Another Trip to the Country--and Perhaps the Last?

We took this trip a week before the French government announced its lockdown, closing non-essential stores, all cafes and restaurants, and most events. (Ah, for the good old days…)

Le Pont du Diable at St-Guilhem-le-Desert. Still standing, still no lost souls...

This was our third trip to Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, and the first time in a OuiCar, a unique car rental experience. We first visited this small town in the hills not far from Montpellier a couple of years ago, with our French friends Bernard and Claude. That was in June, and it was hot and crowded. Last December we were there again with Nicholas, our former landlord. Then, it was cool and empty. (We’ve got a blog about that trip here.)

View from the Devil's Bridge, up the canyon of the Herault River.

We returned there recently, with our American friend Debra, and two new friends, also Americans, Mary and Mark. However, getting to St Guilhem is not so simple. Once, long ago, Paula and I almost got there on the bus, but due to mismatched bus schedules—and some threatening rain—we didn’t make it on that trip. This time the five of us rented a car through an organization called OuiCar, which means “yes car”, sort of, and is pronounced “we car”. And “we car” strikes me as a a fine name for a car sharing service.

The system is an outgrowth of the “sharing economy,” a kind of Airbnb of rental cars. The cars are privately owned, OuiCar handling the rental infrastructure. We were quite confused as to how it all worked, and kept bugging the owner with questions. He was quite patient, and once we got the GPS coordinates of the car’s location through the smart phone app we figured we were on our way.

Saturday afternoon Paula and I hiked the 10 minutes over to the lot where the car was kept to check it out, so we were ready Sunday morning when we all met at the car. The app locked and unlocked the car, and started (and ultimately ended) the rental period, through a cell phone connection. Everything went very well, and by the time we were back in the lot that evening, we’d put 101 km (62 miles) on it, and saw some great countryside that no bus would ever visit!

             St-Guilhem-le-Désert

The town square of St Guilhem, and it's officially-recognized tree.

Our first stop was Le Pont du Diable, the Devil’s Bridge. There are several dozen Devil’s Bridges in France, each with a similar story: there’s a difficult river to cross; the architect runs into trouble and turns to the devil who agrees to help for the usual fee, the architect’s soul (or, in some versions, those of the entire village). The deal is sealed, the bridge is finished in the night, but when the devil comes to collect his due, there is some anomaly in the contract that allows the architect to get away with all souls intact.

The Tree during a previous summer, with leaves.

And so it was with this Pont du Diable—it’s a sturdy bridge, still functioning, with no reported souls lost. It passes over the Gorge de l'Hérault, at the bottom of which we find the Hérault River. Once done examining the gorge, and the river (and, of course, the bridge!), we drove up the gorge to the village of St Guilhem.

On this visit we finally got clear that the “le-Désert” part of the name is not there because of the desert-like landscape (it’s dry, but certainly no desert!), but rather because when the town was founded, sometime in the 9^th Century, the desert was associated with Egypt which was seen as the Holy Land, where one might well wander for 40 days. So adding le-Désert to the name was more a way to sanctify it, rather than describe the territory.

With that out of the way we continued into the village to explore. The first, and mandatory, stop was under the vast spreading tree in the village square. Mary explained that this was officially one of the most impressive trees in France (there is an actual designation for that), and she saw it in a movie some time back. How satisfying to sit under it and sip coffee in the shade of its trunk! (Still no leaves in early March.) It is quite old, having been planted in 1855. Or maybe 1848, depending on who you want to believe. Either way, it’s old, and impressive.

Views in the town.

 Next stop was the 13^th Century Romanesque church and its cloisters, some of which were removed and installed at the Cloisters Museum in New York City. I’m quite intrigued by the whole story of the sale of these cloisters and asked Debra to look in on the originals when she visits NYC in a few weeks. (Although her plans have recently changed: no one is keen on traveling until the COVID virus works itself out!).

Some of the remaining cloisters (that's Debra at the far end).

Mark tosses a coin into the fountain. It is unknown if this ensures a return to St Guilhm...

Back wall of the church.

After wandering through, and photographing, the very picturesque village, we retrieved our  lunch and found a table in the picnic area. We settled in, enjoying our baguettes and a variety of cheeses, olives and a bottle of wine. Meanwhile, I noticed our French neighbors eating potato chips and hot dogs. (After that, I soooo wanted some potato chips…)

That's Mark on the right, taking the photo, with his wife Mary; Debra on the left with Paula; and me right in the middle.

Done eating, we elected to head on to the next village on our list, rather than exploring the hiking trails climbing out of St. Guilhem. With only a few minutes left on our parking meter we loaded up the car and headed out, leaving our parking spot to a grateful new arrival. We wound down the hill and back to the river gorge, where we followed the twisting, hilly road to St-Martin-de-Londres.

A parting shot of St-Guihem

             St.-Martin-de-Londres

I had read of this town in a guide book last time we’d been in Montpellier (November). It had something architecturally noteworthy (the church, no doubt), and among the many old villages in the area, was one of the few worth mentioning. So, I figured there must be something there to see. Once in the town we found a public parking lot and headed out to look for the church.

The church at St-Martin-des-Londres

Another note about names: Londres apparently derives from a Celtic word, lund, meaning swamp. No connection to the city in England. Apparently.

We wandered down the stone streets and through a narrow passage, and there was the church, in a small square surrounded by ancient stone houses. We poked around for a bit, admiring the buildings and the views. Then, a well-dressed older man wandered through the square, leading a full-grown sheep. Oh. Now, THIS was interesting…

We gather 'round Blanchette and her human.

Blanchette

Once he had an audience—the five of us—he began to recount the story of the sheep, named Blanchette. It seems some time back a woman had stopped along the road and stepped into the woods on, ah, personal business when she discovered a new-born lamb, recently abandoned by its mother, who’d run off with the rest of the herd. She brought it to the village where it was taken in and raised by our narrator. Once we got that story straight, our new friend explained that he was the local historian, and clearly a raconteur. He regaled us for the next hour and a half with stories of the local history.

He was a very animated story teller...

It seems the church had been built—well, the initial building was just a chapel, the current building came along a few centuries later—by monks from the monastery at St-Guilhem-du-Désert (where we’d just been). At the time there was nothing here, just woods and rock, but the spot was of interest because of constructions by the Celtic Druids, who were drawn to it by the intersection of magnetic energy lines. So the monks built a chapel on the sacred spot (in the 7^th Century, apparently), a community began to grow, and the story took off.

OK, Blanchette, time to go home...

After a time a woman—our raconteur’s wife, I think—took Blanchette home, but the stories continued. About the Revolution (in the 1790s), and how Catholics were trapped in the church by Revolutionaries, but some managed to escape through the secret tunnel and made it to Montpellier, and three days later (it’s a long way, without a car) soldiers came and everyone was rescued, but we could still see the burn marks on the outside walls from the fires that had been set. Exciting stuff!

St Martin himself, over the entry to the church.

And, inside the church.

But the sun was getting low, so we said our goodbyes. After a few final stories we made our way back to the car, and were soon on the highway returning to the big city. All in all, a very fine day.

Ancient houses surrounding the church.

And I think we all agree, we say YES to OuiCar. A great inexpensive way to get out of the city for a day!

This will be the last of our regular blogs. With most stores and events shut down, and travel discouraged, we’ll be staying in. We will, however, continue reporting on life in France under these unusual circumstances. And, of course, our reaction to them!