga, sampling the wine and local cheeses (and some not very nice mussels but the less said about that the better). The Muga is fast becoming a regular feature of our visits to Haro and the afternoon was as pleasant an occasion as ever. We received a real surprise as we were leaving when one of the kitchen staff shouted out a goodbye to “Mr Bean” (Beanie). He remembered us from our previous visit to Haro in the Spring.
The Thursday evening was a repeat of the previous night with us dividing our time between Plaza de la Paz and the tapas area but it was an altogether livelier occasion. Of course it was a Thursday and, as in Calle del Laurel in Logrono, the locals tend to celebrate Thursdays with a few drinks and a tapas. It’s a bit like Thursdays in the UK used to be when most people received their pay packets on the Thursday afternoon. Showing my age now.
There were considerably fewer tourists in Haro during this visit and we spent much of the evening talking to the locals (Nala and her walking wheels attract a great deal of attention) and so it proved a late night. The streets were all but deserted as we made our way back to the Van after a very pleasant evening.
We were still heading west towards Galicia and our next overnight would be in Haro in the La Rioja Region. On the way, however, we made an impromptu stop at Belchite which is a 40 mile drive south east of Zaragoza in Aragon.
A small town of just under 4,000 people in 1937, it was the scene of a bloody 13 day battle during the Spanish Civil War between Franco’s Fascist Nationalists and the Communist Republicans. The Republicans won the battle for the town but it was a pyrrhic victory with between 5,000 and 6,000 people being killed and; at the end of the war, which was won by the Nationalists, Franco demanded the town be left in ruins as a living monument to the destruction he said was caused by the Republicans invading the town. He further insisted that Republican prisoners build a new town (Belchite Nuevo) down the road.
The ruins of Belchite Viejo (and those of nearby Roden) have been left almost exactly as they were after the battle although, more recently, the old town was fenced off (because of vandalism and increasing safety concerns) and may now only be accessed by prior appointment and with a tour guide. That is not so easy when the decision to visit is made so spontaneously and when there is only a short window of opportunity in which to visit. Having said that, I found a hole in the fence and had a good scout around before bumping into an official tour party and having to scarper.
These letters announce Belchite Nuevo
The following three photos were taken just outside the official entrance into Belchite’s ruins on Plaza Goya. Nothing was open and there was no official about to advise as to how I could gain entrance. A coach driver parked up near where I left the Van referred me to the town hall but it was closed.
“Memory & Peace” on Plaza Goya.This arch is the start of the official tour…… and the Convent of San Agustin
Having found a way into Belchite Viejo, my first thoughts were that it’s an unsettling place, particularly in the area of the 15th century Church of San Marin (San Martin de Tours). It’s so full of tragedy. The church served as a shelter during the height of the battle and a number of people who sought protection there were buried under tons of rubble after the church dome collapsed during a Republican bombing raid. I read that some remain there to this day.
If little remains of the Church of Saint Martin, there’s even less remaining of the neighbouring 18th century Convent of San Rafael where Dominican nuns used to care for orphaned girls but, in truth, the same can be said of the whole town. It was devastated and the ruins are as shocking a reminder of the misery of war as I have seen. Even now, more than 85 years later the horrors of what took place in Belchite continue to surface. Euronews reported as recently as October 2021 that the Spanish authorities had unearthed the bodies of dozens of men and women who were believed to have been executed by Nationalists in Belchite at the start of the war. The hands and feet of many were bound and some showed signs of having been tortured.
Devastation in front of Iglesia de San Martin de Tours
At the centre of the town in the Old Square (Plaza Vieja) is a 14th or 15th century clock tower built in the Mujedar style. It is all that remains of the Church of Saint John. Alongside it is an imposing “Iron Cross of the Fallen”. The cross was raised by the same Republican prisoners who built Belchite Nuevo and it sits on the same spot where so many of the fallen from both sides were subsequently cremated.
Iron Cross of the Fallen & Clock TowerClock TowerIglesia de San Martin de ToursNo building escaped the destruction…… most are pitted with bullet holes.Calle Mayor… and then I stumble upon an official tourWhat remains of the dome of St Martin’s Church (not my photo)
And the new town? There’s little of interest in Belchite Nuevo except perhaps for it’s current population of 1,500. Some sobering street art perhaps?
