In The Foothills of The Mediterranean Pyrenees

House For Sale

2010-10-15T13:04:00.000-07:00

Recently renovated traditional 75m2 stone house with a lot of charm and character for sale in the friendly medieval village of Duilhac-sous-Peyrepertuse in the Hautes-Corbières, on the border between the Aude and Pyrénées-Orientales departments.

Privat sale, no agent's fees

Click here for the ad.

The Wild Coast

2009-10-24T03:47:00.000-07:00

Living in Duilhac, not only are you surrounded by landscapes of enormous beauty and great historic sites, you’re well situated to make further discoveries a bit farther afield. Comfortable daytrips include – in France – Toulouse and Carcassonne, Montpellier and the Carmargues, even Nimes. We’re just one to two hours from some of the best ski stations in the Pyrenees, as well as Andorra, and of course the coast isn’t far.

People from the area go to Spain regularly, little more than an hour away. The ex-pats more often than not to catch Ryanair flights from Girona to the UK; the French to buy cheap petrol and to stock up on booze, cigarettes, chorizo, even washing powder and chocolate, in the border towns of Pertuis (where the south side of the main street is in France, and the north side in Spain) and La Jonquera. Unattractive places both. Pertuis for its crammed supermarkets, bootleg perfume shops and greasy cafés. La Jonquera for its KZ-like warehouse structures and dodgy motels and for being a pit stop for truckers working their way up through Europe: roadside prostitution is rife.

Go beyond Jonquera and you’re in Catalonian lands, with the Costa Brava just east of the motorway to Barcelona, and you may be surprised to know that there’s a string of great alternatives to the well-known high-rise hotel world, wall-to-wall traffic, pubs, fish and chips and Full English Breakfasts of the popular charter holiday destination.

Foremost of these, north of the resort stretch, is the Cap de Creus National Park, which covers a total area of 13,886 hectares, making it the largest nature reserve in Catalonia. The Cap de Creus itself is the easternmost point of the Iberian peninsula and legend has it the rocky, dry cape was forged by Hercules. A reminder that the Greeks were here before the Romans: Castelló d’Empúries, on the way to the cape, is the place to go for the Hellenic ruins.

To see for yourself that, as well as being a mad genius, Dalí was a fan of Johnson’s Babypowder go to the Salvador Dalí House-Museum in Port-Lligat, near Cadaqués, but make sure you book before going: only groups of eight at a time are allowed into Dalí’s paradise getaway by the sea, and under strict supervision. Everything stands as he left it, including the talcum bottle on a bathroom shelf.

But best is, of course, the Cap de Creus itself: a big brown claw of rugged cliff, hooked into a splendid azure sea. Getting there is one of the best drives in the region and apart from the natural rewards awaiting you at your remote destination there’s a nice little inexpensive and very unpretentious restaurant by the lighthouse.

Costa Brava, btw, was given its evocative name 101 years ago by the Catalan poet Ferran Agulló and means “the rugged coast” or “the wild coast”.

Pic de Bugarach

2009-10-20T12:53:00.001-07:00

Pic de Bugarach looms large over the Corbières though its presence really has little to do with size: at 1230 meters it is the highest peak in the Hautes Corbières but it is easily dwarfed by the summits of the mountains of the Pyrenean range which serve as the dramatic, layered backdrop to Bugarach. Nowhere offers a better view of the Pyrenees, though, making Bugarach an extremely popular climb for hikers in the region. Truth be told it’s a bit of a trek.

There are to main routes. Via the south side, called ‘voie de la fenêtre’ because you walk through a big archway in the cliff, or via col de Linas on the north side, which is the easier one. Last week we did the col de Linas route and found it be relatively easy though steep the first hour and a half or so. The last couple hundred meters were more of a challenge, especially for those with a touch of vertigo, as the top really is more of a crust than a wide plateau and you do feel a sheer drop at times. Climbing the Bugarach is not recommended on days with strong winds and, unfortunately, the Tramontane was howling when we went up - as you can see from the picture below where Sally (the hoodie) is resisting the gusts while overlooking the valley on the north side.

Now, Sally is looking in the direction of Rennes-le-chateau which some of you will be familiar with and there are indeed more strings to Bugarach’s bow than just the views. It’s got presence, it has personality and temperament. Locals even seem to be on first name with the rock and have endowed it with almost human traits. “When Bugarach has its hat on…” goes one saying, referring to the clouds that regularly lay anchor at the top.

Others ascribe qualities both magical and sinister to the mountain, which, apparently, is a geological oddity in that its top layers (135 million years) are older than bottom ones (75 million). Planes can’t fly over the mountain it is said (though we saw a glider floating overhead when we were there); it is under surveillance by the French army. François Mitterand visited several times as president, flown in by helicopter in the dead of night, as did Jules Verne; apparently Bugarach is where he found the entrance and the inspiration for A Journey to the Centre of the Earth.

One site on Bugarach recommends camping out on la montagne sacrée on a starlit night; from experience it’s guaranteed to be ‘a rich emotional experience’. Mind you, the same person also speaks of ‘strange sounds’ and ‘apparitions’ and reliving his childhood as he was ascending. Bugarach is also said to be important in connection with the events foresaid for 2012 (Nostradamus and Mayan prophesies for galactic alignment and the end of time). And did I mention the intense UFO activity reported around Bugarach? ETs, it seems, are drawn as much to this remote corner of the world as we are.

AN OUTSIDE VIEW

2009-09-26T23:13:00.001-07:00

Our Californian friends Allan and Karen, who visited Duilhac in September as part of a home exchange (we embarked on a roadtrip of the sunshine state), were initially very worried about the mountain road leading up past the Grau de Roi pass from the Roussillon plains - to the extent that they thought of cancelling the trip after Luis had described it to them.

While not freaky - and really quite safe - I can see that it can be worrisome to a first-time visitor but Allan and Karen performed admirably and soon were speeding comfortably up and down the hill to go on day trips in the area.

Mostly though, I think, they stayed at home, enchanted with the place which they praised as 'unspoiled'. Allan said he hadn't slept so well in months! Hmmm...

As both are cat lovers they were also delighted to make new friends, including Borat (whom we all mistakenly called Dora for a while) and an unnamed feline seen here in repose on Allan's lap.

