How come I Never Heard of This? The Eurovision Song Contest

 

We’re only now learning about this long-lived exercise in fun, frivolity, and community that has been part of pop culture here in France, and all over Europe, for over 60 years. 

The Eurovision Song Contest got its start in 1956 with seven countries. It was a way of unifying the countries of Europe, still devastated by the World War. 

What is it, anyway? Each participating country develops an original song (encouraged, but not required, to be in their language) no more than three minutes long. The song is generally accompanied by some kind of show, with perhaps back-up singers, dancers, and pyrotechnics (consisting of lasers, flames, and perhaps an explosion or three). While the music, and sometimes the backup, is pre-recorded, the singer is required to actually sing during the performance. 

There are several run-offs spread over a week before the finals. At the end, professional musicians and critics in each country vote for their favorite entries, as do the general public. All the votes are combined in some way that is obscure to me to determine the year’s winner, which will then host the next year’s event. 

This year we caught the second round of semi-finals, and certainly had our favorites! But we didn’t see all 40 performances until the final event, which happened Saturday night, May 22. We were in the French city of Albi, near the end of a three-day car trip. (More on that on a soon-to-come blog.) But the TV in our rental apartment worked fine, and we were riveted for the whole three hours! 

Italy won—542 points—with a hard-rock entry by some guys (and a gal) in funny pants. (No, I was not a fan.) We all would have much, much preferred if France had won. As it was it came in second, with 499 points. Barbara Pravi, the sole performer, did a fantastic job with her song “Voilà.” 

And at the very bottom, with nul points, was the UK, 0 points (and not underserved, I’d say!). 

One thing I found surprising: no less an American institution than the New York Times had live coverage, with a couple of reporters at the event sending out text updates after every act. (We’d subscribed to the NYT recently to keep up with the news, and we could read the updates in the app on our phones.) 

I expect we’re going to be hearing more about the Eurovision Song Contest in the coming months, even in the far, dark wilds of the United States of America.

Words fail me in describing these acts, so you’ll just have to see for yourselves. Here’s some (of many) noteworthy performances. Follow the links to videos of the three-minute performances….

 France

          Slim, simple, elegant, beautiful—Barbara evokes “French” and the French chanson. It was no surprise that during her performance on Saturday night "Edith Piaf" was trending heavily on Twitter.

    Voilà by Barbara Pravi

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kiyXRhIXWU

 Russia

Reportedly this singer is not well liked in parts of Russian society—she’s not Russian, and she’s singing about freedom for women. Watch that exquisite classically Russian-decorated remote-control dress she’s wearing—or rather, enclosed in. When she steps out, she’s wearing worker’s coveralls--a subtle commentary!

    Russian Woman by Manizha

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-Di9A28e5E&t=189s

 

Azerbaijan

One of our favorites! Powerful, mysterious, and with a vicious cobra (or an image of one). A rich, amazing setting.

 Mata Hari by Efendi

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQ22S5YC7Q&t=6s

Lithuania

I really like these egg-yolk yellow suits! And the dancers’ moves against the optical background.

 Discoteque by The Roop

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGsjtJn4aAo

 

 Norway

Gorgeously beautiful white angle wings, chained to and surrounded by black winged demons. The angelic singer TIX has Tourette’s Syndrome, and uses the dark glasses to hide his ticks.

    Fallen Angel by TIX

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bp2kfhuv8ZU

And how about an American entry in the ESC? That’s unlikely, but scheduled on NBC for summer of 2022 is the American Song Contest, in which all 50 states plus five territories plus DC will compete for Best Original Song. Not in competition but in parallel with the ESC. Should be interesting!

On the Road Again, Part 2b—The Chaos de Montpellier & that Viaduct

 

This is the third and final part of our trip to the causses and the Viaduct of Millau.

After congratulating ourselves for spending the night (first night away from home in over a year!) we discussed our plans over breakfast. I was keen on seeing a formation called Le Chaos de Montpellier-le-Vieux, not the least because it bore the name of our adopted home town. But the description of a natural area of rocky pinnacles was certainly appealing.