We stopped in Mequinenza to make use of the town’s municipal campsite while driving across Aragon towards Asturias and Galicia.
Mequinenza is a small town of just over 2,000 people on the eastern edge of a reservoir known as the Mar de Aragon (the Aragon Sea). It’s a relatively new town built to the north of Mequinenza Castle after the River Ebro was dammed in the 1960’s. The original town, which dated back to at least the time of Julius Caesar, lay south of the castle. Most of it was destroyed when the reservoir was created although the Maria Quintana Ferragut School now serves as the area’s history museum.
Mequinenza’s old church…… and now.
The area has a rich history not least because of it’s small castle which was built by Berbers late in the 12th century but changed hands many times during the Christian-Muslim wars and again during the course of various internal Spanish wars in the 16th and 17th centuries. In 1810, during the Spanish War of Independence (the Napoleonic Wars to you or me) the castle was attacked yet again; by troops under the French General Suchet. An unsuccessful but spirited defence by just 1,200 men against Suchet’s 14,000 led to Mequinenza being listed among the victories inscribed on Napoleon’s Arc de Triomph in Paris. The castle figured briefly during the Carlist Wars but subsequently fell into disuse, except as a Republican prison during the Spanish Civil War, and it is now owned by the Spanish utility company ENDESA (which Company restored the castle to it’s current state although it doesn’t much resemble the original castle). It’s possible to visit the castle but only by prior appointment with ENDESA.
Mequinenza Castle as it is now.
Mequinenza was at it’s most prosperous during the early 20th century, when coal mining was the area’s principal industry, and it’s population almost doubled to 4,200 (mostly miners). Of course, that short period of economic success ended during the 1960’s, as Franco steered Spain towards hydro-electric power and damned the River Ebro. The new town is now focused towards sport (rowing and kayaking) and leisure (fishing) with fishing being the town’s principal attraction.
It is believed the reservoir contains more than 50 million fish, including Black Bass, Royal Carp and, most impressive, the giant Wels Catfish, which regularly grow to more than 2 metres in length and weigh over 100 kilos. The current record in this area is a catfish measuring 2.61 metres and weighing 115kg. I stopped for a beer in one of the local bars and noticed some photo montages on the wall. Take a look at those…
Big fish…… or what?!?
We were staying in the camping site for just the one night (at 13 euros per night) but, we were fortunate to arrive during a local celebration. We didn’t need a second invitation…
We’d journeyed from Germany, through Switzerland and France, to Spain to escape the constant rain which seems to have been a feature of Northern Europe this last year. That was a good decision with the weather in Sitges (Catalonia) proving fine and the forecasts in Galicia and Asturias, in the far north west, looking even better. We decided to make our way to Galicia next (provided the weather stayed fine) by way of Aragon, Navarra, La Rioja and Castilla y Leon. Our next overnight stay would be in the small Aragonese village of Mequinenza, a 2.5 hour drive west.
We were almost halfway to Mequinenza when, looking for a place to stop for lunch, we discovered the small fortress town of Montblanc at the edge of the Prades Mountains. The town was founded by Alfonso I of Barcelona (Alfonso the Chaste) during the 12th century to protect the road between Lleida and Tarragona and it clearly prospered; as is evidenced by it’s huge church and various other impressive buildings. I don’t understand how I could have previously overlooked such an interesting place. It really is a hidden gem.
I parked just outside the medieval town walls close to the Convent de la Serra (on Paseo Josep Conangla) to take a quick look at the large church near the top of the town. There’s a sizeable flat topped mound just inside the town walls which provides views over the city and towards the Prades Mountains but the view of the back of the church (the Iglesia Santa Maria La Mayor) is less than impressive and for a moment I was tempted to return to the Van. I’m so glad I didn’t.
My first view of the church…… and a closer viewFine views over the town…… plenty of the old walls remain.
