It would be worth travelling a very long way to see this exceptional violinist. Following a hot tip from our friend Nicholas, who had seen her in Bristol, we got tickets for her recital of Bach partitas in Grenoble. It started bizarrely, with the audience kept standing outside the auditorium for over half
an hour while the primadonna was said to be "warming up". But her playing - which we enjoyed from 2nd row proximity - was transcendental. She finished with the Chaconne from the second partita and I felt as though I was being showered with gold, alternating between ecstasy and agony, and nostalgia for a time when I played my violin more regularly. Such effervescent, light-fingered sensitivity, and power.
I will be making friends with my fiddle this week.
18 November 2012
Juan and Rebecca buy some furniture - at last
This is Ozanam, our local flea market a stone's throw from the house. We've walked around it a dozen times, more for amusement or to entertain visitors than with serious shopping objectives. Where else can you buy waders, an ox's yoke, a Scottish biscuit tin, nick-nacks galore, books, furniture good, bad or indifferent - all in the same place? Inspired by our friends' Antje and John, who have made more progress in cost-effectively furnishing their house in CH in 5 months than we've made in 7 years, we made some quick decisions - two colossal pieces of furniture. See the video at 1 min 42 for the mirror-fronted cupboard that will adorn the spare bedroom (a challenging style-clash with our modern house) and the smaller two-piece unit at 1 min 57 (far right) destined for downstairs. I hope this bold move away from IKEA isn't madness. At least we were in agreement, and free from our habitual analysis paralysis.
15 November 2012
12 November 2012
across the border to CH
We started with a stroll around Fribourg, including Saint Nikolaus cathedral. Given that church and
state are separate in Switzerland it was surprising to see an out-sized Swiss flag filling the choir:
Elsewhere in the city Christmas was getting into swing:
The following day the expressionist-fauvist exhibition at the Merzbacher Collection, Martigny ("one of the finest private collections of pre-World War II 20th century art in the world"), was fabulous. Juan, initially (uncharacteristically) respectful of museum security, was soon snapping at jewels by Vlaminck, Kirchner, Kandinsky and chums:
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| "Sertigtal landscape", Ernst Kirchner, 1924 |
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| "Autumn landscape with boats", Vasily Kandinsky, 1908 |
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| "Potato pickers", Maurice de Vlaminck, 1905-7 |
From the exhibition at Martigny, the village of Gruyère was a short drive, helped by sat nav. I love the way Juan puts blind faith in the equipment. It results in unpredictable outcomes - especially if you key in a random address like "1 Beauregard". As Juan said, even the dog was surprised to see us arrive at this isolated house at the end of a track:
I would never have got away with such a scenic diversion. Sat nav must oil the wheels of many a couple's navigating crises.
Gruyère was a tourist trap par excellence...
... verging on kitsch, stuffed with hotels and restaurants with meringue and cream topping every menu. Its quaintness made it feel a long way from its roots. At the visitor centre the most impressive thing was the sheer quantity of the over-rated cheese:
In France there would have been a whole marketing thing around the families, the history, the terroir, the savoir faire... What the Swiss wanted to tell us was the number of cheeses their robots could make per hour. Say no more.
05 November 2012
wine, ochre and stones - the Vaucluse
Just occasionally, Juan and I don't head for the Ecrins at the weekend. In between seasons, when the high mountains can feel hellish chilly without the magic of snow, the south beckons. Taking advantage of Juan's days in lieu we headed for the Vaucluse region in Provence for a short break based - on our friend Isabelle's recommendation - at a friendly B & B just outside the former ochre-mining village of Roussillon.
On our way we cruised the Route des Vins, the autumn vines sumptuous gold and magenta...
We were just 2 hours south of Grenoble but the light and vegetation felt like driving in another country. Seeing the villages of Gigondas and Vacqueyras, after having so often enjoyed the wines at home, was a real thrill. At Gigondas any sense of awe at the wine-tasting experience was dispelled by this reassuringly funky translation, writ large on the wall:
And bewitched we were, having fun tasting wines using the most spurious of criteria.
In contrast to classy Gigondas we stopped at Vacqueyras at "Vins du Caractère", a highly commercial wine superstore. The deals - of a "3 crates for the price of 2" variety - were amazing. After a short time tasting, everything was going to our heads as we tried to make the right decision, remembering that we only drink together at weekends and do we always want to be drinking Côtes du Rhone. On my own I think I would have bought half the shop but Juan's restraining influence limited us to just 18 bottles...
This was Toussaints, the last holiday weekend of the year, and when we arrived at Rousillon it was pulsing with every nationality of tourist.
