Wild River, Cool Dog

Countryside Column for 30 August

Wild River, Cool Dog

            After a long tiring day sleeping in the shade, Myrtle likes nothing better than an evening swim.

            Mostly we walk down from our village to the river that gives the local wines, Cotes de Thongue, their name.

            In summer it’s not much more than a trickle, but there’s a large hollow next to a popular barbecue spot that is full of water all year round. Here human bathers are banned but canine ones tolerated if no one is fishing. Myrtle rushes into the water, paddling vigorously in chase of sticks, and then delights in shaking herself over everyone nearby.

      Often we have the place to ourselves, but at weekends there are parties enjoying the shade of the dense trees that line the river as it flows slowly south to join the Hérault and enter the Mediterranean at Agde.

            A larger and more exciting local river, also much favoured by Myrtle, is the Orb which rises in the hills above Bédarieux and flows 145 kilometres past Béziers. The Orb is still largely sauvage or wild, which means there are rapids to provide thrills and spills for canoeists around Roquebrun and Cessenon.  One moment you are floating lazily downstream admiring the majestic countryside, the next you are fighting to keep your craft upright as it’s rushed over rocks in the white water sections. A photographer at the most hazardous points later offers overpriced prints of you and your companion coming a cropper.  I have several from over the years!

            A little further downstream is the wonderful river beach at Réals, reached by clambering down a long steep path. There, for perhaps a kilometre, the river widens and deepens so you (and the dog) can swim peacefully in the cool water - as long as you avoid youths flinging themselves off surrounding rocks. At one point, huge boulders restrict the flow and the brave or foolhardy can body-surf through the torrent.           

            The water level in the Orb is partly controlled from a reservoir in the hills. And so many French rivers have been altered by dams that there is now an entusiastic movment to protect wild rivers. A long protest actually persuaded the authorities to remove a damn on the Allier, a major tributary of the Loire, enabling salmon to spawn in its upper reaches after a gap of more than a century. It can all make the Medway seem a bit tame somehow.

 

 

 

French village, better or just different?

Countryside Colum for 23 August

Localism in Action

Golly. I wish someone would give our Parish Council a budget of €1.5 million to play with!  Instead we have to make do with £35,000.  But here in the Languedoc they really understand the concept of ‘localism’.

The village of Abeilhan where I’m staying is just a bit smaller than Benenden with a population of about 1,300. But its local council - Conseil Municipal - is of an altogether different scale. Apart from a mayor and four deputies, there are 10 other councilors elected every six years.  Our Parish Council has nine members headed by a chairman elected every four years. We employ a staff of two, the parish clerk and a cleaner, both part time.  Abeilhan has a full time town clerk plus a secretary, a direct works department of seven, and a further half dozen administrative or domestic staff.  Benenden Parish Council has responsibility for the village green, the bus shelter, the war memorial and the public toilets. Abeilhan’s council owns and maintains – among other things – the Mairie (Town Hall), the primary school, indoor sports centre, football pitch, tennis courts, village hall, sewage treatment works and most of the local roads.  It has a social fund and a budget to support village associations and clubs.  It’s also the planning authority, so if you want an extension, swimming pool or sun terrace you apply to the Mairie having first popped in for an informal chat about what is permitted or possible.  In Benenden the parish planning committee only has power to comment on an application submitted to the Borough Council.

France has chosen to miss out on the ‘borough’ level of administration altogether, going straight from town councils to regional and national layers.

The key question, of course, is does this devolution work?  On the whole the village seems well maintained. Roads are repaired, flower beds provided and watered, signs erected and, recently, a new walk has been created around the nearby River Tongue.  But dog mess remains a problem, and it’s taken me three years of lobbying the Maire and my local councilor to get new nets for the tennis courts. 

            The main advantage is that you have a direct line to your service provider and you can lobby the mayor or his deputies when you see them around the village. Does it cost more? Surprisingly not.  The respective council taxes are almost identical.