When I say ‘less than impressive’, I actually mean ‘odd’. It’s a mishmash of styles and, well, on the outside at least has a wholly peculiar appearance. The back of the church can be counted amongst the least attractive of any church I have seen. This can all be explained in that it started life as a small Romanesque church dedicated to Santa Maria and as it’s congregation grew, work began on a Gothic style expansion. This expansion was frustrated by the Black Death (the Plague) which devastated the town in terms of the population and money with which to finish the church and so one side of the church was simply bricked up without any ornamentation. When work resumed in the 17th century an ornate Baroque facade replaced much of the Gothic facade, which had never been finished because of the Plague and had also been damaged during the Reapers War, leaving us with the confused architectural structure that is now the Iglesia de Santa Maria La Mayor de Montblanc.
Don’t misunderstand me. The church still has much going for it. It just looks less than impressive from the back. The front of the church, with it’s Baroque style facade with Renaissance influences, is stunning. It also has some beautiful chapels (another sign of the town’s previous affluence) and a bell tower which it is possible to ascend.
The entance on a pebbled square……. is sumptious.The high altar…… the altar and some fine stained glass.
I said bell-tower but it is not a tower as such. You actually climb stairs to a roof terrace where a half dozen or so bells are situated. Timing is everything and as I was climbing the stairs, the bells chimed for 11am. Let me tell you, they were loud.
The roof terrace…… of the Santa Maria La Mayor…… and some of the bells.The views over the town from the church.
I had stayed too long in the church already but had to see a little more of the town before returning to the Van for lunch which Vanya was preparing (had long finished repairing) and; I might as well get hung for a sheep as a lamb. No, it was a cold lunch and I was okay for a while yet. Thank goodness for cellular phones.
Montblanc’s old town centre is enclosed in some of the best preserved medieval castle walls to be seen anywhere in Spain and the narrow cobbled streets I followed on my way to the main square proved much the same. Higher buildings than is usual for such a rural part of the Region provided yet another example of the town’s previous wealth and, given how hot the day had already become, made for refreshingly cool streets.
There were a surprising number of people out and about; both on the streets, where local women were chatting excitedly with friends or neighbours they had chanced upon while on their way home from whatever it was they were doing and; in the Placa Mayor, where local men (their husbands?) were drinking beer andarguing and laughing loudly together. It was that happy, cheerful time of the day shortly before the afternoon siesta begins and after which the town centre would suddenly and quickly empty. I’m not trying to typecast men and women with that description but, the whole scene simply took me back to my childhood in Cyprus and Kenya where much the same scenes were played out almost every day before us kids were sent off for an afternoon nap. I really hated that time of the day.
It was time to get back to the Van. The return journey took me back past the church.
This was only a short stop but it proved a pleasant surprise and I would gladly revisit Montblanc. Also there is a World Heritage Site, the Monastir de Poblet, just 9 kilometres down the road that could be worth visiting.
Oh, and I don’t think I mentioned that according to local legend, Sant Jordi (Saint George) killed his dragon in Montblanc. It’s known as The Golden Legend in Catalonia. I reproduce below what I read about it:-
It seems that “Saint George was travelling on horseback when he came to Montblanc, which at that time was being terrorized by a large dragon. In order to appease the dragon the townspeople had started to give it 2 sheep each day. When sheep weren’t enough they were replaced by human sacrifices. The king decreed that the person to be sacrificed should be chosen at random. Finally the day came that the king’s beautiful daughter was chosen for sacrifice.
The king tried to bargain with the townspeople but they insisted that the princess should be sacrificed as their children had been. Dressed as a bride, the princess was led to the dragon’s lair when, by chance, Saint George arrived at the town. St George asked the princess what was happening and she told him about the dragon and asked him to leave before he was hurt. Instead of leaving the princess to be eaten, St George fought and slayed the dragon.”
Clearly the people of Montblanc believe this legend because every year during April the town stages a week long Medieval Fair which includes a medieval feast, jousting tournaments, a correfoc and a re-enactment of the legend of Sant Jordi. That would be fun.
I was last in Sitges some 20 years ago for a conference with my then employers and, from what little I saw of the town at that time, I liked the place. It was always going to be interesting to see how much the town has changed over the years and during this visit I would get two chances to check the town out; the first would be during the day on my own and the second in the evening with Vanya and our two dogs.
