I don’t think of myself as a typical American (or anyone a typical fill-in-the-blank for that matter) but in some aspects, I might be. Certainly when it comes to time. Because in France, I run through a cross-hatch of centuries like a pinball in a maze. And that is just while out strolling with the pupper. It can leave me feeling dizzy and off-balance, unsure of what to hold on to. I have such different references. But like a kid that just got up the courage to go down the slide backwards for the first time in her life, I love it. And then want more.
Because there are stories in the stones. And if you listen, you can hear them. But they always leave me asking after all that I don’t know.
Who planted the rose bush that grew over decades to eat the facade of a fortified house on a hill? Was it a gesture of love that fed the vines better than any well?
How many stooped to lay the cobblestones and brick the arches so solidly that they could outlast their makers? And do the structures now miss their former inhabitants?
I walked around the village of Bargème in the Haut Var and such thoughts rolled around in my head.
Garden walls seemed puffed up with pride for all of the many years they held tight the earth for children to run across, galloping in games.
Similarly, a sense of community exuded from the stone benches where women gathered for decades to gossip while waiting for their loaves to bake in the local oven.
In no way did I find this wonderful little hamlet to be haunted. Not at all like that nameless village that I wrote about obsessively previously. No, despite the sun’s hide and seek, a warmth of neither frenetic energy nor sleepy hollow filled and followed me.
I could hear the mother’s chiding young ones snapping freshly washed sheets at each other at the lavoir. And wondered at the transition of the proud 12th century chateau to grate and grumble so infinitely slowly as to fall to ruin.
But perhaps the ruins and monuments, homes and chapels are simply happy with their view. For Bargème is the highest village in the region and exhales across a sprawling, curvaceous valley below. It has been heralded as “Un Village de Charactère” as well as the highly coveted title of “Un des Plux Beaux Villages de France”. Personally, I prefer the former over the latter. For who wouldn’t choose to have character over beauty? As une femme d’un certain age, these wise stones tell me so.
I would like to extend a truly heart-felt thank you to all of you who responded so generously to my previous post. Moments like that are really what make blogging unique and I feel grateful to be in contact with such an extraordinary group of people. Merci beaucoup et Bon Weekend!
Yes, Sanda, it is so true! These photos have been on my computer for a while now, hoping that I would find something close to what could work without not utterly breaking the very real wonder of it all.
Z, thank you! Not only for your sweet comment (because we both know what it is like to be far from home) but also for putting me on your blogroll–what a lovely surprise! Merci!
Isn't that so true, the idea of energy from the past to keep them company? I have really felt that strongly in many of the most interesting places that we have been to in France and around the world–especially in temples, churches of course. So many memories that have been linked or cemented by ceremony.
Hi Heather,
I felt I was walking through that village with you. It is hauntingly beautiful There's such a stillness in places such as these, as if words would break a magic spell. Wonderful images!
This is so peaceful and full of stories to imagine! Reminding me of home so much! Hugs Z
What a privilege to stroll through this village of Bargeme. So many stories and emotions have been planted in those walls. I was especially moved by your statement,
"do the structures now miss their inhabitants"? Maybe they do and then again, maybe their is enough positive energy from the past to keep them company. Thanks for the tour Heather, have a lovely weekend!
…And I will be thrilled to have you here. I was enthralled by your post at Tish's today. I was out on an adventure today and had time to think about what you wrote again on the trains and buses. Will keep thinking about it and look forward to visiting you.
I wrote not to long ago about patina–that overly-used word!–but it certainly holds sway over newbie eyes like mine.
As I believe you both do as well–your Friday picnics are proof. I wonder if your ears were burning today because I spoke of you to the very charming Dash from French Sampler…in person!
Wishing you a wonderful weekend, dear Jane and Lance.
Stories in the stones. What a perfect way to phrase it. And your images are glorious. This post has left me yearning for Europe in a very visceral way.
One of the things about being an American abroad (and having lived in Europe at various times and ages), I think we come to appreciate the history in the texture of the ancient walls, the splintered beams, the structures that show their decay and also their stalwart ability to withstand centuries.
I'm here from Tish's place, and I will certainly be back to visit.
Hello Heather:
We too love the way history speaks to one across the ages if, as you most surely do, one has an ear to listen. So many stories to be told, scenes to be imagined, events to be relived in the mind which make the kind of stroll which you so often take even more magical. You are indeed so fortunate to have such lovely and interesting places within easy reach of home. And, what is so good, you take full advantage of that.