From the Mountains, to the Prairies, to the Oceans, White with Foam! Oops,Wrong Country.

Monday was the first of Alison’s two whirlwind days in the Languedoc. We had plans to go show her the inside of L’Oncle Jules at 2:30, so now had to figure out what to do before then. The first step was easy, of course - coffee. So we strolled down along the canal to a little restaurant for un petit café and a little breakfast. We sat on the terrace (naturally), and we were soon joined by a little white ball of fluff looking everywhere he could for a treat. There really are a lot of random dogs and cats (mostly cats, the dogs nearly always belong to someone) running around Narbonne, as well as many of the other cities in the South. None of them seem to be undernourished though, so apparently they have chosen the right places to prowl.

After breakfast, we decided to drive to one of the so-called Most Beautiful Villages in France - Minerve. This town is about 25 minutes on the other side of Ginestas, so we hopped in the car and hit the road. Most of the trip is relatively flat, but as we got about 5 miles outside of Minerve, the road began to wind and climb. As we headed up, we could see deep gorges extending ahead of us. And soon the town came into view. But, there didn’t seem to be a way to get to it, as there was a gorge between us and it. We continued past the town, and past a single blocked road that may or may not have gone over. Finally, we sas a Parking sign, so we turned and followed the road, which now twisted back the other direction, on the other side of the town. Parking itself wasn’t an issue, as there were plenty of spaces. Deciding where we were supposed to go after parking, however, was another matter indeed. There was a single sign pointing towards the town, but it didn’t seem to be associated with a real path. We finally realized we had to go down a blocked road and wind our way into town.

Minerve well deserves its designation as one of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France. Cobbled streets wind past old houses and a church, past shops, vintners, galleries and restaurants. We started by following an intriguing sign that read only “Catapult.” Teases like that are hard to pass up. The signs led us all the way to the other end of town, which sits at the end of the rock mesa on which the town is sited. We looked down into an empty river bed, and noticed that to the side there was a set of metal stairs descending to the river bed, and the final part of the staircase was shaped like, you guessed it, a catapult. Surely this wasn’t what those signs meant. Surely we didn’t hike all this way (like 3 or 4 medieval city blocks...) to look at a piece of functional modern art. But then we followed where the path went after it exited the metal catapult. It crossed a concrete wall over the riverbed and entered a cavern in the wall of the other side of the gorge. And then we looked up, and yes, there it was, a real catapult. Unfortunately, we didn’t think we had time to go all the way across, and all the way to the top and back, so we added it to our list of items to do on another visit. The catapult itself is a recreation of one that was actually used to try and destroy the town’s well during a siege.

Wandering back into town, we were still too early to eat lunch (even though we need to do an early one to make our appointment), so we decided to do a couple of wine tastings. Each of the wineries was local, With vineyards planted along the top of the ridges on the other side of the gorge, and each of the tasting rooms was run by the owner of the vineyard. I chatted with them about the grapes they used in their various offerings, and they told me about the qualities of the soil and the resultant flavors we could expect in the wines: “Cerises, cerises, et aussi, cerises (cherries cherries and also cherries),” one of them told us of his flagship red. Our favorite, however, was one that was unexpected. Not far from Minerve is a wine region called Saint Jean de Minervois that specializes in Muscat. Typically a sweet wine, served as an aperitif or an after-dinner drink, we did not expect that Alison would actually enjoy it. But I wanted to get to know the region better, so I asked to try. As he was getting glasses ready, the vintner warned us that it was “sec”, i.e. dry, and probably not what we would be expecting. And it was indeed dry, but that was what made it really interesting. It still held the flowery, vanilla, honey notes of a sweet white, but with more acidity it left the palate feeling refreshed instead of coated with syrup. So kudos to Domaine Tailhade Mayranne for a beautiful Muscat.

Our next stop was the little church in town. Next to the church is a large rock with a dove craved through it and the words “Als Catars 1210” carved in it. So here was our little history lesson for the day about the persecution of the Cathars in the Languedoc. The stele commemorates the burning of 140 Cathar “priests” at the stake in Minerve. These priests had taken refuge in Minerve after fleeing the city of Beziers to the south. Beziers had a much worse fate than Minerve, as legend states that in 1209, as the first major action of the Albigensian crusade by the Catholic Church against the Cathars, the entire town of somewhere between 12000 and 20000 was slaughtered. There is more to the legend, although this has been harder to prove. Apparently, there was some concern by the crusaders about distinguishing between heretics and innocent people. The abbot, when asked about the concern, is alleged to have said “Kill them all. God will know his own.” And while both the saying and the final death count remain a source of controversy, there is no doubt that may in Beziers were killed and those that fled were hunted down and executed elsewhere.

With that uplifting story in our minds, it was now time for lunch! The temptation here is, of course, to make an off-color joke about barbecue, but those of you who know us, know that we are far too kind-hearted for that...We headed back down the street to what had seemed to be a promising restaurant during our wanderings. But every time we passed, we noticed that the staff were either cleaning or enjoying their own lunch. We finally noticed that if we walked in enough to see the door (which was wide open), the hours were posted. 12:15 opening time. And so, we wandered down to a little art shop to spend the last few minutes before lunch. The art was comprised of a number of paintings and ink drawings that primarily seemed to be dream versions of the geography and history of the region, with faces woven into the works throughout. We found one that we thought Brycen would like, particularly given our family D&D nights. As I was purchasing it, the lady who was ringing me up asked it we wanted to meet the artist. I didn’t think we had time, so I started attempting to explain we had to run to lunch and then an appointment. She softly cut me off and said “Are you sure, because he is right there.” And as I turned, there he was indeed standing behind me. We chatted for a few minutes about his works, which, it turn out, are things he sees in his dreams, but which are all intimately tied to the region around Minerve. So, lesson learned. The next time I am asked if I want to meet the artist, I will just say yes!