The day started with me walking some 15 minutes or so past the golf course and through a very pleasant residential part of the town to one of Sitges’ beaches, the Platja de Terramar. There I joined the wide palm lined promenade (the Passeig Maritim) and headed east for a further 15 minutes to the 17th century Eglesia de Sant Bartomeu i Santa Tecla (that’s Catalan for the Church of Saint Bartholomew and Saint Tecla). This route took me past what is often called the Platja de Sitges but it is in fact a series of 7 different beaches (each separated by groins); the Platja de la Barra, the Riera Xica, L’Estanyol, the Bassa Rodona, la Ribera and finally the tiny Platja de la Fragata. There are three more beaches to the east side of the church which lead all the way to the harbour (the Platja Sant Sebastia, the Platja dels Balmins and finally the Platja Aiguadolc) but I decided to leave these beaches to a later visit. For information only, I found out later that there are a few nudist beaches in Sitges and one of them is on the Platja dels Balmins.
The beaches I saw during the walk are all blue flag clean and mostly sandy. They are as good as any to be seen in this part of Spain and at this time of the year are mostly empty. The busier ones, complete with street hawkers selling fake designer handbags and trainers, are at the church end of the Passeig Maritim where most of the restaurant-bars and, of course, the old town are located. Given it was mid September, I was surprised at how busy the bars were but; perhaps I shouldn’t have been with Ryan Air currently flying into Girona from Belfast, Cork and Dublin for as little as £40 return. There were probably more Irish in Sitges during our visit than any other nationalty.
The Church of St Bartholomew and Saint Tecla is Sitges’ most recognisable landmark; so much so it is known locally as La Punta – the Point. The church was closed during my previous visit and it was the same again this time. It’s shame, if only because the views from any one of the bell tower or the clock tower will, I think, be exceptional. I read that the local museum used to run tours of the church which includes an ascent of the bell tower but I don’t know if that is still the case.
While the vistas from the nearby ‘Palau de Maricel’ (the Maricel Palace) don’t quite match those of the church, they do afford some fine views over the Mediterranean; especially from the rooftop terrace and cloisters. The ‘Palace’, by the way, is the ‘must see’ place in Sitges. Built between 1910 and 1918 by artist and engineer Miguel Utrillo at the behest of US tycoon Charles Deering (of the Combined Harvester Family), it was part of a complex which would become home to Deering and serve to showcase his growing art collection. It didn’t quite happen. The two men fell out in 1921 over certain financial irregularities and Deering closed everything down and moved back to the United States. Much of the complex was subsequently dismantled and sold off piecemeal with the City of Sitges buying the current ‘Palace’ in 1954. Inside and outside it is quite spectacular…
After exploring La Punta, I started back along the Promenade but only as far as the ‘A Facundo Bacardi’ monument (Bacardi being someone born in Sitges who emigrated to Cuba and then created the well known white rum which bears his name) and then turned deeper into the old town of Sitges by way of Carrer Primer de Maig. Sitges’ old town isn’t as large as many others (especially having regard to the size of the city – it has a population of about 30,000) but it is equally charming.
Moving deeper into the old town…… by way of the Bacardi Monument
The wholly pedestrianised Carrer Primer de Maig de 1838, also known as Carrer del Pecat (Sin Street in English) is one of a handful of streets at the heart of Sitges’ nightlife. The street is not as bad as the sobriquet suggests (well, not before midnight anyway) and during the day it really is a most unassuming street that you could safely take the most prudish grandmother down.
Having said that, I’m uncomfortable with those hotels which openly declare they are open only to gay couples. Sitges has long been a truly cosmopolitan city where everyone is welcome irrespective of their gender or sexual proclivity and I recognise that the LGBTQ community has lent the city a great deal of spirit and colour but if this isn’t discrimination, it is certainly boorish behaviour and should be censured.
Rant over. Back to the visit. I wandered much of Sitges old town for a while longer and then stopped for a quick beer in one of the backstreet bars before making my way back along the Passeig Maritim to collect Vanya and our dogs for the evening sortie into the city.
One of many quiet streets…… and one of many local bars.It’s a long way back down that beach to the Van.