All photos courtesy of Karen Malkson.

Paradise in the Pyrenees

2009-06-22T03:47:00.000-07:00

Luis said early on that Duilhac is beautiful in all weather. It is – but there’s nothing like the summer! We just spent a long weekend chilling out completely, leaving London and everything about it behind. Just savouring the stillness, and time does seem to stand still under the warm June sun. Nothing moves, maybe it simmers but that’s it!

We walked across the Col de Croix to the Cascades one day but also spent time just sipping wine at a table in the passage outside our kitchen, and on our good new friends and neighbour’s terrace, which must be the best in the region. (Thank you!!).

The town’s core of elders (all four of them) are out in force, sitting on a bench on the little square next to our house at sunset, chatting away in lively competition with the birds and the bees while slightly alien-looking tourist couples walk past from time to time, observing the goings on of this small world with anthropological interest. To cater to the visitors’ needs, the restaurants La Batteuse and Auberge de Moulin are open daily, as is the Donjon snack and, our favourite, Maylis’ l’Aouzine: best sandwiches in Duilhac, best atmosphere.

The house has reached unparalleled levels of comfort after the acquisition of a 2.5 metres long and very plush sofa for the top floor (which is now the TV room) and a monumental cupboard for the kitchen. Not only does it look pretty good, it feels like home and domestic bliss was complete with me cooking apricot preserve and making elderflower cordial.

Meanwhile Duilhac is getting ready for this year’s Medieval Festival - Médiévales 2009, Grande Fête Médiévale du Château de Peyrepertuse - which will take place 11-13 August and feature archers, falconers, great, meaty banquets, and an artisan market.

Never a Dull Moment

2009-01-14T05:26:00.000-08:00

The Tramontane is back, moving across the mountaintops with momentous force and chasing erratically through the streets and passages of the village. The air is crystal clear with great views across the valleys towards a mountain called La Serre (which looks like a huge rock wall) and the Mediterranean.

It would be a brilliant day for a brisk walk but Serge the woodman arrived with 2 steres of the stuff last night, tipping it in the dark in the middle of the square, leaving me to move it all up against a wall to avoid trouble. Yes, manually …

Worse, this morning I started taking it up one terrace, to stack it behind the house, log by log more or less. I’ve taken a break now, cooking a soup with the vegetables I’ve got left.

I forgot to mention I had the good luck a chimney sweep knocked on the door yesterday so the fireplace has had its annual clean and looks nice and shiny. Never a dull moment in Duilhac!

Let It Snow …

2009-01-09T04:07:00.000-08:00

Everyone I talk to over the phone from London always ask, in hope, ‘So what’s the weather like down there?’ You know that if you say, sunny and 32°C they’d be on a plane within an hour.

The reality is, of course, that it’s winter in the South of France as well and while we’re predictably having snow and quite a lot of it, so too is the Gard and the Vaucluse, Montpellier and Marseille. Futher up the Riviera it always tends to be milder. Even when it doesn’t snow and when temperatures are above freezing point, even when they’re quite high, it can be bitterly cold. The Rhone Valley, including Avignon, Nimes, Marseille, Aix and other adjoining areas suffer the winds of the Mistral all year round but in the winter they’re painful! High winds lash at you with such bite and shiver that January in Scandinavia is preferable.

In the Pyrenees and Hautes-Corbières we have the Tramontane which the locals say blow in threes: three, six, nine, twelve and so on days. If, by the fourth day, the wind is still howling you brace yourself for a couple more: the continuous noise of the Tramontane is said to have a disturbing effect upon the psyche. In his poem Gastibelza, Victor Hugo has the main character say: ‘Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne me rendra fou..’ (‘the wind which comes across the mountains would drive me mad.’) Hugo’s not quite off the mark, when it’s really strong it is unsettling and though one feels pretty safe in a solid stonehouse things are always flying past the windows!

According to Wikipedia, Tramontane is a classical name for a Northern wind. The Tramontane in France is a strong, dry cold wind from the North or from the Northwest (in lower Languedoc, Roussillon, Catalonia and the Balearic Islands). It is similar to the Mistral in its causes and effects but it follows a different corridor, accelerating as it passes between the Pyrenees and the Massif central, while the Mistral flows down the Rhone Valley between the Alps and the Massif central.

Thankfully the Tramontane is sleeping but I took the pictures for this post this morning, just to illustrate what it’s like to be in a snow cloud! Grey and white at the same time, and very still. On Boxing Day, Duilhac had a big snowfall of heavy, wet snow that brought down trees and power cables, leaving the village without electricity for several days until a set of emergency generators were set up on the squares.

Monty - The Real Story

2008-12-02T03:07:00.000-08:00

While we watched the Chateau Monty series on Channel 4 with keen enthusiasm because it highlighted “home”, because we had bumped into the Laguerres by chance, and because we are genuinely interested – now – in winegrowing, we were somewhat sceptical of the concept, to say the least.

Monty’s efforts and experiences making biodynamic wine in the Pyrenees were clearly dumbed down by a remarkably talentless screen writing crew with no faith in the material at hand. Lyndsey, the Birmingham lass they introduced as Monty’s assistant, is probably a nice enough girl but the whole staged set-up of making her pour wine by the gallon and generally mess things up wasn’t very convincing. Equally ill-judged was the trying to portray his Italian girlfriend Silvana as a high-heeled Milano bitch and forcing her to act disgust and tantrums she clearly didn’t have in her. And the endless repetitions of the premise for the whole thing – Monty is slightly looney and wants to grow wine by the lunar cycle, with cow shit in cow horn potions, he’s staked his whole financial future on it – got to us pretty fast. Oh, and why did they so desperately try to make this region fit every UK cliché about French countryside living? (The reality here is very different. Forget about the chequered tablecloths, expect something sterner but no less charming.)

What a surprise and a pleasure then to get the real story, or a more real version of the truth anyway, in Monty Waldin’s book of the same name, Chateau Monty! It’s brilliantly written: engaging, enlightening and captivating from the outset. A very personal story of a man who finds himself in the Pyrenees, growing wine and making a family, having travelled the world, ranting in defense of his ideas of sustainable and responsible winegrowing: instead of talking about it, he’s finally doing it. Also a great read for those who want to know more about winegrowing in general and biodynamics in particular, and for those of us with an interest in this part of the world.