 

A view of Millau and the Viaduct from half-way up the causse.

Ah, Spring! Green hills and fields around Millau.

Our route led us across the Tarn and up—and up and up—onto the adjacent causse. We stopped often on the way to take in the incredible scenery: the town, the viaduct (not so distant now!), and the ever-so-green hills. Eventually the road leveled out and we drove among mature pines, with the occasional lush meadow stretching into the distance, dense with tiny yellow flowers.

 

Kate gets up close and personal with the meadow flowers.

And, so do we!

After about a half-hour we reached our objective, only to find it closed. Well, rather, with newly-installed gates across the road. It seems that, probably this year for the first time, a fee will be charged to access the car park further on. Whatever. We left the car on the edge of the road (there were few other cars on this Sunday morning) and started hiking.

 

The rather uninspiring parking lot (now closed, soon to be open for a fee).

The very unexpected view from that uninspiring parking lot! See that cliff jutting out mid-right? That's the lookout point we hiked to.

The parking lot proper was on the edge of a cliff with great views out over the Chaos. But poking around we soon realized that this was only the beginning: the area below, the Chaos itself, is a labyrinth of hiking trails! We certainly were not prepared for a day of hiking in a labyrinth, but we thought we’d at least get a little taste. So, we started down the trail.

 

A rock formation know as The Camel, for some reason.

View of the Chaos from the overlook.

It was fantastic. Wide, open paths between massive natural stone walls infused with brush and trees. We wound along the path and eventually made it to a high, prominent overlook. And I realized the guide book description of the chaos was ‘way understated! We quickly understood how these columns of rock rising from the trees and bushes may well have appeared as a ruined city (the origin of the title “Chaos”) to the Midlevel shepherds who brought their flocks here. And, clearly, it could well be the home of the Devil, as they suspected.

 

Paula, on the trail.

Another view from the lookout.

Clearly, this was a whole day’s adventure, for which we were not prepared! Perhaps another time we will come with a more serious intent; but we’d seen enough for now, and once more headed back to the car, passing several more groups of people arriving to hike.

 

Our intention was to explore the causse more fully by driving on the windy roads leading east from Millau. Soon, though, we passed a sign with a dire warning about narrow turns, not suitable for trailers or trucks! We kept going, but I was eyeing the fuel gauge—we’d failed to get gas in Millau, and I was very aware of my own internal fuel gauge: lunchtime was once more approaching, as it does, and once more we were not prepared!

 

A final shot of the Chaos of Montpellier-le-Vieux.

The road was narrow enough to make a U-turn difficult, even with no fear of on-coming traffic. But we were glad we’d made the effort as we wound up the road, and back to Millau. We re-fueled at a station attached to a major supermarket, but by the time we were ready to get some food, the market was closed. Dang! We always forget, stuff is closed here on Sunday! Well, we can survive on low fuel better than the car, so with a comfortably full tank we headed off to the east, on the road passing right under that fabulous viaduct. 

And just outside of town there was a huge boulangerie, right on the side of the road! We gratefully stopped and loaded up on some small quiches, hot coffee, pastries for dessert, and, of course, some bread. Then we drove a few kilometers further and stopped at the overlook directly under the bridge.

 

Driving under the Viaduct.

The wind was howling outside, so we were content to dine in the car, gazing across the wide valley with the tall, narrow bridge pylons reaching to the sky, topped by the roadbed far, far above.

 

The Viaduct, from down bleow.

After getting our fill of both lunch and the view we continued on the wide thoroughfare for a few minutes before turning off on yet another narrow winding road that climbed to the town of Roquefort, home of the famous cheese. 

I’d often heard of the limestone caves in the town from which the soft cheese, made of ewe’s milk and veined with a mold that gives it its distinctive flavor, takes its name. Each round of cheese spends several months aging in these caves under the town, as has been done for hundreds of years. The town itself was not much. Deserted on a Sunday (of course!), its huge stone buildings looked like industrial warehouses from the 1800s (which, I assume, they were!). 

