10. Friday, Oct. 24, 2014--Full Day in the Bordeaux Area
St. Emilion--A beautiful town that grew up around a holy man's cave, not a duke's castle
I left the room and went down the elevator to the first floor for coffee--which I soon received. I sat and waited in the lounge chair across from the elevator till a few others of our group appeared. We were simply waiting for breakfast to be served on the second floor; that whole area had been closed when I stopped there on the way down. Louis appeared next, and again we discussed the clothes I had left in Chinon. He said he would have the Hotel de France send my pants and shirts to Lyon, and hopefully they would be there when we arrived. This was a relief, now to get by for four more days without those three changes of clothing I had been counting on.
Coffee was served from a bar behind the main desk on the first floor. It was a nice, quiet place to wake up before breakfast.
At 8:00, we went up the elevator to the breakfast room which turned out to be very large and handsomely outfitted. I liked the tall silver coffee server, the abundance of different kinds of food, and the smell of nicely cooked bacon, which had been missing in Chinon.
Breakfast today included bacon at the Quality Hotel de Bordeaux Centre.
I sat with Chris Pendley, and she talked about the tour of Ireland she had just completed before the started this one. She certainly seemed to have enjoyed the Emerald Isle. Incidentally, she was from
Chicago area.
After a brief time in our rooms, we met Louis and Marie Charlotte in the lobby for a brief lecture about Bordeaux and St. Emilion. This was really casual. She spoke without notes, and we could raise hands and ask questions any time. She made a strong argument for the importance of Bordeaux as an influence and precursor of Paris, and not the other way around. She seemed fiercely proud of this region and to chafe even now against the power that Paris exerted over the entire country.
She said that her father was English and her mother was Bordelaise. He had come here in the 20's and met her mother. Chris asked why he had left England, and she answered, "To keep from starving."
Marie said that people here once spoke Languedoc and French and were once taught both languages in school, but that all changed in the early 1900's. A new education minister pushed French hard as the national language and had forbidden the teaching or speaking of other dialects in school. Apparently this almost killed off the old language. She could speak a few words, and there is currently an effort to revive Languedoc, but she said the damage had been done.
Marie was holding a book, and I asked her what she was reading. She answered Thérèse Desqueyroux and handed it to me. It was by François Mauriac. She said he was from Bordeaux and had won the Nobel Prize for literature. I made a mental note of this and bought a copy later on the tour.
We walked down to Rue Saint-Rémi where Hervé was waiting for us. The morning drive out of town was slow and fascinating. We passed along the Garonne and viewed the medieval gates and the Place de la Bourse in the dim morning light and haze. The city seemed to float in the mist as we passed by and turned left to cross the bridge.
THIS IS A BLOG, an informal tale of travel--not a history lesson. Even the French do not know much hard detail about Saint Emilion, because he lived so long ago, in the 8th century, but well before he came down here from the north of France, the Romans had planted vineyards in this area in the 2nd century. In the 4th century, Roman poet Ausonius lived here and praised the grapes grown in this part of Gaul.
As a Benedictine monk, Emilion came here to live as a hermit in the 700's after leaving his monastery, "seeking greater silence and solitude" in the limestone caves of the Aquitaine. He found a cave with spring water; it was a place which he could live in and enlarge by digging away at the walls, softened somewhat by humidity from the underground water. So he settled in for a life of devotion and prayer.
The solitude did not last long. Hundreds, then thousands, came to him to be baptized and to say their confessions. Eventually, a Benedictine community grew up around Emilion's cave, and when he died, the monks buried him across the way in a catacomb they carved in a limestone hill. They also started commercial wine production on the surrounding hillside.
I find hard, verifiable facts about the man difficult to come by. Everything I read is based on the "legend" of monk Emilion. I suppose records were lacking in the wild frontier of Western Europe 1,250 years ago. If there is a record of his canonization, I can't find it, but in the truest sense, the French peasantry canonized him with their feet. One thing I am certain of is that this limestone cave and this monolithic church and their primitive quality are very hard facts which I have seen, along with millions of others. Another fact is that two years ago, Ben and I were very happy to arrive at the Paris Metro station named for St. Emilion because it was close to the Pullman Bercy where we were staying.
I find hard, verifiable facts about the man difficult to come by. Everything I read is based on the "legend" of monk Emilion. I suppose records were lacking in the wild frontier of Western Europe 1,250 years ago. If there is a record of his canonization, I can't find it, but in the truest sense, the French peasantry canonized him with their feet. One thing I am certain of is that this limestone cave and this monolithic church and their primitive quality are very hard facts which I have seen, along with millions of others. Another fact is that two years ago, Ben and I were very happy to arrive at the Paris Metro station named for St. Emilion because it was close to the Pullman Bercy where we were staying.