Now the only problem is we want to taste the wine (apparently it’s sold out) and where to get biodynamic vegetables around here! Or even organic, or even just decent vegetables! Being a vegetarian is a nightmare. Monty grew his own biodynamic vegetables. We do have an allotment so who knows … Check this space.

Kitchen Demolition

2008-12-02T02:48:00.000-08:00

What happened, you may ask, as I did, sobbing in a corner.

A new kitchen was always one of our priorities and while Luis was hesitant – he felt we weren’t quite ready for the undertaking - I went in head first asking local DIY people to remove the old kitchen while we were back in London. There would be no turning back, always the best way to move forward I find.

It had been a dusty job, apparently, and I arrived to find the groundfloor kitchen bombed-out and the rest of the house covered in a layer of dirt, despite our friends’ best effort to do damage control. Looking around me, wondering how the hell we were ever going to get a new kitchen, let alone afford it, was the sobbing moment.

The old, traditional-style kitchen units (actually from the ‘80s and pretty horrid) had come down, and with them the green mosaic tile work top, the huge fake plaster chimney above the hob and the strange little corner shelves for glass displays. Yuk.

The whole thing went on for close to three weeks and it seems I was somehow always working during that time, in the mornings before the helpers came, in the evenings after they’d gone home – and thinking about it all night, hyperventilating and unable to sleep from stress. Boxes and suitcases with kitchenware and foodstuffs took up most of the floorspace in the bathroom (tucking your tummy in to get to the loo is no way to live!) and sittingroom, with me effectively banned to the top floor of the house and the bedroom, though these areas were also used for temporary storage. My diet was bread and cheese though good neighbour Sally kindly asked me round a couple times for real meals …

It’s all behind us now, thank God, and I’ve more or less forgotten the endless travails, set-backs and minor run-ins with the DIY people as we were scrambling our way to some form of result. What we have now is a fantastic open, (relatively, for a cave) light space, with beautiful white plasterboard walls (cleverly put up with an exhaust system behind them to prevent humidity building up) in one half, an enormously long black laquer worktop built on white plinths, with just one set of drawers and a cupboard at one end. The rest is shelves, a traditional country kitchen with a contemporary twist. The other half of the room has been re-rendered with a limestone concoction, leaving the stones on one wall exposed, while Sally and I made a new floor of ragréage – some form of cement mix.

In short, the house has been transformed and you can imagine the deep joy I felt when Luis, who had been slaving away at the BBC, walked through the door and said: "I love it!"

Monty but not Don

2008-08-31T13:04:00.001-07:00

We got it wrong when we first broke the news of an upcoming Channel 4 series featuring the Domaine Laguerre wineyards in the French Pyrenees. The presenter is not Monty Don but Monty Waldin. Very sorry about that.

The first episode of the series airs on Thursday and this is the advance PR:

New Channel 4 Wine Series – Château Monty
Top wine critic and author Monty Waldin is making a new television series for Channel 4 which will be aired later this year. According to Channel 4 Sales who are looking for sponsors for the programme:

“Monty has decided to put his money where his mouth is and pack it all in to make wine bio-dynamically in rural south west France. He has just over a year to achieve his dream to turn a few hectares into top selling organic wine. Once ensconced, his only company will be a donkey, visiting friends from the UK, incredulous local peasantry and occasionally, Monty's high maintenance girlfriend, Silvana who jets in from Italy.”

The series follows Monty in his bid to produce a viable wine within 18 months of renting a vineyard in the Roussillon region of the French Pyrenees. Waldin's wine is made under biodynamic strictures, which include harvesting according to lunar cycles and a reliance on nature to protect and feed the vines.

An official tie-in book, with the same title, will be released to coincide with the series and covers all aspects of the project.

We certainly wouldn't describe Eric Laguerre and his wife as 'peasantry' but then Monty Waldin probably wouldn't either. We'll ignore Channel4's copywriters and look forward to watching starting Thursday.

A Terrace with a View

2008-07-07T15:21:00.001-07:00

Nominally our maison de village does not have any outdoor space, like a garden or a terrace (we're thinking of making one) but behind our house there’s a small strip of land, hidden away between the back of our building and above the roof of another, which is in fact the best, most perfect spot in Duilhac. Take one look at the picture and you will know.

As it is it is pretty basic, with a bit of gravel, some untended ivy and weeds. But we plan to clean it up, put a few pots there and make it even nicer. And as you can see we’ve put a table and some chairs up.

This place has a perfect view of the Chateau de Peyrepertuse and although it is not ours (we suspect it belongs to the commune) it is entirely private and enjoys the full sun all day.

Swimming Closer to Home

2008-07-07T15:07:00.000-07:00

Now, if you just want to refresh yourself with a quick swim – or indeed a dive – there’s actually no need to drive all the way to the coast. Close to Duilhac the river Verdouble runs through a small canyon with pools, little waterfalls, and a dam by a ruin, the Moulin de Ribaute. It’s a 20 minute walk and a five minute drive and it’s so worth it.

When we went local talent was there in force, jumping off the rocks and into the pools. Dangerous stuff, actually, and really stupid. But those unsettling moments apart (another one was a wasp, or possibly a fly, chasing me to the car) we spent a wonderful few hours there. The red A on the map below marks the spot.

Holidaying in the South of France

2008-07-07T14:04:00.000-07:00

Luis probably never loved the house in Duilhac more than when he discovered just how good the area’s Mediterranean beaches are! Duilhac itself being in hilly countryside 40kms from the coast we just haven’t really thought of it in that context but with temperatures in the mid-30’s on our last visit, a trip to the beach was a must. The whole experience of being in the Aude and Pyrénées-Orientales changed from one of a dormant area of calm and unsurpassed natural beauty and a place where history whispers to a classic Southern holiday destination.