There are definitely two sides to Sitges. Day and night in Sitges are different as chalk and cheese and, well, as different as day and night. The days, at least in the closed season, are generally quiet, slow and relaxed. It’s as much about lazing on the beach or strolling the promenade as anything. Yes, there is the odd juvenile boozer who seems to have confused Sitges with Ayia Napa but, fortunately, such types rarely have the capacity to last.
Then there’s nighttime. We stayed only until midnight but saw enough to recognise that the city is transformed at night. There’s a wide variety of bars and restaurants (with cocktail bars presiding) and there are also numerous nightclubs, most of which stay open well into the early hours of the morning. Of course the nightclubs are dominated by the gay community but, so far as I am aware, they are generally open to all and they are great fun.
For our part, Vanya and I were happy enough sitting on a terrace outside a bar in the old part of the city; enjoying a bottle of wine, people watching and soaking up the atmosphere of what is clearly a very vibrant city. We had found a place to eat right in the centre where the Carrer Primer de Maig meets the Carrer del Marques Monttroig and is crossed by the Carrer de Joan Tarrida. I’d recognise it again by it’s colourful umbrellas and by the way the seats of all the chairs at the tables are pointed towards the centre of the crossroads This pedestrianised crossroads was a hive of activity all the time we were there and it was a fun place to be. We would have been quite happy sitting there eating our good (but somewhat expensive tapas) and watching the world go by but our evening was further enhanced by a young acrobatic troop and dancers who entertained us at the crossroads for over an hour.
Just look at the way all the seats are arrangedImpromptu acrobatics…… and impromptu street dancing.
It strikes me there’s an open, accepting and more relaxed atmosphere about Sitges at night. It’s comfortable. I think perhaps the good humour of so many people intent on enjoying themselves has a healthy, positive effect on others. It’s nice to think so.
Of course it may be different during the early hours of the morning, once the nightclubs are in full sway. We were not going to find out this trip. We had our dogs with us and so could not take advantage of the nightclub scene even if we wanted too but; there was time enough for one last leisurely stroll around the quieter parts of the city and that last half hour wandering the silent empty places, away from the busy cheerful bars and clubs, was as enchanting as anything we had experienced in Sitges. A couple of the following photos perhaps reflect that?
I really like this part of France. We have been to the Vermillion Coast (la Cote Vermeille) a few times now; visiting Collioure, Banyuls sur Mer and, of course, little Saint Genis des Fontaines (where I buy my vin rouge de la maison).
Argeles sur Mer is not a town I have ever thought to visit before; largely because of it’s reputation as being one of the most popular holiday resorts on the south coast of France. It currently has a population of less than 11,000 and yet attracts more than 300,000 visitors every year. The town was busy even as I arrived during the middle of September although; a fairly stiff breeze was forcing the great majority of visitors off of the 7 kms blue flag beach and on to the Boulevard de la Mer which runs behind the beachfront buildings lining the promenade.
It took me about an hour to walk from Camping Le Dauphin into town and along the promenade to the harbour area.
It would take a great many people to fill this beach
The harbour area is more of a marina than a port; there being so many leisure craft docked there. It’s probably the most developed part of the town; lined as it is with restaurants, boutique shops and apartment blocks. There’s little on the seafront (and I include the harbour in this) to suggest the town was ever anything other than a tourist resort (except perhaps the few brightly coloured Lateen boats bobbing on the water) but, for all that, Argeles has not become a tacky tourist resort like so many. I quite like the place.
A small Lateen
Carry on south beyond the harbour area and you will reach a small sandy cove edged by what were once fishermen’s cottages and/or temporary homes built by Spanish exiles. I don’t know which is true but they all now appear well tended and attractive. Behind them are some shops and a few small apartment blocks. This is the tiny hamlet of Racou and it seems a world apart from Argeles. It makes for a much quieter day on the beach too.
A Tourist Office Photo of Racou which I could never reproduce
There’s a path from Racou up to a viewpoint with views over Argeles. It connects too with the coastal path to Collioure. It was getting late and, much as I like the place, I had neither the time nor the energy to go on to Collioure. Instead I sought out Argeles’ old town and in particular L’Eglise Notre Dame del Prat (Our Lady of the Meadows).
