The voyage into the mountains commenced as a four-lane highway. Incrementally after every 20 minutes or so, the road would narrow. So, after a while the road narrowed to a two way highway, next, small roads, which then in turn, quickly diminished into narrow lanes. This is where we paused for the garage sale.
We continued on our way, and incredibly, the roads became even more narrow! At one stage of the journey, Marthe was having an earnest conversation on the phone as she was driving. Now, the road began to climb in an ever-upward spiralling wave. As we gained altitude my ears popped. Still we wound our way upward, at times navigating areas where water clearly rushes down the slopes, perhaps next Spring. It was about now that my nerves turned into giggles. I was staring down deep ravines, that would make a mountain climber "swoon". Marthe enquired if I had vertigo. I quickly denied. I didn't want her to know that in my heart I was quite nervous. Anyway, I trusted her implicitly. At times, we encountered tiny hamlets of the most adorable ancient stone houses.
Until at last, like an eagle alighting upon the nest, we arrived at a small enclave of buildings. Marthe parked the little chariot in one skilful manoeuvre. I paused, took a deep breathe, and audibly sighed.
Like a puppy I followed Marthe to their mountain retreat. Hervé greeted us and whilst Marthe and Hervé had a tête à tête, I tried to absorb the scene around me.
I walked out to the balcony to be hit by a vista that belongs to the birds.
Voilà!!!
Hervé pointed out that the very steep, wooded escarpment on the left of the photo above, is where he gathers wood. A most exhausting and time consuming pastime. He carries a whistle to make a noise to scare away wolves and such like as well as warning hunters that he is human.
Some of the roof tiles are original and some are new. The newer ones are of more inferior quality.
O.M.G!
Stunning view.
This is a "selfie" as I am filled with glee that I am so lucky to be here.
With camera in hand, I turned around and Hervé and Marthe were framed beautifully in the doorway. I asked if they would mind if I took their photo .... Hervé grabbed Marthe to mock a dancing pose.
We all were starving. Hervé prepared some lamb chops that he had bought a day earlier. I'm sure that you appreciate that there are NO local shops!
M-m-m-m-m-m. Herbs and spices.
Lots and lots of bread. We won't starve.
I could resist becoming "snap- happy" with the camera.
The home-made jam and the old-fashioned kettles tickled my fancy. How rustic!
Oh my goodness. A bookcase groaning with fond memories. A collectors' treasure cove. Hervé spent a fair time offering and giving me very special books to browse, read and entertain.
On the left is a pure leather bicycle pannier. In the middle an authentic french, felt blue beret.
Hervé has objets d'arts that he has brought back after living in Pakistan for 6 years. ( That's where he learnt to speak English!!!!)
A beautiful day bed.
I love the audacity of this picture.
A double birdcage hangs high from the ceiling beams.
The front entrance. Enchanting!
We were all starving. Hervé opened a bottle of rich, red wine. I think that the wine was quite special. i think it had been in storage for quite some time.
OOOOOOHHHHH. Yum. Salty, spicy sausage to serve as an appetiser. Washed down with heavenly wine.
Whilst we were doing the whole appetiser thing, a neighbour dropped by. Lots of animated conversation and laughter. Apparently, she had brought some desserts that were left over from a lunchtime family birthday celebration. 2 exquisite rich, dark chocolate fondants and a slice of home-made cheesecake. Oh la la. Excuse me whilst I pinch myself to ensure that I am not dreaming.
Do I look the part?
After lunch, I became snap-happy again. Here is a basket of fresh walnuts.
Another vista of rumpled, homely comfy rugs etc. every surface was crammed with fascinating paraphernalia.
I then negotiated the winding narrow, ladder-like stairs downward. t was like a time warp. This was the original kitchen.
To add to my delight, I spotted a beam of keys and locks on display. Calm my heart, I have a quirky passion for keys, manifested around various parts of my distant home back in NZ.
Ah! An open window. A splendid metaphor for a positive outlook for the future.