Sally had recommended Torreilles-Plage, the least known and least frequented in an area with a stretch of 100s of kms of prime coastline. Getting there from Duilhac took some 40 minutes and after parking the car we got some straw mats from a supermarket in a resort and made our way to a trendy beach restaurant, Ku De Ta, for lunch. A bit of hip in an area that is otherwise remarkably unlike the Riviera, Ku De Ta is named after the famous Bali restaurant and features world cuisine, large pillow arrangement in nooks and corners and a DJ center stage. After a disappointing Gazpacho, Luis had a fish of some description which he extolled while I had a delicious leaf and beansprout salad with chèvre bricks and we’ll definitely be coming back for more.

Luis, being the connaisseur, was happy with Torreilles-Plage which was not too crowded and had a happy blue flag, signifying clean and safe waters. It’s a pretty even stretch of white-grey stony sand, the waters quickly deep and quite choppy. With the Pyrenees visible all around, calmly standing guard overseeing things, it is a beautiful experience. Much better than the Cote d’Azur.

We didn’t make it to Le Bacares or Port Leucate but a few days later found ourselves in Argèles where, again, the beach is a stunner. Unlike Torreilles, which is far less developed, Argèles has a cultivated promenade with palm trees and restaurants overlooking the sea, and behind a row of villas a number of smaller, busy streets reminiscent of Blackpool on a good day.

Our third beach experience was Collioure, a town on the sea south of Perpignan and very close to the Spanish border. Known for its historic past as a heaven for the Fauvists (Derain, Braque, Matisse, Picasso, and Charles Rennie Mackintosh all worked here), Collioure boasts a strong Royal Castle, cobbled medieval streets and two small beaches as bookends to a picturesque port, all set in a Pyrenean pirate bay. A good place to visit, but says Luis, not really ideal for a dip.

Too Good to Write About!

2008-05-24T02:21:00.000-07:00

I was absolutely gutted to leave! Gutted being an expression I’ve never used before but which seems to most aptly describe how I felt going back to London having spent two weeks in Duilhac while Luis was reporting from the Amazonas on responsible development.

We’d both liked Duilhac on previous visits but this time it really got under my skin. Some of the major works to the house had been done, and I had the time to potter about and really move in and make it ours. (It’s really lovely now, warm and welcoming).

Also, there was time for those essential walks: I finally managed to find my way to the very small ‘gorge’ on the river, with the small waterfalls and deep pools perfect for diving, that are one of the attractions of the village. A 20 minute walk, admittedly, but a beautiful and scented one, perfect for picking wild rosemary, thyme and mint, which I did and successfully used for courgette soup and goat’s cheese and onion tarts.

In a moment of mad impulse my old friend Henry and I started ascending the rock that carries the Peyrepertuse castle (800 meters above sea level) along the old chemin; a narrow, steep, steep path of rolling stones and thorny bushes. A stunning climb, definitely worth it, but rather longer than I had thought. Half-way up there, looking down at the rooftops of Duilhac and up at the towers of Peyrepertuse I did feel momentary regret. Henry is 89, after all, he was wearing sandals, one foot is stiff and not great for finding your balance. Oh, and he was checking his pulse all the time which made me rather nervous.

But we did it (took about 3 hours) and it was well worth it! The views up there are stunning and the sounds of the winds mesmerising.

One day new friend Sally took both of us in her car to the other side of the rock where the ruins of an abandoned village, Paza, can be found hidden among the trees, the old stones covered in moss. One spot boasts an impressive-looking column and Sally thinks old M. Robert in Duilhac had at one point mentioned that there was once a cathedral there. Seems unlikely, but that column did carry a pretty powerful message in a very unexpected location.

Sally and M. Robert are the latest couple of friends we have made in Duilhac. New to the list that already includes the very likeable, generous and entirely trustworthy real estate agent Françoise Cappoen and her husband Thierry, the mad German builder Harry, Maylis the herbalist and snack bar owner who even makes delicious vegetarian sandwiches, and her sister-in-law the mosaic artist Cècile. There are lots more.

Part of what’s been so incredible about getting to know Duilhac has been getting to know its people, and part of the reason for the silence on this blog is it's all too good to write about.

The Centre of the Universe

2008-03-30T05:38:00.000-07:00

Once I'm finished with my dawn shifts (which start tonight and will become a little harder with the Summer Time change, meaning I will leave the office to go to bed in plain daylight) we should be on our way back to Duilhac.

We'll be taking the usual transport, the train, but trying a new route (which we believe will become the definitive route): St.Pancras via Paris Nord (which instead of changing at Lille will involve swapping station rather than platforms, but shouldn't be too bad) and finally Perpignan... ...or should I say the centre of the universe?

Looking at the above video, or even the inside of the station, it takes some imagination to believe it (although at 31st, in the list of biggest French cities, I think Perpignan is just the right size)

But imagination is something that abounded in the source of the pronouncement - Salvador Dali.

Dali declared the city's railway station the centre of the Universe, saying that he always got his best ideas sitting in the waiting room. In fact, today, above the station sits a monument in Dali's honour, and across the surface of one of the platforms is painted, in big letters, "Perpignan, centre du monde".

This is it:

I've also just learnt from wikipedia that apparently Dali followed his pronouncement some years later "by declaring that the Iberian Peninsula rotated precisely at Perpignan station 132 million years ago".

So, it looks like, at least I, have come full circle...!

Anyway, we're pretty excited with this trip. How excited exactly we're not quite sure as we'll be seeing for the first time the result of the works that have been going on in our absence.

Mr Portal has duly installed the new front doors and Harry has finished repointing the walls, bringing out the old stone on the facade and giving the house a whole new coat of paint. Hopefully not yellow, which is the word we wanted nothing to do with, but the word, Alexander says, he heard Harry mention more often...

Surely (hopefully?...) he was just pulling our leg...!

And on the way back to London we also trying something else: getting the night train from Perpignan to Paris, where we should arrive early Sunday morning, giving us a full day of treats in the capital, if not of the universe at least of Europe!

Le Ciste

2008-03-01T14:23:00.000-08:00

Wine is one of many good reasons for falling in love with France and we both certainly like our fermented grapes a great deal. I particularly like white wine, and I like them bone dry and full of minerals - read Sauvignon Blanc wines from the Loire - or in the form of profound Burgundy Chardonnays like Pouilly-Fuisse or Pouilly-Vinzelles.