We had arrived in all ignorance that the extraordinary soil and colours make this a mecca for artists. Courses, exhibitions, and gift shops were a constant temptation (resisted):
But Roussillon's main claim to fame is its ochre, and mining heritage. Mining, and the associated manufacture of pigments, ceased after synthetic dyes replaced ochre in the mid-20th century. As a tourist you can walk the little sentier des ochres trail...
... and do a guided tour of the nearby mine at Gargas (all but Juan and I in post-Halloween fancy dress). At least in our imagination, we had a sense of the mining process in previous centuries:
The 40km labyrinth of vaulted tunnels was dug by miners from the top down (to avoid digging through harder rock that was immediately above). The spaciousness and regularity of the arches suggested a series of temples - pleasant to walk through. It was hard to imagine the cramped, dusty working conditions of that time. But oil-lamp scars on the upper walls were a reminder of the reality of the work. The mine is now waiting for a new use. (Mushroom farming failed as recently as 2000 when the supply of local horse manure ran dry.)
Within a small radius of Roussillon are several fortified hilltop villages, each attractive in a different way. We explored several of them (Juan musing on how we always seemed to gravitate, like goats, to the top - our mountain-climbing obsession?!). One included Lacoste, home to the infamous Marquis de Sade, and now a real jewel, not a cobble out of place:
On the way back north, we were curious to see the ancient dry-stone settlement of "Bories":
These buildings probably date from the 14th century, but could be much older. It's hard to imagine how life would have been in such cramped, windowless holes. And strange to think that people all over the world, from Ireland to Peru to Spain, were living similarly.
As we lit the fire at Vaulnaveys we were newly appreciative of the comforts of the 21st century.
On our way we cruised the Route des Vins, the autumn vines sumptuous gold and magenta...
We were just 2 hours south of Grenoble but the light and vegetation felt like driving in another country. Seeing the villages of Gigondas and Vacqueyras, after having so often enjoyed the wines at home, was a real thrill. At Gigondas any sense of awe at the wine-tasting experience was dispelled by this reassuringly funky translation, writ large on the wall:
And bewitched we were, having fun tasting wines using the most spurious of criteria.
In contrast to classy Gigondas we stopped at Vacqueyras at "Vins du Caractère", a highly commercial wine superstore. The deals - of a "3 crates for the price of 2" variety - were amazing. After a short time tasting, everything was going to our heads as we tried to make the right decision, remembering that we only drink together at weekends and do we always want to be drinking Côtes du Rhone. On my own I think I would have bought half the shop but Juan's restraining influence limited us to just 18 bottles...
This was Toussaints, the last holiday weekend of the year, and when we arrived at Rousillon it was pulsing with every nationality of tourist.
We had arrived in all ignorance that the extraordinary soil and colours make this a mecca for artists. Courses, exhibitions, and gift shops were a constant temptation (resisted):
But Roussillon's main claim to fame is its ochre, and mining heritage. Mining, and the associated manufacture of pigments, ceased after synthetic dyes replaced ochre in the mid-20th century. As a tourist you can walk the little sentier des ochres trail...
... and do a guided tour of the nearby mine at Gargas (all but Juan and I in post-Halloween fancy dress). At least in our imagination, we had a sense of the mining process in previous centuries:
The 40km labyrinth of vaulted tunnels was dug by miners from the top down (to avoid digging through harder rock that was immediately above). The spaciousness and regularity of the arches suggested a series of temples - pleasant to walk through. It was hard to imagine the cramped, dusty working conditions of that time. But oil-lamp scars on the upper walls were a reminder of the reality of the work. The mine is now waiting for a new use. (Mushroom farming failed as recently as 2000 when the supply of local horse manure ran dry.)
Within a small radius of Roussillon are several fortified hilltop villages, each attractive in a different way. We explored several of them (Juan musing on how we always seemed to gravitate, like goats, to the top - our mountain-climbing obsession?!). One included Lacoste, home to the infamous Marquis de Sade, and now a real jewel, not a cobble out of place:
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| Lacoste |
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| Saturnin lès Apt |
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| looking east from Saturnin lès Apt |
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| reservoir and castle at Saturnin lès Apt |
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| Ménergues |
These buildings probably date from the 14th century, but could be much older. It's hard to imagine how life would have been in such cramped, windowless holes. And strange to think that people all over the world, from Ireland to Peru to Spain, were living similarly.
As we lit the fire at Vaulnaveys we were newly appreciative of the comforts of the 21st century.
the end of the road for the Astra?
I waited just a bit too long to contact a garage about a long-term motor-starter (starter-motor?) problem.
Now waiting for the diagnosis, I realise - for the first time ever - that I have an attachment to a car!
To repair or not to repair... The market for right-hand drive cars chez moi is, umm, non-existent. So push may come to shove more quickly than I would like. Watch this space.
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