The 14th century Eglise Notre Dame del Prat is situated at the heart of the old town on the Rue de la Republique. A narrow lane, Rue de la Solidarite, runs around the back of the church and the delightful little cottages that edge this lane, together with the buildings opposite the front entrance to the church, form a pretty little square which is home to a traditional market on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
The church is full of character and famous for it’s Catalan paintings of various saints but it was the altar which most caught my attention. It is truly stunning. The 14th century bell tower is also impressive. It is a listed historic monument and it is possible to ascend the tower but only with an official guide at prescribed times. I missed out on that one.
Eglise Notre Dame del Prat…… and inside……that altar is impressive…… and more impressive close up.Part of the square formed by cottages on Rue de la Sokidarite
It was at least a 3 mile walk back to our camp site (Camping Le Dauphin) but I made it in time for pre dinner drinks with Vanya. Camping Le Dauphin is an excellent 5 star campsite by the way that didn’t charge silly money (we paid an off season price of just 26 euros for a plot with private showers, etc). It is an excellent stop over place but a bit too far out of town for Nala (and probably Vanya too).
Would I return to Argeles? Yes, provided it was out of season and; given more time, I would be keen to undertake the 8km walk up to the Tour de la Massane for it’s views of one of the prettiest coastlines in the south of France.
We were in Violes, in the southern Rhone Valley, to sample the wines at the Domaine des Favards and thereafter enjoy their annual celebration ‘Bodega La Nuit Favardaise’ (although, in truth, we didn’t know about the winery’s annual celebration until after we arrived). The Domaine des Favardes is first and foremost a very successful working winery of 25 hectares owned by the Famille Barbaud but they have converted a large stretch of land next to their bodega into a first class campsite. How Vanya finds these places I don’t know but we booked in for two nights.
There was nothing open in the village of Violes that first night. In fact, there is very little in the village to open. Google ‘Francethisway’ and check out Violes and everything they write about is at least 5 miles away – witness Seguret and the Dentelles de Montmirail.
Please don’t misunderstand; I’m not complaining about Violes. We know from our earlier travels in this Region that there’s plenty to see and do in the area, if not Violes itself. We were there to relax and enjoy the local wine and we weren’t going to venture out while the Mistral was blowing a hoolie. Our first evening was therefore spent in the campsite’s restaurant enjoying some good French cooking and getting a sneak preview of a couple of the local wines.
A little about the Mistral before I continue. It’s a wind and it had been blowing for a few days before we arrived and showed no sign of abating. It can blow any time of the year but is more common in the autumn and winter. It occurs when warm air coming in from the Mediterranean meets the cold air from Central France and the Alps. The warm air rises leaving a space for the cold air from the mountains to fill and this cold air then sweeps down through south east France to the Mediterranean. It makes for very strong cold winds which get even stronger as they are funneled through the narrow Rhone Valley. I heard a local man describe the Mistral as ‘exhausting’. He could not have described the phenomenen better but, it wasn’t going to spoil our wine tasting the next morning and, anyway, on the plus side this strong wind clears away pollution and makes for very blue skies.
Unfortunately for Vanya, the Domaine des Favardes produce just two white wines; a Cotes du Rhone ‘Les bons moments’ and a CDR ‘L’affute’ and as a result her wine tasting session the next morning was soon concluded. We shouldn’t have been surprised because only 6% of wines across the Rhone Valley are white, 13% are rose and a whopping 81% are red. There was no doubt which of the wines would win the white category either because the L’affute is stored in oak casks and Vanya hates oaked whites. So sorry for laughing Vanya.
I didn’t mind either of the white wines but it was the reds I was looking forward to tasting and when our host started on them, they just kept coming. I was a very happy chap.
Before this session, I knew very little about Cotes du Rhone wines other than that there are 4 grades which are produced across both the Northern Rhone and the Southern Rhone (where the terroir is somewhat different). The best wines are the ‘Crus’ AC; the next best are the ‘Villages’ AC from a named village (e.g. CDR Villages Plan de Dieu and CDR Villages Chusclan) – not just any old village but one of 20 specified villages. The third level are ‘Villages’ AOC which are not produced by one of the 20 specified villages but by a CDR accredited commune. The fourth and final level, which amount to some 50% of the area’s controlled wine production, is the CDR AOC. Anything else just isn’t Cotes du Rhone (officially).