The Benedictines carved rooms into the rock and said mass near Emilion's remains. Over the centuries, the monks continued to hollow out the limestone and create what became "the largest monolithic church in the world: 38' high, 64' wide, and 90' long."
Devotion to St. Emilion grew through the Middle Ages, and a church and cloister were eventually built atop the hill. In the 16th century, "Protestant rebels" removed Emilion's remains and vandalized the interior. Much later in the 18th century, revolutionaries damaged the frescoes and statues even more. Finally, the place was used as a saltpeter factory for the manufacture of gun powder. That pretty well ruined the remaining frescoes. Restoration did not start until the late 1800's, and the 20th century saw it returned to its current condition as a place of tourism and pilgrimage. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
As we approached the village, vineyards surrounded it, and we would soon see clearly that some of the grapes had yet to be gathered.
Vineyards surround St. Emilion.
The bus stopped in the parking area in front of the town, and we disembarked for the long walk through the buildings and over narrow cobblestone streets. Some of the cobbles were the size of pumpkins.
WWI memorial for soldiers from St. Emilion
Chris, Paul, and Micky walk gingerly on large, uneven cobblestones.
Vivent les macarons!
(Macarons are associated with this area. Not like our chewy macaroons, they are really meringues that melt in the mouth.)
We entered the church at the top of the hill.
Louis and Marie led us for a long walk through the village and up to the entrance of the church at the top of the hill. Louis wisely watched us all go in before he did--this time. We entered the sanctuary and quietly threaded our way through it to the cloister beyond. Mriam and I traded picture-taking at the cloister.
I love cloisters!
We emerged from the beyond the cloister to a large, open courtyard and we led right to the entrance of St. Emilion's grotto. Here he had lived as a hermit and excavated the cave further. Water still ran in a stream at the bottom.
Others preceded me as I held back to take pictures of the passageway. I finally took my turn walking down the narrow path to the bottom of the cave. It was a moving experience to see the PRIMITIVE place where he had lived and the old sign marking the spot.
St. Emilion's cave
After we emerged from the grotto, we crossed the courtyard and paused at the entrance of the ancient church the monks excavated from the limestone hill. This lay far below the church and cloister where we had entered this complex.
World's largest monolithic church
After we emerged from the cave, we crossed the courtyard and entered the ancient "church" that the monks excavated into the hill of limestone. This lay far below the buildings on top.
Paul Schuller pauses before an altar.
Guide Marie Charlotte explains markings made in the monolith.
I would describe this part of the complex as a large, dark space with some amazing carvings in the wall. In recent years, the French had reinforced the uncarved "pillars" of limestone with huge steel braces to forestall a cave-in. For taking photographs, this dark environment was a challenge. We noted the large, central courtyard behind the hill which seemed to be surrounded by small restaurants, with people moving about. We would return there for lunch later.
We would return to this area for lunch.
We now retraced our route back through the cloister and out the front door of the place into the village above. Instead of returning to the bus via the same street, we took one paralleling it, and this gave us more of the "commune" to see. I loved the old architecture with thick walls and heavy wooden shutters. The street we were on, indeed all the others, had a very noticeable gutter down the side, by the buildings. I recalled hearing in school that streets were quite a health hazard in the unplumbed towns of old Europe. People in the upper floors used to dump dishwater, laundry water, chamber pots, etc., out the window--where it all fell into the street to be washed away by the rain.
Heavy-duty shutters
Medieval gutter
That was certainly counting heavily on rain! I could not imagine the stench or the danger of this, which people lived with all the time. I stayed to photograph these things, and soon I could not find the tour anymore. I went up the wrong street in the wrong direction looking for our group. When I did not see anyone I knew, I calmed myself down and simply walked to the bus. I knew where it was and that we'd all end up there soon. There I found everyone waiting for me--again.
Now, Hervé drove us to a commercial vineyard just down the hill and in sight of the village. It was called Chateau St. Emilion Laniote. When we emerged from the bus, we walked right by two big piles of "grape squeezin's"; the winery had just cleaned out some vats, and this is what was in them.
Grape squeezings at Chateau Laniote
Some French chefs use grape squeezings in cooking.
We went around a building and met the owner, Arnaud de la Filolie, and he described the history of the vineyard, its products, and his family's ownership which began in the early 20th century. Several of us could clearly see grapes hanging from the vines nearby, so as the tour moved on, we went among the rows and traded grape-picking photos.
Arnaud de la Filolie
Chris, Florence, and Gordon among the grapes
Gordon parmi les vignes
Then we walked around to a large building where we could sample some product and see where it was fermented and stored. We did not go to the house. Arnaud and I discussed his ownership and how it would be passed down to his heirs; in France ownership is usually inherited equally by all of one's children. He was somewhat evasive about the future of his estate.
