autumn already?!

It was 8 degrees as we drove down from Lac Achard today. Aieee....

Klondike prospector considers his options

the biggest tomato ever!

God bless the tomato plant that gave us a 630g monster (eaten in one sitting) followed by this even-bigger, DELICIOUS specimen:

Mum and Dad come to Vaulnaveys

As usual - anticipating the chronic boredom that befalls all guests chez Rebecca and Juan - Mum and Dad arrived with suitcases full of diversions: walking gear, sewing projects, music, instruments, art supplies, books... bemused that their luggage was so voluminous. Well yes... that's what happens if you're the most active octogenarians ever...

We started with a leisurely session amid the weekend throngs at Lake Pétichet:

terrier Sanchez

The following day Juan, Dad and I took the chair lift to the Croix de Chamrousse and then walked down via Les Lacs Robert to the Cascade d'Oursières.

but where was the sheep dog and shepherd?

The last stretch was tricky when Dad found his legs not supporting him as they have for the last 85 years - but we were helped by kind fellow walkers, and all ended well.
It was a sobering experience, nevertheless, and we took it very easy for the rest of the week - where art, music, local strolls and food were the dominant themes.

my prize 550g tomato rendered in gouache (Mum) and watercolour  (me) (Juan: "master and apprentice?") - before we ate it in two separate salads. 

at La Tour Maline, Uriage - hair-curlingly-strong coffee

Mr S at Lake Pétichet

Mrs S brings a new beach activity to the lake

At Les Mésanges. the view was awesome but didn't compensate for very disappointing food and poor service - we won't be back..

On our final day we revisited familiar themes: dabbling with paint...

courgette flower (watercolour and charcoal)

It's 25 degrees but you can never tell (2 layers + a fleece!)

... playing music, and visiting Lac Pétichet for a third and final time...

the pack horses lead the way

There's just time for an (excrutiating) open-air "tropical flamenco" (?!) concert at Uriage before a last supper. And, alas, it's the end of their stay. I have played my violin more in the last week than in the last year - and I realise that it's something I really do want to be doing. I have already contacted a pianist friend to set a future date.

by the river

After a challenging déjeuner sur l'herbe where Mathis and Eva managed to locate every object that was slightly fragile or precious (I didin't realise I had any...) and I was constantly in the uncomfortable position of adult saying "No" or "Stop doing that", we decamped to our stream.

Transformation.

Heinz, Eva, Mathis, Lise

boys will be boys

and girls have to experiment with make-up (a piece of chalk which we found, incongruously, in this granitic area)

mesmerised as a group of riders brought their horses to the stream for a drink

A refaire...

bee business

Vicararious pleasure watching Kelli and Olivier harvesting their honey... (which ended in Olivier being immobilised by a particularly vicious sting on his leg...)

 

picked today...

Yum yum...

August

The French are famed for their holiday-holic work ethic: the generous annual leave (at least for those in salaried positions), the additional "RTT" days given in compensation for working longer than a 35-hour week. During August there is a collective shutdown as the entire population disappears for 2 or 3 weeks to the Atlantic or Mediterranean coasts, including perhaps ferrying the children to the grandparents for a stretch. People are surprised when I don't take holiday - even though I have no children to dictate the rhythm.

As long as you're not trying to get anything done that requires manpower, or bureaucratic input, this time of year is the supreme laid-back summer experience. My working hours don't change much - I still do the language teaching (though my shiatsu presence at the retirement home is reduced). But the atmosphere is completely different: the roads are empty; there are no queues in the shops; the weather has settled into pleasantly warm and we can enjoy the garden, undisturbed by traffic noise of any kind.

Only mad dogs and Englishmen are abroad. Sensible Spaniards do the Spanish thing:

Juan "I never have a siesta" Sanchez

Their wives drive 20 minutes to find this:

Emma, with whom I've shared vision-boards, aikido classes, meals, chats - and now swims

La vie est belle...

neighbours

We live in what was once countryside, and is now semi agricultural, semi commuter spill; our hamlet, "Passe Rivières", so-named because it is 5m from a bridge crossing a stream (see previous post). We look at a zillion trees blanketing slopes that rise to 2000m and beyond. A quiet spot. Until the local youth decide that our bridge is the ideal place to hang out, of a summer evening. Screeching brakes as they perform wheelies, revving mopeds, balls crashing against the construction panels surrounding the intrusive new build (that has disfigured the view diagonally from the house); loud whoops... I am kept awake night after night. But I don't dare say anything. They look a mean crowd and their animal noises suggest my middle-aged, foreign protest would be poorly received - at best.