I’m not sure I learned a great deal more about Cotes du Rhone wine at the Domaine des Favards but I certainly got to taste a few. These included (a) Les bons moments rouge 2023 13.5%; (b) CDR Les Grandes Terres 2022 (Grenache, Mourvedre & Syrah grapes) 14.5%; (c) CDR Villages 2020 (Grenache & Syrah) 14.5%; (d) CDR Villages Plan de Dieu 2022 (Grenache & Syrah grapes matured in oak barrels for 12 months and at their best after 6-8 years) 14.5%; (e) CDR Villages Plan de Dieu les Givres 2021 (Grenache, Syrah, Carignan & Cinsault) 14.5%; (f) CDR Villages Plan de Dieu les Brigands 2022 (Cepages, Grenache, Cinsault & Syrah and at their best after 8-10 years) 14.5%; (g) CDR L’une et L’autre 2020 (matured in oak barrels for 16 months and also at their best after 8-10 years) 14%.
There was only the one wine I was unsure about, the Les Givres. The rest were fine but the winner for me was the L’une et L’autre with the ‘Plan de Dieu’ (a named village) coming a very close second. Needless to say, we purchased a mixed case of our favourites.
We were sufficiently rested when, that same evening, we made our way back to the winery to join La Nuit Favardaise. It was well attended by residents of not just Violes but various other villages in the area and all had dressed having regard to the continuing strong winds (in what the Geordies would call ‘their big coats’). The Mistral was still in full flow.
I tried a couple more glasses of the Les Givres during the course of the evening and, I am pleased to report, I warmed to it.
The locals are clearly made of hardier stuff than us because within an hour, Vanya and I decided to retire to the Van. We can attest to the fact, however, that the party continued to precisely 0H30 as advertised on the admission ticket. The music played by the DJ Mister Flo was good and loud.
The next day we left Violes to drive further south and west to Les Argeles sur Mer, near France’s border with Spain. Before leaving I, once again, battled my way into the village for a final look and to buy some fresh bread. My first thoughts apropos the village were correct. It really doesn’t have much about it but, the bakery at the main cross-roads produce first class bread and the nearby cafe-bar does a good coffee.
There follows a couple of photos of the village…
The village centre; the bakery is next to the pizza barL’Eglise (closed of course)The most unassuming Hotel de Ville
Les Argeles sur Mer next… and of course, one of my favourite wineries (Les Vignerones des Alberes) is very close by at Saint Genis des Fontaines.
We were heading to Violes but, on the way, stopped off at the tiny hilltop village of Seguret.
The ‘old town’ part of Seguret clings to the western side of a small hill in the Northern Vaucluse area and is as deserving a member of the ‘plus beau village de France’ community as any. It is almost completely encircled by two roads; the Rue du Barry which stretches along the lower part of the town and is little more than an access road and; the Chemin de L’Auteret which stretches along the upper part of the town and leads to the village church, L’Eglise Saint Denis. The area in between these two roads is entirely pedestrianised and comprises two narrow winding cobbled streets being, the Rue des Poternes and the Rue de Four. The main street is the Rue des Poternes which stretches the entire length of the village. The other, the Rue de Four, is a spur which leads off the Rue des Poternes and up to the church. Both are beautiful.
We approached the village from the north, entering via the 12th century Porte Reynier (also known as the Portail de la Bise), and then walked the length of Rue des Poternes. Narrow and winding is an understatement but it is full of interest and a photographers dream.
The Rue des Poternes is largely residential but there are a handful of craft shops and/or galleries and three cafe-restaurants, one of which was shut. Le Mesclun, further down towards the southern entrance to the village is reputed to be the best for food but it too was closing as we arrived and we therefore made do with Le Cote Terrasse; friendly and welcoming but not good value.