Neither the Corbières nor the Roussillon plain whites fit those bills, except on a househunting trip we'd stayed at a place called Relais de Montsèret which had a very decent selection of local wines. Thierry, the owner, recommended a bottle called Le Ciste, produced by Domaine Laguerre pretty high up in the Pyrenean plains. It was rich, it had character, minerals and citrus. We loved it! So much so that I wrote down the name and year. (And lost the note shortly afterwards, but that only says something about me).

By the time we found ourselves halfway settled in Duilhac the need for a drink became pressing and we initially contended ourselves with some Sancerre from the supermarket but on our last day there, before going to Cannes (long story!), on a whim we went to the nearby village of St. Paul de Fenouillet. By chance we parked the car in front of the local tourist office which hadn't seen a visitor in quite some time. After a five minute wait the sleepy-looking local representative grudgingly showed her face and booted the PC to give us internet access. While Luis was checking his mail it suddenly hit me: the wine we had had at Relais de Montsèret was from St. Paul! I asked the lady if she knew of a wine that was unusually dry (and sophisticated) for this region. She rattled off a few names but none rang a bell. I found Relais de Montsèret on the internet, called them up, explained my predicament and the waiter read their wine list to me.

Le Ciste! Got it!

"Ah," said Madame. "Domaine Laguerre. But that is in St Martin de Fenouillet, not St Paul de Fenouillet." She assured us it wasn't far, 10 kms, and half-heartedly offered to call up the domaine to see if they were open and would sell us some wine. "For some reason they insist on your wine," we heard her spit into the receiver. Domaine Laguerre was not open for sales per se - but if we went there immediately Madame Laguerre would meet us in the square, by the Mairie.

Luis stepped on it, for about half a mile. After that the road narrowed considerably and it was uphill from thereon, literally speaking and in every other way. We hadn't really realised what we'd let ourselves in for.

By the time we finally made it to St Martin the sun was setting and we drove into the little square as the school bus was dropping off two kids, probably 10 % of the total population. There was an old lady there, with flaming red hair (dyed) and I approached her and asked if she was Madame Laguerre? "No, no, that is my daughter-in-law, you are the gentlemen who called about the wine, I will take you there." Laguerre Mère was absolutely delightful. She spoke with a thick Catalan accent and proudly told us how her son Eric was the wine grower and how her late husband had cultivated these plains before him, and his father before him.

It was great!

She tried to take us into the house through a gate and a courtyard but couldn't find the key. Madame Laguerre, on the other side couldn't find it either but a squirrelly cat darted under and around while the two ladies were shouting at each other. We walked around the building and were pleased to meet the petite and very beautiful Mrs. Laguerre who apologised for all the commotion and who was now trying to find the key for the actual cave.

No luck.

Her husband had it and he was somewhere among the vines. "Do you mind? Do you have time, I will go and get it, you're welcome to come with me and see the parcels?!" Luis didn't hesistate to accept. I wasn't so sure but got in and we started bumping our way further up, doing a perilous dance around the pot holes in a bucket of a car that took us straight to a Catalan Arcadia.

500 meters above sea level, the Laguerre parcel is on a south and south-east facing plain directly in front of the Mont Canigou, the Pyrenees' biggest mountain, and with a view on the other side all the way across the Roussillon plain to Queribus, our own neighbouring Cathar castle. You can imagine it. The dusk, the cold fresh air, the mountains' swathes of shadow in contrast to the snowcapped tops. Just wonderful. Wonderful. And the silence. It was almost religious.

Eric seemed nice. He got out the key but didn't say much and we headed back down to St Martin, with Mrs. Laguerre stopping just once to show us a small parcel and a little cabanon which will apparently be the setting for a Monty Don tv-series for Channel 4 this year. Don, who is an old friend of the family, will relocate to this little piece of heaven and live here for a year, making his own wine, with the cameras documenting it all. Le Ciste is about to become very famous, in the UK at least.

We got our wine, 12 bottles of the white - plus one red compliments of the house - but really had to head back home, in spite of really wanting to take up the Laguerre's offer of a drink and a chat: Laguerre Mère was cooking in the spacious kitchen, Eric had just come home and all were insisting in the warmest possible way. But I was the party poop and explained we had to go and we did, but knowing full well that we'll be back and that we'll be recommending this wine - and these nice, nice people - to anyone willing to listen!

Check your local market for Domaine Laguerre's Le Ciste - in the UK you can get it from wineseller Booths among others for a mere £10 a bottle. And if you're ever in the region ... You really mustn't miss it.

One Big Family

2008-03-01T13:32:00.000-08:00

There's just never any way of knowing and we were apprehensive about settling into Duilhac, even as holiday home owners. What we'd fallen in love with was the region more than anything: the house and the location of the village. Duilhac itself is miniscule but we still had little sense of the place when we went to take over the house in January, having really only spent 15 minutes there on the one occasion we viewed the house. And that day the place seemed pretty dead.

It does strike one as ghost town on a first viewing but we were pleased to learn that it isn't. Though the shutters are, well, shut in most houses, most dwellings are actually lived-in and we met the first Duilhacoise - or whatever the term is - already when unloading the van. Luis chatted her up, or rather she accosted him. I gather she lives in the house just across from us, behind scaly blue shutters, and looks like a dear, withered old thing who's never travelled far from the square. She was curious and friendly, and told Luis the woman who had lived in our house had been like a daughter to her. Complicated already? It gets worse - or better, depending on how you view it.

By arrangement with the estate agent, I went to get the keys from the other neighbour. He wasn't in but had left a note on the door saying he'd gone to the "snack". That could only be one place and I did indeed find M. Robert in the local restaurant, having his lunch, but he happily pushed the plate aside to go back to his house and get the key. He's blind but had no problems finding his way, retracing a route he takes daily by the look of it. He was also family and related how, when he was a child, our house had been a barn and how it was only later converted into a home for his late sister, the mother of the man we bought the house from.

