From Avignon to Nyons, A Voyage in Provence
This morning I embarked upon my journey south. I left Paris at 7:00AM and took a train down to Avignon, where I sat quietly, alternating between gazing out at the French countryside, listening to music on my MP3 player, napping or reading Peter Mayer's "A Year in Provence" (I felt it most fitting, given the circumstances).
In Paris, everyone (the concierge, the couple dining next to me, the lady that gave me a pedicure in the Salon) informed me that in
Renting a car in a foreign country is always a nerve-racking experience. The laws are different. The cars are different. The roads are not always clearly marked. There are too many variables that leave room for disaster. However, I braved the elements and made my way, paying extra for insurance and a navigation system.
I don't know if you have ever driven a French car – but it is a strange experience. Nothing is where it is supposed to be! I knew it would be interesting when the woman handed me a disc, explaining that it was my car key. To turn the car on, I would have to insert the disc, hit the breaks, and press start—- all at the same time!
"It's strange, I know," she said. "It is not a joke, but it is because the car is a French one."
So, I discovered my large, standard transmission, Renault minivan with a built-in Navigation system (with English – thank god). I made it about two feet before I realized I was stuck. The transmission would not go into reverse. I kept trying to put it into reverse, no luck. The Japanese gentleman that I boxed in was running out of patience. He managed to eek out in English, "I want to go out."
I tried to politely explain that I could not get the car in reverse. So, he stepped out to try it. Between the two of us, we spent 15 minutes trying to solve the mystery of Reverse on a French stick shift. Finally, we uncovered the answer— you have to squeeze and pull up a safety on the bottom of the gear handle while holding the clutch. Doing this maneuver will release the safety and allow the driver to put the car in reverse.
Now, I had the daunting task of trying to find my way to Nyons from
However, even with my technical difficulties, I was able to really take in the magnificence and sheer beauty of the
I stopped along the way near Bollene and took some pictures, then continued my journey to Nyons. I did not get lost until I arrived in the town of
The threshold of Lydie's home took my breadth away. It is a large medieval fortress made of stone with arched walkways, a gated garden foyer, winding staircases and magnificent views from every window. My apartment for the week is located on the very top of the Chateau. I have a private bathroom and a lovely private terrace that overlooks the entire town, and the surrounding mountains.
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By now, it was well past lunchtime. After dropping of my luggage, I ventured down into the town in search of a quality Provencal meal. Lydie gave me a recommendation, but when I arrived, they were finished serving lunch and sent me away. I wandered two doors down to another brasserie where I allowed them to serve me the daily Poisson special— and I am glad I did.
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I began with a salad of corn, alfalfa sprouts, cubed beets and a local vinaigrette served over a bed of fresh greens. Then I received the main lunch course, a white flaky fish that they baked with olives, garlic, parsley and oregano in some type of white wine/cream sauce, which was outstanding. Along side it, they served carrots that were cooked in butter with a kick of spice (perhaps the best carrots I have ever eaten) and some perfumed rice (I'm not sure, but I think they used Jasmine tea). I lingered over lunch and then made my way back to Lydie's house, where I went upstairs, sat on my terrace and promptly fell asleep, waking up just in time to head downstairs and begin cooking dinner.
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We are a small group of six people, myself, two other couples and one additional lady. Many are retired and traveling for extended periods. All of us are American. We broke into groups to begin cooking dinner:
n La Salade de Haricots Verts Au Fromage et Aux Olives, which is a warm green bean salad with shredded gruyere, garlic, vinaigrette, and local Nyons olives.
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n Pionatades Roties De Las Drome, which is a roasted guinea hen with
rosemary, onions and tomatoes
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n Les Tomatoes Provencales is a sautéed tomato dish that is topped with a persillade (minced garlic and parsley)
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n Tart Aux Fraises (strawberry tart) for dessert.
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I opted to focus specifically on the Strawberry tart because I wanted to better understand the secrets of a perfect tart shell (roll it very thin and don't handle the dough too much). We dined outside in the garden with the many neighborhood cats that have identified Lyide's as the best kitchen to visit for scraps. We drank both a Cote du Rhone and the Rose that I received from Comtesse du Barry. Everyone began to get to know one another and thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
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Since I have just recently discovered your blog, I spent probably more time than I should have cruising around on it the other day,( but hey it was the day after Christmas, what else did I have to do) and came upon your account of renting a car. This brought back memories of a similar experience I had while staying at a vacation language school in the middle of nowhere, in Bourgogne. The renter of the car had only one to rent, his main business being an auto repair shop. When Paul, the owner of the school drove me to town to pick up the car, it was not ready as promised. Paul was enraged and said he would not come back. When we got home, Paul's wife Danielle patched things up and the car guy agreed to bring the car out to the house that evening. When he got there he was very suspicious of me, grilling Danielle at great length: did I speak French, would I get lost, etc. She assured him that it would be alright. But he apparently still had his doubts about my driving skills. So he wanted me to drive him back to town to prove myself. Well, first of all as you said, French cars do have their peculiarities. This one would only start if you punched in a numerical code. It had a manual transmission, which did not scare me (I have driven 18 wheelers with up to 13 speeds) but in the dark I could not see the shifting diagram, and was not sure how many speeds the thing had. When I asked him, "Combien de vitesse?", it meant nothing to him. Wrong word choice? He could not understand my bad accent? I don't know, but I just had to struggle with it. All the way to town he watched my every move.
He continued to lecture me on the use of the car, told me it was diesel, I must not put gasoline in it, blah, blah, blah. Finally, after an eternity, we had covered the 17km to town and I dropped him off. Then the real fun began. I had to drive back alone on a pitch black country road. My main concern is that with no lighting, no moon, and very few signs on the road I would miss the one turn to Paul and Danielle's place and be wandering forever the back roads of Bourgogne. But I made it.
The next day I survived a six hour drive, mostly on the Auto Route, to Aix-en-Provence to visit my friends, and the return trip the day after that.
I am sure it was not as bad as driving in the walled city of Avignon.
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LOL -- I feel your pain! The French car and I made peace with each other by the time I had to return it. I have also learned never to ask for Directions in France, because I am absolutely sure they will be wrong - even when asking a policeman.
Even so, I miss France. I think of going back again often.
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