We continued up to yet another causse, this one flat and rather bleak except for the small green meadows broken by the rugged gray stone outcroppings. Pleasant now in the spring, I bet this place is miserable, hot and dry, in the summer (and, of course, cold and windy in the winter). 

But we’d had enough of driving, and stopping, and looking, and were happy to get on the high-speed Autoroute and blast home. 

While it had been threating to rain all day, we felt nary a drop. We left the car at the rental return, and walked the short distance home. That night, though… the heavens opened! Thunder, lightning, wind, and buckets of rain. We were ever so grateful to be tucked into our own beds, warm and dry!

We're off on another adventure. You'll hear all about it soon!

On the Road Again, Part 2a--Les Casses & Gorges du Tarn

The Viaduct of Millau, with the city itself off to the right.

This is the second part of our most recent travels in France, The first part, about our search for poppy fields, is here. The third and final part will be done soon!

Les Causses are a series of high-elevation plateaus about an hour and a half north and west of Montpellier. At one time a vast elevated plain, over the millennia rivers have cut deep channels, isolating the causses one from the other. The Tarn, one of the more significant rivers in the south of France, carved a gorge that is today a very picturesque tourist attraction. We made it the focus of our two-day trip.

The valley of La Dourbie, cutting through the causse.

The GPS routed us up the Autoroute A75, exiting just before the toll section, where we found a convenient turnout. I’m glad we stopped, because it was far more extensive than it looked, and gave us a good introduction to Millau and the start of the Gorges du Tarn. We got a good look at the causse and the gorge carved by La Dourbie, a tributary of the Tarn. We also had an overview of the city of Millau, and, in the distance, a stunning view of the Millau Viaduct, a spectacular bridge that carries the road (the A75) across the valley of the Tarn. 

I first heard of the Viaduct on a French television program some years ago. It seems that the city of Millau sits right on the main route between Paris and the Mediterranean coast, and every summer Millau would be inundated by travelers on their way to the beach for their annual vacation. Traffic backed up, and by the 80s it would take hours to get across the valley. A number of proposals were made to move traffic away from the city.

The outskirts of Millau and the incredible green countryside.

 One concern of the townsfolk was that any bypass around Millau would result in a serious loss of business; the town would just dry up and blow away. The solution finally implemented was this bold and stunning bridge which broke several world records when it opened in 2004, and is still the highest roadway in Europe. It became a tourist attraction in its own right, and for those visiting the Viaduct, Millau is the obvious place to eat, drink, and spend the night.  

 And for us, too... but not yet! We had more exploring to do!

 

Le Relais de la Muse, a restaurant and auberge in the Gorge of the Tarn (closed, of course!)

Our route along the river led us around the city and through the surrounding hills along the narrow and winding river gorge. It was actually a very pleasant drive: the road was good, slow but not dangerous, and the hillsides, rocky cliffs, sights of the river emerging out of the lush springtime vegetation, and the occasional stone villages clinging to the river banks made for an engaging and ever-changing journey.

We saw this appealing church and churchyard from the road...

 

... and stopped to see it: Église Notre-Dame-des-Champs de Mostuéjouls.

The towns we passed through were pretty dead, with shuttered shops and cafés. But it was clear that this was a decidedly touristic area. In normal times… Actually, we were pleased that we had it almost all to ourselves, with few people and almost no cars!

 

The village of La Malène; looks like it was pretty lively, but dead when we came.

We made a stop on the river. It was hard to tear ourselves away, but we were on a road trip...

A ruined bridge once leading across the Tarn to Le Rozier--and a fabulous-looking resort on the river!

Still, lunch time came, as it always will, and all we found were shuttered shops and empty streets. But we persevered… maybe in the next town, maybe another 10 or 15 minutes… and then we arrived in Sainte-Enimie. Ah, people! Cars! Restaurants selling food to go on the main street!

 

We saw this village across the river--the sign says "Village en Peril." Which means just what it seems to: the village is in peril. The guy at the cheese shop explained that almost no one lives here anymore; with no road, the only way in and out is by canoe or zip line across the river!

At last--a town with people! Activity! Lunch!!