On our second day in Duilhac, Serge popped in. "I ran into Harry the builder, he said you're looking to buy some wood?". (Harry was recommended to us by the estate agent and he is currently busy fixing the exterior walls). Serge, a mountain of a man, returned that evening with 3 steres of wood on the load of his little pick-up truck - and when we didn't know where to store it offered to keep it at his place, on the other side of the square, but eventually unloaded it next to our house after having asked permission from the mayor who was returning home from work. Somebody else had described the town chief as "ambitious" earlier, and from my visit to the Mairie that same morning his achievements were much in evidence: apart from calling the EDF and France Telecom for me and setting up those accounts, the two secretaries also gave me a little booklet outlining the renovation and building projects that are unfolding all around, heavily funded by the EU.

While unloading the wood, Serge gave us the low-down on the local foreigners: an english woman, whom I gather is a bird watcher and film producer, "super type", and Kevin and David, "who live together - super types". They've got two more to talk about now ;-)

Later that week came Maylis, who had kindly given the house a good clean before we got there. A beautiful - and I suspect strong-willed and rather sophisticated - young woman who has a snack in the summer on the road up to the castle, and whose "partenaire" is a builder currently working on their future house. They also have a couple of kids and a cat or two, and Maylis has proved a right pearl, letting France Telecom and builder and the postman in while we're in the UK.

What I am getting at is that we feel we've been very lucky with Duilhac. We're probably going to bump into a few villains when we get to spend more time there, but this far we've been so well received that we're really astounded. There are more stories than I can tell here now, of locals voluntering to help, or suggesting someone else who can, and we would not have achieved all we did that week without kind people bailing us out. We were bid welcome endlessly with assurances that Duilhac is a good place to be in the world, where people look out for each other, and that first week it certainly felt like it.

Pétanque for Journalists

2008-02-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

We were looking at the events schedule for Duilhac and nearby towns for the next few months, when to our surprise we discovered the perfect do for the newcomer:

Les Championnats Pétanque des Journalistes, i.e. Pétanque for journalists!!! Ok, it's in Paziols, about 15-20 minutes away, but an opportunity to meet fellow professionals and learn some about this very French affair (and for sure, to come last in the competition).

Why on Earth though did they choose journalists and not kitchen ladies or plumbers or even estate agents?

Well, I guess we might soon find out. The dates are 27-28 May BTW. Time to start practicing ...

Maison de Maitre or Maison de Village, Dead Cement & Dead Dreams

2008-02-06T14:35:00.000-08:00

I've just watched an episode of Grand Designs on Channel 4 - about a couple who wanted to design and project manage the creation of their dream house, a Gothic pastiche. Obviously, they ran into all kinds of problems, blew the budget by 75 % and ended up with an absolute monstrosity (but one that they loved) and the whole thing rang all kinds of cords with yours truly, based on our experiences taking over the house in Duilhac.

We went down on 19 January, taking the Eurostar to Lille and then the TGV down to the South of France. Let it be said right away: we'll be doing that again! Travelling by train makes such a difference to taking the plane and we arrived relaxed and ready to take on the challenges of moving in.

I probably spent quite a lot of the time planning the new kitchen, dreaming up new details and weighing the pros and cons: should we go for travertin or Jerusalem stone for the floor? Would it be worth it to knock down one of the plaster walls straight away? I had been researching on the internet for weeks prior to this trip and even thought it feasible that I could break the old tiles off the floor and knock down the kitchen in a couple of days, in preparation for the arrival of the purchased stone slabs (opus romain pattern, i imagined) and the kitchen elements.

Right!

On walking through the doors I had to instantly reassess and forget all about fitting a dining table and two sofas in the kitchen/dining area of the ground floor. Somehow, in my mind, the house had grown from a maison de village to maison de maitre. (And let it be said right away, all this was my folly. Luis, grounded, had never really indulged or been part of these fantasies).

Walking up the stairs to the first floor I realised why, at the back of my mind, I had written that first floor room off entirely originally - before dreaming it up as a dining hall with a rectangular 2m 40 solid oak dining table and a modernist chandelier. The room is a little square and essentially serves as the passage way to the bedroom - and to the mezzanine upstairs.

Still, thus far, it was all a question of size really and we weren't too disappointed. After all, the house was cute and it was ours. We could still get a new kitchen with floors luxe et voluptu, sounding of medieval times and modernity all at once (for a mere £3000 or thereabouts).

Besides, those first few hours were all about unloading the van, getting all the boxes in and the few pieces of furniture we had with us. That being done, we went round to the local "snack" which was - surprisingly - open and which could serve two vegetarians a tomato tartine and a galette fromage chevre while the driver dug into a bloody duck's breast. With the fire crackling it all seemed alright. Back at the house we got the bedroom ready and passed out.

The following morning the ramoneur knocked on the door at 8.30 to clean the chimney. The first of many scenes that were like out of a book or a film. The man - Catalan, small, round and swarthy and with a pencil thin moustache - sported a beret and was accompanied by small dirty but very sweet and eager-to-please boy. Having done the job, smoking a cigarette with his black face up the chimney, he was curious to know if we needed other work done. He was, after all, not just a chimney sweeper but also a mason, plumber and electrician and knew a whole team of builders who would be called upon at any time. I explained to him about basically knocking down the kitchen and getting a new floor and he assured me he was man for all of that.

Meanwhile, Harry arrived, on the recommendation of the agent who sold us the house. Harry speaks French with a bit of an accent but it took me a while to figure out he's German. He's a biker with wild eyes, a bushy beard and a lean, wiry frame. Mad and intense (he was keen to get talks over with quickly so he could head into the mountains "for concentration!!") but really seems to know what he's talking about. Apparently the exterior walls are crumbling. Dead cement. Instead of bringing out the old stones, as I had dreamt of us doing one day, he suggested we drill out the bad cement, replace it with new, and coat the whole house with a water proof membrane and a nice coat of paint.

So no new kitchen, no exposed stone, no floor slabs from the Holy Land. In a case of dead cement killing all too vivid dreams we - even I - have realised it will make sense to do as he recommends and have more or less given him the go-ahead to do what must be done.

To be continued.

Roll Up Your Sleeves

2007-11-17T09:46:00.001-08:00

The house in Duilac is, seemingly, in a very good condition. The agent described it as 'habitable', and it probably is.

