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Lettres d'Uzès #46: Another bloody week in paradise

6/8/2014

9 Comments

 
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We arrived back in France on Samedi Noir, the first Saturday of August, when most of the population of northern France is heading south at high speed and, in the case of those from the capital, combining high speed with Parisian arrogance. Inevitably, the A9 was one vast bouchon, so Terri avoided the autoroute and took us through the centre of Nîmes and the garrigues, a journey which allowed her to display her skills at the wheel and the manoeuvrability of her Renault Clio.

We had left Leamington at 4.30 in the morning, made it through security at Luton by 6, took off at 6.30, and landed at 9. By 10.30 we were home, by 11 we were in the Bar du Marché for an apéro, and by 12.30 eating our first meal in Le Terr’In, where chef-patron Axel Bachelard has opened his own restaurant just 100 metres from our house, taking over the premises in which Cyrille ran, successfully as we thought, 30 Degrees Sud.

That was just four days ago as I write, and I can still taste the tenderness of the canette, the earthiness of the truffes blanc and the subtly citrus-dressed haricots verts that Axel served. It may not have been as refined in terms of presentation as his menu at Comptoir du 7, but it was delicious and, with a demi of the local rouge, it was the perfect welcome home meal.

We had been in the UK primarily for the grandchildren. Jill got to visit Dexi. I got to visit Maxi and Asher. And we both got to see the latest addition to the family, little Tiger.

But it is, nevertheless, good to be back in France and especially good to be back in St Quentin la Poterie. With the exception of the opening of Le Terr’In, which will receive another visit from us imminently, and an increase in the frequency of sub-tropical storms in late afternoon, nothing has changed.

Our old friends can still be found at their usual tables at their usual time. Our new friends are totally sympa and en accord with the rest of us, who are united by our love of France and la vie Français. The râleurs and flâneurs I have mentioned before are still evident. The fête votive in Uzès survived the storms with only a few cancellations of concerts, and the bulls charged down the boulevards with their usual insouciance, pursued and corralled by Camarguaise horsemen and women who had done it before milles fois. The fête in St Quentin is a couple of weeks away, and the Foire aux Vins takes place this weekend. I have seen the winners of the best wines and am delighted to see that our facture, Serge, has won a silver for his Cevennes red. On Sunday morning, as last year and the year before, I will be at the œnological tasting on the Esplanade, nose in glass and notebook in hand.

I am conscious that this is an idyll which must come to an end at some point this fall but not, I hope, before we have had the chance to contribute to the 2014 vendange for Amy and Matt.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

P.S. Richard and Janet, this one is for you. Great to meet you.

Today from the everysmith vaults: Robert Hunter, the Dead lyricist who worked so well with Jerry, has recently allowed a number of his recent shows to be posted on the archive. I have downloaded several and am very much enjoying these totally different versions of great songs.

9 Comments
Ellie
6/8/2014 08:03:05 am

I'm enjoying your to-ing and fro-ing between the two countries, with a new perspective on each lifestyle every time. Enjoyed this one especially. Thanks.

Reply
Allan
6/8/2014 08:37:13 am

Now you are fully immersed once again, may we have some insights into the political situation? From here, it would appear that Hollande has screwed things up for France and for European socialism in general. What is le mot sur la rue?

Reply
DavidH
6/8/2014 08:48:51 am

NO! More about this idyllic lifestyle so we can experience it vicariously. And congratulations on the grandchildren.

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Rick Hough
6/8/2014 12:06:19 pm

I really enjoyed reading this because, among other features, the simultaneous conveyance of deep contentment and buoyant vibrancy is no mean feat. Nicely rendered,, Monsieur Smith.

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JohnD
6/8/2014 01:16:57 pm

Is that the village? Looks as good as you say, but in this case a picture is not worth a thousand words of your despatches. Cheers.

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Graham
7/8/2014 02:12:13 am

I think only you could make an interesting read out of a travel itinerary and the observation that nothing has changed. Can't wait to read your blog when something actually happens!

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Nick
7/8/2014 07:17:30 am

I am getting some of the the Racine parallels - the food, the drink, the company, the climate. I am not getting the rest - the gossip, the politics, the backstabbing. Is this, as you said elsewhere, because you are outside the life and unaware of the machinations at the Mairie, or because you choose not to repeat them? If it's the latter, will you change your mind because small town politics are always fun and fascinating.

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CJ
7/8/2014 07:21:15 am

I find Hunter in performance a little over-dramatic. He can write and play, but his voice is pretty ordinary and he makes up for it with these silly vocal tricks and too much shouting. Bet you don't listen to these shows a second time.

Reply
Jamie
8/8/2014 01:37:39 am

Surely an idyll is finite by definition. If it did not have an end in sight, it would merely be routine.

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    Max Smith

    European writer, radical, restaurateur and Red Sox fan. 70-something husband, father, step-father, grandfather and son. Resident in Leamington Spa, England.

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