And what a charming place! Thirteenth-century buildings, and high up above the Tarn a former monastery, or maybe a tomb, where local legend has it that St. Enimie herself is buried.

 

Us, in St-Enimie

Paula and Kate exploring in St-Enimie

According to a 13^th Century poem by a famous troubadour, Enimie was the daughter of a king who did not wish to marry. Her prayers to God were answered when she contracted leprosy (which certainly made her less attractive as a partner!). The search for a cure lead her to a spring, a tributary to the Tarn. The blue, copper-infused waters are said to have cured her; she settled down and founded a convent, where she spent the rest of her days.

 

This story was related to us by a cheese shop owner. We were drawn to his shop by the compelling sounds of the Grateful Dead’s “Casey Jones” (“Driving that train, high on cocaine…”); the owner spoke excellent English and chatted with us for a bit. As we were finally leaving, he asked if we’d like to buy some cheese. “Maybe later,” we said. Ah, “later” means “never,” he responded with a smile. True, very true. We resolved to get some of his excellent local sheep cheese later, before we left town, but alas, we, ah, never did. 

After lunch—take-away salads we ate while contemplating the cliffs across the river—we visited la source, the spring where Enimie bathed. Yup, it was blue! The adjacent information station was playing a video of underwater spelunkers exploring the cavern below the spring. We studied the accompanying diagrams of how the rain seeped through the adjacent causse and ran underground 12 km to emerge here and thence aboveground to the nearby Tarn.

 

The copper-infused blue water that cured St. Enimie of Leprosie.

It was getting late, and while we’d already decided to spend the night in Millau, that was an hour away, and we did have to finalize arrangements with our Airbnb host. Kate handled that chore while we crouched in an alleyway with 600-year old stone walls towering over us. Our accommodations handled, we were ready to get back on the road.

 

But first, we had a lengthy chat with a Brit who’d heard us speaking English. He said he was a truck driver, a forestier, a wood worker, and a chocolatier. He and his wife had a shop selling beautiful wooden cutting boards and chocolate; they’ve been here in Sainte-Enimie three years and love it. We had a pleasant conversation, and enjoyed hearing about the town (and the frequent floods!), but we felt the need to move on. After all, a 7PM curfew was still in effect all over France, and we were at least an hour down a long windy road to our home for the night.

Up Next:  We spent another day in the area, including some time under that fabulous viaduct. We'll here about that in the next installment. And that will have to come soon, because in a few days the cafés open, and we will be on the road once more, exploring... well, you'll have to wait and see!

AND---Cafés are now open! Finally! We're seeing tables on the sidewalks once again, with patrons sipping coffee and enjoying full meals. That changes everything!

On the Road Again, Part 1—Poppies!

 

View out over the Luberon from Ménerbes

As the pandemic winds down, the confinement here in France is loosening up… but “loosening” is relative! No more 10km limitation on travel, and the curfew has been moved from 6PM to 7. Cafés and restaurants still closed, as are non-essential shops. We now have a schedule for opening: on the 19th of May eating establishments will finally open! Hooray!  Plus, the curfew will start at 9PM. Then, on the 9th of June indoor dining will be allowed, and the curfew will be set for 11PM. Certain theater and sporting events will open then as well.

 

 

We have been more than ready to get out of town, so the other day we rented a car for four days and set off, once more accompanied by our amiable travel companion Kate. Both Paula and Kate had a hankering to see the red poppies of Europe (in California we have the orange variety—it’s the State Flower, in fact—but not so many red ones). And Paula and I still carry the memory of the fields of red poppies we saw in Italy during our honeymoon trip in 1999.

 

Paula and Kate, out standing in the field.

Following reports of poppy sightings we headed north and east of Montpellier, towards the lavender fields we visited last spring (although it’s still a bit early for the lavender). As we were leaving a small town (seems like we’re always just leaving a small town when driving in the French countryside) we saw it in all its stunning red glory:  a large dense field of poppies! We did a quick U-turn and got off the highway.

 

We've got our stripes on in the poppy field!