Porte ReynierRue des PoternesRue des PoternesRue des Poternes
There’s no market square in old town Seguret; the village is simply too narrow. Instead there is the Fontaine des Mascarons; the ‘fountain of masks’ on account of the four sculpted heads with spouts through which potable water flows. At one time, this was the only source of drinking water in the village. Close to the fountain is the old lavoir (communal washtub for want of a better description) and a drinking trough for the village’s animals. This would have been the village’s principal meeting place; as is evidenced by the adjacent village clock and belfry.
There’s a second larger lavoir at the southern end of the village just outside the Huguenot Gate on the Place des Arceaux.
Rue des PoternesLa Fontaine des MascaronsMy favourite photo of the day.
Having walked the length of the Rue des Poternes, Vanya was content to wait in the Van while I walked the remainder of the village. I escorted her back to the Van by way of the Rue du Barry and then took off, firstly, up the Rue de Four to the church and then up the Chemin d’L’Auteret to the castle ruins. That way, I would be able to cover the whole village.
Saint Denis was closed but the panoramas from a viewing platform outside the church more than compensated; especially those across the Rhone Valley.
L’Eglise Saint DenisView west from the churchView south east from the church
Indeed, the views from the church are better than from the castle ruins higher up the hill (and don’t let anyone tell you different); particularly those to the south east (which could be the jagged teeth of the ‘Dentelles de Montmirail’). Actually, I thought the walk up to the castle ruins a complete waste of time. The views are obscured by trees and there’s nothing left of the castle that is worth seeing.
Castle ruins…
That’s all I’m inclined to say for now about Seguret except that during our short stay the wind started blowing a real hoolie! I thought at the time that such a strong wind had to be the Mistral. If so, we would be in for a rough ride at our next stop, Violes.
We were on our way into France to escape Switzerland’s rain and Vanya picked out a camp site in the Savoyard at a place called Saint Genix sur Guiers. Neither of us had heard of the place before. Imagine our surprise when, later that day after we had checked into a campsite in the town, I read a post on facebook by friends of hours who had overnighted in Saint Genix just 24 hours earlier! These friends were walking a Camino from Geneva to Le Puy en Velay and this route took them along the GR65 which passes, amongst other places, through Saint Genix (and ultimately on to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain). Small world or what?!?
Okay, so a little about Saint Genix. The town is located at the confluence of the Rivers Rhone and Guiers and it’s proper name is Saint Genix les Villages. The town was known as Saint Genix sur Guiers until, in 2019, some civil restructuring saw it merged with the two villages of Gresin and Saint Maurice de Rotherens and formed into the new commune of Saint Genix les Villages. Much of the signage in the town still refers to Saint Genix sur Guiers.
It is a small fairly unassuming town of just over 3,000 people which became famous for it’s Gateaux Saint Genix. This cake was created by a local pastry chef, Pierre Labully in 1880. In truth it is more a Brioche than a cake. It is a bread made with leavened dough to a fairly common recipe but Labully made it his own by adding pink pralines (sugar coated almonds) and topping it with sugar before baking. The resulting product caught on and is now made all over France. The Gateaux Labully bakery where the product was first created was closed for holidays during our visit but I was able to get one from the Gateaux Saint Genie bakery on Rue de Couvent. It is quite tasty but proved a little too dry for me.
Gateau Saint Genix
There’s not a great deal to the town in terms of things to see or do. Why else would I go on so much about a cake that I didn’t really enjoy? However, it has a little church, L’Eglise Notre Dame de l’Assomption, which is worth a visit. By Roman Catholic standards it is simply adorned but it is charming. I particularly like the entrance with it’s curved staircase and and the fact that there’s a plaque inside honouring the town’s war dead (1914-1918 and 1939-1945). Such plaques are not that common in French churches, nor English ones for that matter.
L’Eglise Notre Dame……and inside.Baptismal Font Honouring the town’s war dead
Next door to the church on Place de l’Eglise is a bar-restaurant (Cafe des Sports) which appeared during our visit to serve as much a focal point in the town as the church itself. It was full of people on the two occasions I visited it; once during the day to reserve a table for dinner and again that night to enjoy the dinner. The welcome on both occasions was warm and friendly.