When Juan returned last weekend I took the opportunity to sally out to the bridge - in my pyjamas - bolstered by his manly protection. Juan said afterwards that I sounded nervous - and I was, even though I have to admit that, close to, the kids' faces looked nothing like the twisted, evil masks I'd been imagining. "Hi, I'm Rebecca. I live just over there - and you are...?" Blah blah blah. I get to the point - realising as I do so that their voices were loud simply to hear themselves above the noise of the stream. "I'm not sure if you realise but your voices carry... and I can't sleep". Without me even having to suggest it, one of them volunteers, "Would you like us to move?". I can't believe it. Such is the difference between prejudice and reality.

man on bridge (with our house in background)

The houses have continued to bug us, though. The metal panels are unsightly, the mounds of weed-infested earth and rubble slow to be landscaped into the lawn and-laurel formula that is the garden of choice for most in the area. Excessive numbers of cars (why weren't adequate forecourts planned into the design?) mean people parking on our road, blocking larger vehicles from passing. The "30km" speed limit sign is ripped from its post by a combine harvester, unable to squeeze through. Clearly, our new neighbours are ignorant, tasteless urbanites.

Nevertheless, when Juan and I are on a round-the-block stroll, and I see one of the new occupants just outside her door, I cross the road to introduce myself. Within 10 minutes we have learned about the death of her brother-in-law this April - living with his wife in the adjacent (aforementioned) rubble-plagued house and how this has set back progress on finishing the house; her leg operation; hers and her husband's jobs; their disputes with the mairie (their fence is 20cm above regulations, vive la France); and - thrillingly, for me - her desire to host an apéro the next fête des voisins (the annual initiative to encourage neighbourly networking). Victor Meldrew-style I had been on the verge of going to the mairie myself, to complain about... I'm not quite sure what, but something needed to be done! Once again I am brought up short, the discrepancy between perception and reality utterly blatant. Will I ever learn?

the essence of life: water...

Water is one of the areas where Juan and I see the world differently. He would prefer to finish the walk, or the drive, and have a shower at home. For me, dunking is an essential part of a hot and sweaty walk - whether a dip in a rock pool by the footpath...

I look grumpy but my personal bath tub by the Drac Blanc valley, 27 July, was heaven on earth.

a swim in a lake (see last post), or simply dipping my toes into the stream across the road from the house:

What an incredible luxury to have this literally on our doorstep. And today, fly swatting and all essential tasks done, I was the only person there.

Champsaur revisited

Juan and I seem to have got into an indulgent habit of revisiting a place that we have just discovered, and are excited about, the very next weekend. Taking advantage of Juan's long weekend, and a good forecast, we headed back to the Champsaur, overnighting in the same campsite at Le Pont du Fosse - and even eating the same supper - as last weekend. It was full holiday season, with families and elderly couples happy just to sit in the shade and recreate their home-sweet-home en plein air. We were seriously tempted to hang out for a while but wanted to explore the network of paths above the ski station at Orcières-Merlette, using the cable car to get us to a higher altitude than our late start would otherwise have permitted.

What a wonderful day. A lake, sufficiently off piste, to call my own...

and an extraordinarily unspoilt village, Prapic, in a dream setting for walkers - paths radiating in all directions...

The following day, laziness set in and we took the cable car up to 2654m. This is the walk for amazing views with minimal effort, well above the ski and VTT infrastructure that impacts lower down:

Juan was ecstatic to find androsace pubescens...

berardia subacaulis (endemic to dauphiné and maritime Alps)...

and other old friends...

including eritrichium nanum - that, since posting to Flikr, has earned him 347 favorites and more than 23500 views in one day. See http://www.flickr.com/photos/juan_sanchez/9431778632/ :

(Meanwhile, 3 people have viewed this post I'm just updating. It's a funny world!)

spot the botanist!

Walking above the Grand Lac des Estaris we had lunch just above the Col de Freissinières, an austere place by gad...

I then stomped on up to the Roc Diolon - just to say I had been to 3071m and to get some rather airy views into the eastern Ecrins.

By now the forecast clouds seemed to be closing in...

so we headed swiftly down, scouring the route we'd taken the previous day for any sign of my long-worn sunhat. Alas, no. A piece of history was lost. And I got to wear Juan's iconic model:

Two superb days, and a very welcome break from week-day angst (will anyone come to my shiatsu workshops? can I stay sane with Berlitz? will we find a way of Juan spending enough time at Vaulnaveys for our current lifestyle to stack up for him?)