We spent a good half-hour there, shutters snapping as we cavorted among the millions of paper-thin petals. Which was a good thing, because we didn’t see many poppy fields beyond that. (And the few we did find had no place to park!)

 

Kate, very happy to be immersed in poppies!

What's the point of a trip to a poppy field (or anywhere, really) without a good selfie?!

With or without a destination, driving in the French countryside is always rewarding. Although in this case we did have a destination: Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. The town is known for its hospital where Vincent van Gogh was treated in 1889, and where he painted some of his memorable works (including “The Starry Night,” which features the town). Some years earlier, in 1503, Michel de Nostredame was born here. He was later to be known as Nostradamus.

 

The nearly deserted--and rather sad--town square of Saint-Rémy

 But we were here neither for painters nor for prognosticators. Our goal was something more mundane: lunch. Paula and I had visited this town before and always found it lively and charming. This time, like most towns these days, it was neither. That cute, tree-shaded square with the 16^th century arch where we’d eaten before? Not only was everything shuttered and closed, and the place empty of chairs and tables, but a truck was delivering sacks of cement to the whine of a concrete saw.

 

Paula and Kate in front of a typical building in Saint-Rérmy.

Another month and things could very well be hopping here, so the residents were getting essential work done while they could. (We see the same thing happening in Montpellier: still no customers allowed in the boarded-up cafés, but many of the squares they front are busy as the umbrellas and shade structures are prepared and repaired, in preparation for the openings on the 19^th!)

 

This cute cheese shop...

...had this extraordinary window display. A French couple we spoke with here said this display impressed even the French.

We eventually found a pizza place doing take-out (the more enterprising restaurants and cafés have been offering take-out for several months; it’s allowed, so long as there is no place to sit!) We enjoyed our lunch while sitting on the steps of the nearly-empty parking lot across the street. While far from our idea of the “perfect French lunch,” it was, indeed, lunch, however imperfect. And, greatly appreciated.

 

We checked St-Rémy off the list, with a vow to come back later when it was more populated, and drove on.

 

An aerial view of the Village de Ménerbes.
----- Photo from Wikimedia by Marc Gimpel (Own work)

Our next stop on our search for the perfect poppy field (admittedly a half-hearted search, since we’d already exceed our expectations with that first field) was the Village de Ménerbes. Built on a rocky ridge of the Luberon, Ménerbes is (yet another) Medieval village that benefits from the label granted by the association Les plus beaux villages de France.*

 

* Les plus beaux villages de France is a private organization that awards its designation to those small towns that have shown « Qualité, notoriété et développement »: quality, recognition, and development. In short, they’ve got something going on, they have a history and heritage they are proud of, and they want to show it off. These towns are always very pretty, interesting, and lively.

 

Art sculpture, overlooking the valley of the Luberon from the village of Ménerbes

A few lonely poppies, also overlooking the valley of the Luberon

Well, ok, these days no village is very lively. But Ménerbes is very pretty, and, having been built on a tall narrow ridge, has fantastic views out across the countryside. It’s another medieval stone village, yet like every village it has its unique character. After hiking around a bit and enjoying views from the many overlooks we found a café that served excellent coffee. To go, of course! Then, passing through the center of the village we came upon a shop selling local food items (quite common here; every place likes to emphasize their fine specialties). We picked up a prepared dish for dinner, headed back to the car, and were soon on the road home. That evening we had an excellent dinner from the eggplant (aubergine) dish we’d picked up in Ménerbes.

 

A quiet moment...

Typical view from an overlook 

The three of us ate together, which was, frankly, the first time Paula and I had shared a meal with anybody in months and months. But the three of us hang out together frequently, and we’d all had our shots (the second one a week earlier), so it was low risk. It was also very, very liberating!

 

Entrance to the town cemetery.

A parting view of Ménerbes.

We’d rented the car for four days, but we took the next day off, saving ourselves for the weekend. We’d planned an overnighter, another post-pandemic first!

Up Next:  We still have two more days to report on, including our trip up the Gorges of the Tarn River, and the amazing Viaduct of Millau.