However, when he switched into show-time mode, he was very upbeat, cheerful, and humorous. He would joke with us and take women by the arm and pretend to escort them away. He seemed to have is performance down pat. Some ordered wine, but not me. I had set my cap for longer-lasting stuff, and Louis was going to help me shop for it this afternoon in Bordeaux.
Bottle(s) of wine...
Fruit of the vine
When you gonna let me get sober?
Leave me alone;
Let me go home;
When you gonna let me start over?
--The Fireballs
Oak wine casks
Beaucoup de bouteilles de vin rouge!
Of course, Arnaud poured us glasses of the the local vintage.
Au revoir, Château Laniote
We again walked past the grape squeezings to the bus and headed back to the village for lunch. This was set for Amelia Canta in the square behind the monolith.
Amelia Canta
Cassoulet de Canard
When we arrived at the restaurant, we were sent to a very comfortable rear room. It was really too cool for us to eat outside. Our main dish was a house specialty, cassoulet-basically duck with beans and veggies cooked in duck fat. I loved the stuff; lunch was terrific.
Soon we boarded the bus for our return trip to Bordeaux. When we arrived back at the hotel, we all knew we were free for the afternoon. Louis had said much earlier in the tour when I asked him about it, that he knew of good places in Bordeaux for me to buy a quality French beret and another place to shop for pastis and armagnac.
He told me to meet him in the lobby in a while, and we would find the places I was looking for on or near Rue St. Catherine. He said if I would please be patient and go with him on his own shopping errand, he would help me with mine. We soon emerged onto the awesome street and beheld the Bordelais strolling up and down Rue Ste. Catherine as far as the eye could see on a glorious, sunny, autumn afternoon!
Rue Ste. Catherine on a Friday afternoon. It does not get much better than this!
(We were here at the beginning of a long Bordelais vacation leading up to All Saints' Day.)
Grateful for all the help I could get, I walked with Louis Garbiel Bideau to a nice, small jewelry store. It was locked, as was the custom, but when he knocked on the door, the clerks let both Louis and me in. He had made an appointment ahead of time. He was shopping for a diamond ring for his "significant other," a beautiful young woman whom I would later meet in Lyon. They conversed in such fast French that I could not really keep up, but it was none of my business anyway. Louis chose a ring which he would come back for later. After courteous good-byes, we were out the door.
Now we headed farther up Rue Ste. Catherine to find the Monoprix. Louis had to ask a few people for its exact location, but after retracing our steps, we soon found it. It was basically a nice general store which sold clothes, commodities, food, drink, etc. at what were supposed to be reasonable prices. The group knew I was looking for pastis (a licorice-flavored liqueur), cognac or Armagnac, and crème de cassis with which to make kir. Joe said to hold out for Ricard pastis and to wait till I returned to the US for the crème de cassis. Louis advised avoiding cognac and buying Armagnac instead.
Loaded with all this good advice and accompanied by an expert, I found what I was looking for and purchased Tarquinet Armagnac and the Ricard Pastis Joe had recommended. The store took my credit card, and it worked without a hitch. This was the first time I had used it.
Louis and I then went back up the street in the opposite direction, past our hotel, to Rue Saint-Rémi and turned left. We were headed to a good, specialty hat store that he knew about. As we went west, the street name changed to Rue de la porte Dijeaux. We came to a small storefront with a sign that read Falbalas St. Junien--Ganterie et Chapellerie, signifying a glove and hat shop.
These people know their bérets!
We used the European cap I was wearing to determine the right size, and voilà; there was my new high-quality, wool "Vrai Basque" béret--traditional black of course. Louis said this would last much longer than the flimsy stuff we had seen in tourist shops along the way. He said he would later show me how to wash it in warm water, twist it, and let it dry to get a perfect fit. This was what French soldiers had done when he was in the army. I thanked him, and he went on his way, maybe to take Florence to Hermès, while I went back to the hotel to rest and check on reservations for dinner tonight.
I had read about Bordeaux ahead of time in Waverley Root's terrific book, The Food of France. One of the first things he mentioned about this old city was its opera house--le Grand Théâtre de Bordeaux--which was built in the 1770's. It was and still is the pride of the place, and Charles Garnier patterned the opera house he designed for Paris 100 years later after this one. Since I was headed to the Garnier later anyway, I was determined to get inside this building and scope it out--not quickly but for a performance. Since there was a ballet on our one free evening in Bordeaux, I bought tickets for it. They were very reasonably priced; the ballet was Icare (Icarus), so that's where we were going tonight.
