The view from Anne and Sebastian’s guest house of the Massif de l’Étoile leaves me speechless and mesmerized. The color and light changes every few minutes (like when our son Danny and I painted the Grand Canyon). Just to the east stands Garlaban Peak (over 2,000 feet like our Killington Dream Lodge). Can you imagine that in 600 BC Phoenicians founding the City of Marseille used that mountain as their navigation point?
We dined in the garden with our friends at the table under the big fig tree. Their natural Provençal landscape is dotted with the largest rosemary bushes I’ve ever seen, thyme, sage, and three fig trees. The countryside here is mountainous brush land called La Garrigue where plentiful caves and pebbled paths invite the wanderer into its wilderness.
Jean-Paul explained over breakfast today, “Provence’s Garrigue is like the Savannah in Africa. It’s dry and the plants are very strong. They need little water. That’s why they’re so small. Even the pine tree forest is low and windswept like Aleppo (umbrella pines) that grow beside Mediterranean beaches.”
Wisps of colorful clouds at sunset, stars and scattered lights sparkling in darkness make up our magnificent dinner backdrop. They add to the beauty and magic of our view. We’re staying just outside of Marseille, the second largest city in France, in the charming Ville d’Allauch, bordering on Provençal forests. Up on the hillside in the old town where the castle of Allauch once stood, five windmills from centuries ago are lined up in a row. Two still have their sails and turn. One mill functions grinding wheat. How I love painting the windmills that can be seen all over Provence!
The town to our East is Aubagne, famous for its writer, Marcel Pagnol. His charming tales about the region also became films many love. Our favorites are “The Glory of My Father” and “The Château of My Mother.” His childhood memories of holidays with his family climbing into in the mountains of Provence from Marseille where his father taught remind me of the tales of Mark Twain.
We went to Allauch’s market Saturday and purchased a plethora of fruits and vegetables, sweet peaches, Concord “black” grapes, cadmium red tomatoes, luscious ripe melons, zucchini, organic red peppers, heads of lettuce, and the most luscious custard-like mozzarella ever. Then we stopped at Carrefour Supermarket for milk, Comté, Roquefort, delicate Brie, Camembert from Normandy, butter from Brittany, yogurt and sundries. We’re cooking “chez nous” simple meals but Colette made Provençal stuffed tomatoes which were perfectly delectable. We sampled cheeses, a pâté wrapped in tendons, gourmet butter, and bread made with yeast (with hours to rise) that transform its gluten (so I can eat it—i had no idea!) “Pain au levin” is sourdough bread. Yum.
Our hosts, Colette and Jean-Paul’s daughter and son-in-law have joined us when free for aperitifs and meals in their garden above their home. The weather has been perfect but now we’re in for a taste of the Mistral—Provence’s powerful wind from Siberia. The chairs and cushions are blowing across the yard and laundry whipping on the clothesline. We must lock the shutters in place to not bang. The sky is blue after last night’s rain. It ushered in this exciting wind just as the Para Olympics wound up. What an amazing job France did hosting this year’s Olympic Games.
The kindness, warmth, generosity, and guidance these dear friends have shown us since our arrival makes us feel welcomed and warms our hearts. Even strangers have stepped forward to help us with directions and assist with travel challenges. People have been gracious at every turn including our transvestite bus driver who allowed us to wait in our bus for an hour.
This week we’ll explore Marseille, Cassis, the coves and sheer cliffs of the Calanques, the Pont du Gard Roman aqueduct, the university city of Aix-en-Provence, and Les Baux de Provence (a quarry and village carved out of bauxite) with Don and Nina, dear American friends who just arrived. (Don was Duane’s college roommate at UNC 60+ years ago). Next week we’ll head for Nice on the Côte d’Azur near the Italian border. Who knows what surprises will be in store?
Marguerite Jill Dye is an artist and writer who divides her time between Killington and Bradenton, Florida. She loves to hear from her readers at jilldyestudio@aol.com. Please spread the word—her column is online with updates from France for several weeks.