Hervé had bought the house off the original owner. He had this place passed down through many generations. Hervé showed me his grave in the local cemetery. I commented that he must have been a hard worker. Hervé disagreed. When Hervé first met him he was cutting the hay with a sickle, whilst two diminutive women carried the hay in bundles that dwarfed them.
I explored even further into a dark,wondrous world of memories. I found a broken globe, and found my homeland.
A chink of light from the window gave me sufficient light to pick my way through the assemblage.
Would you believe it? I went even further into the bowels of the earth. I discovered a cave of masculine tools, implements, instruments and such like. I guess an ancient version of a male's domain; his shed.
The garlic hanging from the prong above the door couldn't help but make me feel that I was in the domain of vampires.
I nervously creaked open the wooden door. It was pitch black inside and I couldn't see a thing. I fumbled for a light switch but to no avail. Giggling with nervousness, I held the camera and pointed into the darkness. I wondered what the flash might reveal.
To my delight, it was even more storage of every conceivable man's tool that you could imagine!
Aha. So this is where the wood is stored. I was told that it needs a number of years to dry out.
Oh. The back-breaking job of cutting firewood.
So I surfaced through the most adorable exit.
I took advantage of asking the neighbour to take a group shot.
Here Hervé and I pose in mock prayer at the spiritually of it all.
Marthe grabs every opportunity to pursue her knitting passion.
Not able to rest, I then went on an excursion further afield. Try Google Earth-ing these places!
Peek-a -boo. The land seemed to drop away into nothing. Please note, I did not venture too close to the edge.
Aha. the obligatory Petanque piste.
Hmmm. Quaint stone house alert!
Oh my goodness. a cemetery!!!
Narrow lanes everywhere.
As luck would have it, I found the pinnacle of my adventure right here. i tried with earnest to commit this vista to my permanent memory banks. If only you could experience this view from the top of the world with me.
I don't know how long I was there for. Time stood still.
It occurred to me that if I closed my eyes, I was vulnerable to anything that liked to eat tourists.
At some stage I heard a distant soft clapping. To my relief, it was Hervé looking for me as he had stale bread to feed the local donkeys, Marthieu and I can't remember the other donkey's name.
We explored the crumbling cemetery together. Hervé was not impressed that the graves were not being serviced by the families. He also wasn't impressed with the new gravesights.
Hmm. This looks like an interesting fruit.
Whilst Hervé paused to chat with a friendly neighbour, I took the opportunity to share these jovial little chaps with you.
How gorgeous! Dwarves scrambling up a mock mountainside.
Chickens in their dusty habitat.
Note the white goose in the foreground. It is destined for the table, eventually.
Whilst we were looking for the donkeys, we found a rock that talks. Yes. Really. The rock that Hervé is leaning on is made of plastic. The black panel is a solar panel. If one pays a sum of money at the local tourist office, you can insert your card and the rock talks. It tells you all about the local history.
It was at this stage that i was gutted to find out that the battery for my phone had given up. so no more images to enhance my narrative.
We picked our way through smelly donkey territory,led the donkeys back to the farmhouse and fed them stale bread. Ooooohhh, they were coated in thick dust. But adorable with their long ears and sturdy hooves.
We then investigated apples growing on a nearby tree, but they were only worthy of donkey food. Although I nibbled into one, I didn't want to have a mouthful of worm infested organic apple.
We retreated back to the house to settle into an afternoon slumber. I nestled into a deck chair with an accompanying pillow. Marthe knitted and Hervé read whilst lounging on the livingroom day-bed. I drifted into a deep afternoon doze. Music wafted in and out of my consciousness. Graham Allbright, a New Zealand balladeer, a favourite of Hervé's, lullabied me with soft, peaceful melodies.
It was with affection that I bid the mountain retreat farewell. Marthe deftly drove the little car down the picturesque route. Fortunately, her slow, steady driving ensured that I didn't feel carsick. The homeward journey saw many cars on the road, as city dwellers returned to their homes.
The next installment of this day has yet to be posted. An evening of good old kiwi ambience.
beautiful photos and words. It looks like some of the places you see on the Tour de France. Keep on enjoying!
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