Still, we have a wish list, starting with a new coat of paint all around, a stove for the 2nd floor room, new shutters for the downstairs doors, a spectacular skylight and, eventually, a new bathroom. There's also the question of bringing out the old stones of the facade, which were covered with a depressing layer of grey cement at a time when that was a sign of affluence.

Mme Cappoen, the agent, is currently busy getting offers in from local builders. Realistically, we won't be able to do everything at once - the bathroom and the facade are almost certain no-nos - but it would be really useful if, for instance, the rooms were a fresh, happy white when we arrive with a van full of furniture in January.

It all seems rather fantastical, what with the house being so far away physically, and with us having only seen it once, several months ago. But it will happen, and we'd better be prepared.

Meanwhile, it looks like we'll be moving habitat in London too.

Help!

Pop the Corks!

2007-10-31T15:07:00.000-07:00

The postman rang twice today: once with the compromis de vente papers, fully signed and witnessed, and once with the final loan offer from the bank. In other words, it's a done deal!

Well, the bureaucracy will grind on for another couple of months before we actually get keys and access to the property, but come January we'll be moving all our stuff and start having builders round to give quotes on the few improvements we would like to do to the place.

Cheers!

A Walker's Paradise

2007-10-27T14:39:00.000-07:00

Idyllic scenery, mountain refuges, countless routes for countless walks, rivers and streams, gorges and waterfalls, high peaks and ridges are definitely not in shortage in this part of the world.

Impressive mountains and peaceful valleys, bathed in sunshine for the most part of the year, and all within manageable driving distance from the sea.

The variety of the landscape here is perhaps one of its main attractions. There is a great deal of detail to catch the attention even of the most distracted eye and plenty of variety for those with low-boredom thresholds.

This dramatic mountain range, with its glorious plateaus, beautiful vineyards, some built on steep and terraced slopes, which from early October, late harvest time, begin to transform themselves into fields of sun-blemished oranges and copper red.
Very often at this time of the year, even before you enter a village or a town, your lungs are swept away by the strong aroma of crushed and fermenting wine. Not for the faint-hearted!

The fermenting must have been in full swing by the time we visited the wonderful village of Tautavel, in bordering Pyrenees-Orientales, with its own river, natural pools, rich history and Rugby team (which, as one can soon find out, is not saying too much, since every place of call seems to boast an award-winning team from the present, past or very distant past!)

From the really very distant past comes the Man of Tautavel, found in The Caune of Arago, a cave perched in the mountains nearby, by Professor Henry de Lumley and his team. Today the cave is one of the world's biggest prehistoric sites and in 1992 Tautavel opened its own European Prehistoric Centre, a museum dedicated to all things prehistoric.

As one would expect from what is available on a Frenchman's table, the French are also keen hunters. You will see them preying in every corner of these mountains (don't worry, they will stand out with their bright orange fluorescent jackets). It can be quite a spectacle.

If you're driving and in Tautavel, take the D9 to Vingrau and then take a left on the D12 to Tuchan. That stretch of the D12 is pretty spectacular and often swarming with hunters in full gear.

Should driving not feature in your stay's wish list, do not worry: this country is walker's paradise (read Matthew Parris's testimony in The Times here). The links to the right offer some good suggestions too, but the options are infinite and you're the driver... or the walker!

Property Porn

2007-10-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

I came across an article in the Times today saying how miserable French people feel about (mainly) the ubiquitous Brits (but also the Dutch...and what is there to dislike about them??) that pour off Ryanair jets on a daily basis, carrying brochures under their arms on a proprietorial bounce, pushing prices up and far away from the means of the average French country folk. The resentment this is allegedly creating is not healthy, the article suggests, especially since Britons now own about 200,000 properties in France and that house prices have gone up 120 per cent in the last ten years as a result. The rush to the French countryside is apparently unstoppable and, if all goes according to plan, we will soon be surfing on the same wave.

With sheep bells ringing and panicking at the prospect of being labelled as products of "property porn" and guillotined as shameful "exploiteurs" I feel we need to suppress some doubts...

- There are still dozens of ruined properties everywhere in the region up for grabs, unwanted by French and Brits alike, and perhaps even sheep! May I add that before we found Duilhac, a "worthy" old man, in a tiny god-forsaken village, showed "greedy" us a tumbledown shack (previously his pigsty - he lived in the big maison de village next door), unwanted even by his own sheep, had no qualms asking 60,000 euros for it and - when he saw the look on our faces - went on to offer us an instant 15,000 discount ...

- The locals we have met so far (ok, I agree that most have been estate agents...) have not been anything but welcoming, proud that we share their love of the region and eager to see people, especially younger people moving in.

- As for Ryanair jets constantly pouring off aspirational metropolitan types, I totally share the dislike. No one should be subjected to the experience. On our last journey Perpignan-London, the pilot couldn't even land at Perpignan airport due to the bad weather conditions: a light breeze, which you would have thought Ryanair pilots would have got used to by now, flying on a regular basis to the Roussillon plain, and a breeze that didn't seem to bother the Air France planes that kept landing and taking off from the same runway! Just to let you know what happened, we had to queue for hours for a coach to take us to Barcelona, in Spain, where our plane had been diverted too.

This latest experience was not all bad: it showed us that flying Ryanair from London and other locations (if you're strong enough to survive the great unwashed) is not limited to Perpignan, but it is also possible to get there within an hour via Carcassonne and Girona (in Spain), and for a little longer via Montpellier and Nimes. For those with life-threatening allergies to Ryanair, BA flies to Montpellier and Barcelona; and, best of all, if you buy in advance, it will cost you very little money (and since you will be labelled a bad boy anyway for trying to find a little bliss away from the grim and grime of the city, why not unashamedly celebrate your bulging carbon footprint! In any case, the latest is that obesity appears to be a lot worse than climate change, so stay thin and keep travelling);

Our eyes were opened, though, to something a lot more exciting (The Man in Seat 61 knows all about it, have a look) - the wonders of train travelling. The advantages are great: cheap (no airport train link-fares), comfortable (no check-in and security hassle), easy, possible to work on, a lot more enjoyable in many ways plus the additional bonus of being able to carry a lot more luggage than what is allowed on planes these days, especially Ryanair, where you also pay for what you carry and where the only thing one seems to be able to take is a toothbrush but not too sharp in case it's regarded as a terror weapon....