The River Thongue near Abeilhan

Watching the Jazz at St Thibery

Abeilhan from a Myrtle Walk

It’s Our Fête!

Courier Countryside Column for 16 August

The settlement of Abeilhan in the Languedoc where we are spending the summer is officially a commune rather than a village. It’s a charming distinction, and communality is everywhere evident. People proudly sport T-shirts identifying their membership of the Committee des Fêtes. It’s an important role organizing the main four-day June festival with sports, meals, bars and bands, culminating in the great Abeilhan caisse à savon or soapbox race.   Clearly modeled on the Monaco Grand Prix, streets are closed to traffic, barriers erected, old tyres stacked up on hazardous bends and a selection of bizarre conveyances from wine barrels on wheels to a replica of Tintin’s moon rocket accelerate from the top by the Mairie down the narrow lanes to the finishing line past the Cave Co-operative.

            But this is only the start of the festivities. On the village saint’s day of St. Pierre, part of the population walk (or drive) the kilometre or so to the old chapel among the vineyards, which was used before the medieval church was built at the top of the town. There, trestle tables are set out with village wine and a meal for all.

            On Bastille Day (Quatorze Juillet) there’s another big communal feast followed by fireworks. Then there’s the Féria (we’re not that far from Spain). Fortunately no bulls are killed, but the young ones involved in Torro Piscine have a pretty shabby time being chided and prodded in and out of a glorified paddling pool. In late August, the Fête des Voisins brings together neighbours who contribute food and wine for a picnic under the stars.

            Obviously the balmy nights help. Village events in England tend to take place in the afternoon or under cover before the evening chill (or rain) sets in.  But, notwithstanding temperature or weather differences, there is a real sense of community spirit here. Every August we go to the nearby St Thibery jazz festival where it seems the entire town turns out to help or participate.  For three days the large square in front of the town hall is completely filled with tables and chairs as several thousand congregate for music, moules frites and excellent local wine. Children and dogs run wild and couples dance with abandon in the magical setting. I wonder if the brave Brit wearing a Breton jumper, beret and string of onions will be there again this year to amuse the locals?

See the caisse à savon  at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GI4Xu6lIbg0

Dog in a Hot Vineyard

Courier Countryside Column for 9^th August 2013

Myrtle likes the vines. They are spaced conveniently so a dog can pass easily between them, and pruned so growth only starts above dog height. She runs happily in and out of their serried ranks despite the temperature. It’s lucky she does enjoy them because there’s not much other countryside around here in the Languedoc. At home in Kent, livestock and arable thrive side by side with fruit and forestry. In this part of the south of France it’s not so much viticulture as monoculture. But perhaps that’s not so surprising since it’s the world’s largest grape growing area with 50,000 vignerons producing a staggering two billion bottles a year.

But where the trend in England is to ever larger farms, here small is beautiful.  Or at least commonplace. Many holdings are just a few acres and 70% of grapes go to the region’s 400 co-ops.

So on our early morning walks – we set off at around 7am to avoid the blistering heat of the day – the only people we encounter are those tending their vines. A few drive up and down on narrow tractors, but many inspect and even spray by hand. On our way back to the village we pass the vast Coteaux d'Abeilhan co-op, with its gleaming stainless steel fermentation vats and holding tanks. We’ve long wondered what actually happens to the thousands of gallons it must make.  We never see it in shops or supermarkets and, sad to say, we don’t much like it when we buy it direct from the co-op door. The draft vin en vrac from neighbouring villages is far preferable. 

But the industry is changing. An infusion of New World techniques both in production and marketing has dramatically improved Languedoc wine-making. Small domaines are increasing in number, specialising in lesser quantity but far better quality wine. In the past decade two more have joined the existing pair in our village and a fifth is coming on stream. They regularly eschew the traditional habit of blending grapes, opting instead for single varietals such as Merlot or Syrah. That means they are excluded from the old, inflexible Appellation Controlée or AOC system. So for consumers there is little option but to tour around and taste their wares in person. Something of a hardship as you may imagine.