I posted this on the Roadscholar information board for our tour, and the Kratovils and Andrews jumped right in and bought tickets for it, too. They then shared their plans to attend a concert of chamber music at the Ste. Chappelle in Paris, so I bought a ticket for it.
Yahoo later did a feature about Bordeaux restaurants and mentioned Le Petit Commerce, a small, inexpensive seafood place with good reviews. It was right down the street several blocks from the hotel, so we wanted to eat there before the opera. I called the restaurant and was able to make reservations for seven people, since that's how many of our group wanted to go.
I rested as well as I could and did some packing; tomorrow morning, we would be leaving for Carcassonne. Later, I met our group in the lobby around 5:30, and we headed out. Le Petit Commerce was farther down the street than I realized, but we found it, and they seated us across from the big bar, down from their chalkboard menu.
I do not recommend Le Petit Commerce!
Basically, we ordered, and I asked for bouillabaisse. Most of our food came after a reasonable wait, but not mine! Everyone ate while I sat there, fumed, and worried about getting to the theater on time. When they had finished and I was still waiting, I urged them to go on. They agreed, and then my fish soup finally arrived. I finished hurriedly, paid my bill, and nervously headed out into very unfamiliar territory.
I found a side street that paralleled Ste. Catherine, and sure enough, it did come out by the opera house. I walked up the steps into the elegant, beautiful lobby and finally found the right line for my tickets. All I had to do was tell them my name; they did not have to check my bar-coded receipt. Soon I was through the crowd, up the legendary double staircase, and headed for the "first balcony"
near the stage.
J'arrive au Grand Théâtre de Bordeaux.
Un beau escalier classique qui est divisé en deux
I was to sit on the north side of the auditorium, and I was directed to the front row of a sectional balcony that practically leaned over the stage. When I sat down, I soon discovered that 21st-century Texans were a wee bit bigger than 18th-century Frenchmen. My size 13 shoes would not fit between the base of my chair and the wall in front of me. I had to sit with my feet at an uncomfortable angle and be careful not to touch the strangers to either side, who happened to be women. I was pleased to see the Kratovils and Andrews behind and slightly above--two rows back.
I was in the balcony above these people, near the stage end.
An evening at the "ballet" sounds very sophisticated and effete, but this was simply a way of going to a building I had read about. This was the first time in my life that I had ever attended an event that was exclusively ballet. I was very curious. I knew the name of the ballet was Icare (Icarus), and I remembered the myth, but not much beyond that except the choreographer who was being honored was named Lifar; long ago deceased, he had created and directed the ballet in Paris.
"Homage to Lifar" was the name of tonight's program, and it would consist of three parts: first the modern ballet about Icarus, then another performance showing a mythological satyr, danced originally by Lifar, then a more traditional part, "Suite in White," which would follow the intermission. The final sequence was much longer than the other two and very impressive; the dancers were all dressed in white, and the stage and curtains were all black. The orchestra was out front and fully visible for this, too.
Suite en Blanc
During intermission, I went to the opposite side of the theater on a necessary errand, and I really enjoyed the sight of the second-floor lobby and hallways. Later that night when the ballet ended, after the standing ovation, and after the Kratovils and Andrews said they had loved this and that it was "fabulous," I stayed and just watched people file out of this beautiful place. I did not want to rush out of here.
Going with the flow out into the hall, I saw Micky Skronski who stopped long enough to say she had loved the performance but was heading back to the hotel to pack. I told her I was going to stay upstairs awhile and absorb what I was seeing. I was awed by the lobby and particularly by an ornate, restricted area near the front where local patrons appeared to be eating, drinking, and socializing.
Grand Théâtre--2nd floor salon
Au revoir au Grand Théâtre
Then I walked slowly down the staircase to the first floor and out onto the square in front of the theater--where we had met the bus only last night; it seemed like a long time ago. The hour was 10:20 on a Friday night, and people were walking EVERYWHERE. The cafés were crowded, the lighted Ferris wheel was turning in the distance near the river, and amid all this, I heard a street musician over to my left singing an American folk song--as a large crowd listened to him.
Nighttime at the Esplanade des Quinconces
The Grand Hotel was lit up across the square and throngs of people were enjoying their usual good time in a city they seemed to enjoy immensely. I approached the singer and listened until he finished his song. The crowd thinned, and I walked over to him, gave him a small tip and said, "THANK YOU!" He was very pleased.
Then I headed south down Rue Ste. Catherine to the hotel. No one bothered me in the least. I felt perfectly safe as I returned from a fabulous evening of quality entertainment in one of the world's best small cities at its most prized venue. I had just experienced one of the finest scenes of regular, happy street life imaginable.
Fin