Most importantly, though, is that living where we do - in the north section of Bloomsbury - we are only a few steps away from the new Eurostar hub - St.Pancras - meaning we can step on the train whenever we feel like it and just worry about car hire when we get to Perpignan station. AND the new TGV link to Barcelona via Perpignan should be completed in 2009 cutting those travelling times short again!

...the "timeless embrace" of the new iconic figure at St Pancras (The Meeting Place, by Paul Day, which you can see in the picture) brings us to the last point: not safety (or the sense of it, even though that's pretty much why we prefer it...), but the old romance and glamour of train-travelling of bygone days...

Herr...romance aside, we just can't wait to see our property porn dream come true!

The Call of Nature

2007-10-21T10:38:00.000-07:00

The first time we set eyes on Chateau de Durfort we just knew we would be coming back to this corner of France.

At the time - about a year and a half ago - we were heading to Lairiere, a tiny hamlet on the top of a hill, with only a few houses and a little bergerie, selling goat delicacies - most important of all the renowned 'fromage de chevre' - practically the only thing available on the shelves. In fact, food and drink-wise, cheese and wine are aplenty - and by wine we mean a lot more than just the 'blanquette de Limoux' (allegedly the first sparkling white wine, dating back to the mid 15 hundreds)- with the Languedoc region being the largest wine-producing region in the world. (Wine buffs may want to check the wine doctor's view on the Languedoc - apparently "an independent opinion on wine")

This abundance of booze (and BTW, I must add that, yes this France, but it's not exactly 'wine and dine country'; 'wine' yes, 'dine' no, especially if you are a vegetarian or just simply squeamish - so, if you are in the area, come prepared with some decent provisions, and remember the French do really close everything down on Sundays and you might find hard to come to grips with the business hours for the remainder of the week) I guess may be why Alexander so often needs me to pull the car over to the side of the road to go water the buddleias...

However, had it not been for Alexander's need to obey a sudden call of nature we would have probably missed the amazing sight hidden behind the tangle of overgrown branches from century-old trees that, up to today, cover almost entirely the ruined castle. After witnessing centuries of wars between France and Spain and clashes between crusaders and cathars, Durfort was eventually abandoned in the 18th century and has remained so since.

Today the castle is set in extensive private grounds and permission is required to gain access to the ruins. However, after centuries of neglect, the structure is not sound and a visit could prove a little bit tricky... but I am sure, unforgettable! There are many other spectacular castles in the region, many of which either restored or at least open to the public; all alluring and unique in their special way - but Durfort will always be surrounded by a magical aura.

In Lairiere we took a look around an old converted barn, with unbeatable views over the Corbieres mountains and valleys (have a look below). The barn had been built against the mountain and had exposed rock on the inside walls. The setting was exceptional, but, unluckily the purported 'house' was only a shell.

Shrouded in Fog and Mystery

2007-10-20T14:08:00.001-07:00

A photograph Luis took last year, when we first came househunting in the region, in the hills above Alet-les-Bains. Legend has it Nostradamus hails from Alet, certainly his grandparents did and it was here they converted to Christianity. Apparently, there are also references to Alet in Nostradamus' rhymed quatrains, for those who can interpret them.

It is, as you can see, a magical place, and we were not the only ones admiring the view that morning. (Click to enlarge for a better view of our little friend).

What we really came to see was a chapel in a hamlet called Saint Salvayre which is connected with the Rennes-le-Chateau mysteries. A few houses on the top of a hill, lots of barking dogs and chicken running about - but no sign of humans, except for a parked car and smoke bellowing from a chimney. Slightly eerie, actually.

The chapel itself? It's the building behind the red car, in the picture below, with the two green cypresses in front. Effectively, a room the size of most people's sittingroom. Austere, poor, no longer in use but, allegedly, endowed with mysterious, powerful forces. Christopher Dawes has written evocatively about his experience there in the book Rat Scabies And The Holy Grail.

Where did you say?

2007-10-17T15:14:00.001-07:00

Nobody we know, except John, knows where Duilhac is, and no wonder: according to the 1999 census, Duilhac had 104 inhabitants.

Technically speaking it's in the Hautes-Corbières, i.e. the foothills of the French Pyrenees, some 60 kms from the border with Spain as the crow flies.

French Wikipedia states that it's a village in the Aude département in the Languedoc-Roussillon region, and as you can see from the map it's 44 kms from Perpignan, 63 kms from Narbonne and 74 kms from Carcassonne. Ryanair fly to all of these airports, which is useful.

It's also 160 kms from Girona Airport (Costa Brava/Barcelona), across the Spanish border, which is also serviced by Ryanair, BA and others.

Alternatively, the train from Paris takes a little under 5 hours.

The total surface area of the commune is 21,09 km2, the population density is 4 inhabitants per km2, and it is situated 400 meters above sea level, the actual village clinging to the slope of a precipice crowned by France's biggest Cathar castle ruin, Peyrepertuse.

Maison de village

2007-10-16T16:52:00.000-07:00

Finding and putting in an offer on the house in Duilhac has been a long process that has taken us all around the Gard, Vaucluse, Hérault, Aude and Pyrénees-Orientales departments of France, as well as the Alentejo and Algarve regions of Portugal. We've searched high and low, looked at studios and flats, cabanons and ruins, and finally village houses - some more habitable than others. At one point, we even considered building a house (madness!) in what began to seem like an increasingly desperate hunt for a (secondary, but real) home.

Two weeks ago we made one more weekend trip to Perpignan, flying Ryanair from Stansted, and after seeing about 10 properties, and having given up hope altogether, we finally visited the house in Duilhac, Monday morning before returning to London. Amazingly, we both agreed instantly on the house and the location. On top, it was the cheapest thing we'd seen, which made it all the more incredible.

Back in London, having slept on it, we called the - this far, very likeable and capable - agent, Françoise Cappoen, and put in the offer. She got down to dealing with the bureaucracy and on Monday, the owner - a monsieur Perez - signed the 'compromis de vente' at the notaire's office in Sigean.

We should receive the documents sometime this week, and after we've signed them and sent them back, again, it's all up to the bank. Fingers crossed!

More to follow on the region, the village, and on the house.