Lunch was at a charming restaurant called the Chantovent. I believe this name is either a play on “Song of the Wind” or is an older Occitan word for the same concept, but don’t hold me to that. The restaurant had a terrace that hung out over the gorge. Because we didn’t have reservations, we did not get one of the table right against the rail, but I wasn’t going to complain about that. The view was still pretty impressive. And the food was outstanding. We started out with a cold melon soup with melon sorbet and little cubes of jellied muscat that was as light and refreshing as it was beautiful. This was followed by a silky smooth confited pork cheek (the picture is red because the awning was a deep orange color and the sun shining through it made everything orange). We barely had time to finish everything, however, before we had to head out for our appointment at the bar.

We walked up to the bar right as Jane (who runs the bar with her husband Tap) was walking up - perfect timing. Jane gave Alison the grand tour, and we chatted about interesting features as well as oddities of the bar. For instance, the building is not rectangularly shaped, but instead is more of a rhombus or trapezoid. So the corners are not 90 degrees, which will make the reno a bit more challenging.

Throughout the day and the evening before, I had been messaging with Jérome, the owner of the bar, about possibly meeting while we were there. It seemed like we were not going to be able to make it work, when, lo and behold, he walked into the bar. And this turned out to be a very fortuitous meeting, as he spent the next 30 or 45 minutes giving me a quick tutorial on all things bar-related. Alison nodded attentively, but the words were flying so fast, you could see her eyes get wider and wider as the conversation continued. The most important thing I learned is that all the paperwork is ready, more than a month ahead of schedule. The last possible day allowed for setting the closing is October 28, so now we know I will be here full-time no later than the last week of October. There is a lot to get done between now and then, the most important of which is finalizing my resident visa, which will take some time. But the clock is now ticking with some urgency.

As Jane had to go back to work, we closed the place down and decided that, given that we had already been to the mountains in the morning, we would head to the beach for dinner. I took Alison to a little town I had found on my previous trip called Marseillan. It is a little like the French version of Panama City. There is a long strip of souvenir stores (read as junk) and restaurants leading to the beach. The beach itself is huge - wide and long - and the Med gently laps at the edge. We walked down to a little bar in the middle of the beach for a glass of wine, as it was still far too early for dinner. The boys would have discovered that the beach was much like Cannes: tops optional, and those who chose not to wear them were not the ones the boys would have chosen! There was also plenty of questionable male fashion choices, so let’s just call it a sightseeing extravaganza.

After a leisurely glass and a leisurely walk back to the car, we next proceeded to the town of Gruissan for dinner, about an hour away. Alison’s jet lag started to kick in and she succumbed to the comfort (?) of the passenger seat in our roomy (?) Fiat. When we arrived in Gruissan, I had her navigate to the restaurant, because my phone decided to stop connecting with the car. I had looked up a restaurant online that had phenomenal reviews and served oysters - one of her favorites. We found a spot to park and then wandered down to the port to find the place. And as we wandered back and forth, we saw any number of restaurants, just not the one we were looking for - despite the fact that we were standing right on the dot on the map. Finally, down the side of one the buildings, we saw a little wooden sign indicating that the restaurant no longer existed. People don’t seem to be as quick to leave notices on Yelp and TripAdvisor here as they are in the States.

So I had to look up a fall back position. We returned to the car and plugged in the new address, which appeared to be on the other side of town. I followed Alison’s directions as we meandered through town, until finally she said “Hey, there’s some parking. Why don’t we take it and walk the rest of the way.” As I am always up for a good walk, especially along water, I agreed. And we started walking...and walking...and walking. I finally asked if I could see the map. Turns out we hadn’t parked anywhere close to the restaurant AND we hadn;t even walked a quarter of the distance between the car and the restaurant! So we turned back and quickly made our way to the car. We had actually parked about 3 miles away from the place.

We finally made it to the restaurant, La Cambuse du Saunier. La Cambuse sits at the edge of a salt farm along the Med. It is a large, open air dining check that is reminiscent of Key West. At the end of the salt flats are huge mountains of gleaming white salt. Unfortunately, my iPhone camera didn’t want to take a good picture of them, so I will have to return. Alison had oysters, naturally. Huge, fresh, briny oysters. She doesn’t usually like the larger ones, but these were apparently tender enough, and the brine tasted like cool, salty spring water. She followed that up with a salt-crusted loup de mer (sea bass), with a side of luscious ratatouille. I had a cuttlefish cassoulet. This turned out to be a plate with a whole grilled cuttlefish, sititng next to a deep pot of cassoulet. The cuttlefish had a wonderful light squid flavor, and it paired nicely with the rich creamy cassoulet. Juan Frere strikes again!

Night had fallen, and Alison was running out of steam, so we headed back to Narbonne for the evening. A two-day trip abroad is always a challenge, even when you are doing nothing but sitting in meetings. When, on the other hand, you are trying to see everything in a 100-mile radius, it becomes exhausting. But we had a great day. And most importantly, I was able to confirm that, after now having visited the bar we purchased without her actually seeing it, she didn’t feel the need to punch me in the face! Still on the same page. One couple, two continents, one mission.