We've Moved! ..and escaped the heat

A sunset from our new apartment; a quiet, peaceful sunset, not like the one described in the text...

The Sun was an angry flaming orange ball in a  pissed-off flat orange sky. It was shortly before sunset and the temperature was still in the mid-30s (mid-90s, for you Americans),  down just a few degree from mid-day. A forest fire somewhere near gave the air a yellow haze. 

We were pretty annoyed ourselves. This was the third (fourth?) week of the canacule, a fierce heat wave that cools but little at night. 

We moved a few weeks ago, at the start of the heat. It could have been an easy move—just a couple hundred meters up the street, to another building in the same complex. But it was hot. Hot and humid, and everything seemed difficult. 

Yeah, the move could have been easier. We could have had a lot less stuff! When we moved in, five years ago (The first of May—our anniversary!—in the midst of the pandemic lockdown) we each had a big suitcase, a small backpack, and a laptop. Now, a short five years later, there was this endless pile of boxes to be trundled up the street in the hand cart we'd borrowed. But that was the easy part. 

Harder was watching our home disappear, to be (painfully) reassembled in someone else’s apartment. Well, hard for me, anyway. Paula seemed to roll with it, doing an excellent job of reassembling all those boxes of stuff. 

Now, a few weeks in, it feels more like “our” place than where we’d spent the last five years. Our new landlord left less stuff than the old one did, so we’ve got more flexibility in decorating. And Paula is doing a great job of making it ours!

The harbor in the town of Méze, where we spent my birthday.

But it’s still hot. We cancelled our summer get-away plans to focus on our move, and the weather in Montpellier has not been kind. So, we’ve been taking weekends off.

My Life as a Fish. On the beach at Méze.

 For my birthday (the 11th; mark your calendars for next year!) we went to a nearby town on the Étang de Thai, a huge salt-water lagoon separated from the Med by a long sand spit. It was only marginally cooler there, and even more humid, but our room had central AC and there was a courtyard with a small pool and a very shady tree. We spent the evening there drinking wine and getting very well acquainted with other guests!

The very welcoming pool and shady patio at our lodgings in Méze.

But this weekend we finally found the relief from the heat we’ve been craving. We drove a couple of hours north, up into the mountains, to the small town of Meyrueis. At an elevation of 1000 meters (3300 feet) it certainly was cooler!

Clock tower and bridge over the creek in Meyrueis.

The main street of Meyrueis.(Not much to it!)

It’s a cute tourist town, with one main street lined with hotels and restaurants, and filled with people wearing backpacks and carrying walking staffs. Hiking country!

A restaurant over the creek.

Having dinner at a different restaurant, over the creek!

Looking our our hotel window at night. We enjoyed the sound of the creek all night!

And, like all small towns in France (and Europe in general), there’s a long history, and interesting architecture, to explore. Significant—to us, anyway—is that the town is on the boarder of two interesting geographic regions: the Parc National des Cévennes, and the Parc natural réginal des Grands Causses.

A view from a side street of Meyrueis.

We’ve mentioned the Cévennes before, and our (limited) explorations. We’ve also (probably) talked about the Causses. (Yeah, we did, here.) These we find particularly intriguing.

Long long ago, long in geological terms, this area was a huge plateau. But fast-moving rivers got to work, and today it is divided into numerous smaller plateaus, the causses, separated by steep ravines with those fast-moving rivers at the bottoms.

While superficially similar, each plateau has its own flora and fauna, and local weather. It’s very rural, transportation is limited; there are few roads and fewer towns. Lots of nature to explore!

A view from the road on the causse Méjean.

130 square miles of dry, rolling hills.

After a fine night at our hotel in Meyrueis we followed some tips from a knowledgeable fellow at the tourist office and drove up to the Causse Méjean. The road was narrow and winding, following gentle rolling hills brown in the summer sun, and mostly deserted. We enjoyed the solitude, and eventually came to the town—er, hamlet?—of Dirges, where we left the car and headed out on foot.

Ah, our goal, the hamlet of Hures and it's church.

It was sunny, dry, and deserted, except for a flock of sheep in the distance. We plunked along and eventually (30 minutes?) came to a church with a very pretty churchyard (fresh flowers on the graves!)

The Eglise Saint-Privat de Hures and its graveyard. Fresh flowers!

We sat in the shade and enjoyed the sandwiches we’d bought earlier. Off to the side we noticed a few tables with a small sign that announced the SOS BAR. Well, that seems appropriate, we felt like we were at the end of the world, and just might need saving. Finishing our sandwiches we went over to ask about a bit of coffee. Well, of course! We seated ourselves, and when the server brought the tiny espresso cup, we asked about the name of the bar.

A house across the street from the graveyard.

The SOS BAR, next to the church.

See, when we got closer we noticed that the actual name was the 909 BAR. What’s the significance of that, we asked? Well, the answer got complicated.

When we got closer, we saw it was actually the 909 BAR.

The 909 is a nod to the ROLAND TR-909, an early music synthesizer. A drum machine, in fact; or, in French, un boîtes à rythmes. And that’s where BAR comes in: it’s an acronym for Boîtes à Rythmes. We’d stumbled upon a music collective that specializes in synthesized music, and named their gathering point after the venerable TR-909.

Many years ago, early in our travels, we discovered the distinction between moments and monuments. We found that while we may have come to see a monument, what we remember are the moments. And this was certainly a moment!

We chatted a bit longer with the woman who brought the coffee—one of the musicians, it turned out—and then headed back up the trail, minds blown.

Paula starts on the train back to Dirges, and the car.

On the trail we found this beautiful thistle plant. Paula was very tempted to take it, as it is reputed to bring luck; however, it is also an endangered species. Paula wisely decided digging up a protected plant would not bring the kind of luck we wanted!
(It appears to be a Carlina acanthifolia, aka Carline thistle.)

(When we got back I found that tiny place had a surprisingly extensive Wikipedia entry. [Caution— this entry is in French; the entry in English is far less interesting.] It mentions in the "Histoire" section that during the pandemic lockdown in 2020, the region became somewhat infamous for a rave held there attended by some 10,000 people. And I can picture that, 10,000 people writhing and dancing — to music synthesizers, of course — on those hundreds of acres of empty fields and hillocks…)

European trail signs in red and yellow prevent getting lost.
Note the lower sign: "X" means not the trail!!

A farm house we passed in the hamlet of Dirges.

The next day we slowly made our way back to Montpellier along winding canyons (and those fast-moving rivers) through sprinkling rain. We were pleased to find the canicule had ended, and temperatures were cooling.

Leaving the causess behind...

...but first, a quick stop to check out this menhir, or sanding stone.
(No, not the one I'm holding up, the one behind me!)

A village running down the canyon wall. At the bottom is La Jonte, one of those fast-moving rivers; it also passes through the town of Meyrueis, where we stayed.

It was a good trip, a good escape. Now we’re ready for what remains of the summer, and to welcome the cooler weather of September.

La Jonte river as it flows through Meyrueis.

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 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!