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!
Never a truer word was said – if only the walls could talk!! This is my wish every time I travel!! http://wynvogel.blogspot.com/2011/09/art-studios-and-frescos-of-pompeii.html but your Blog is almost like having the walls talk!!
So perfectly said Jeanne as always. Our apartment is in a building that is late 17th to early 18th century. I can never get over that. All of the many that have walked these floors, how many births and deaths, how many wedding feasts occurred here! And I know how different that is compared to the West Coast but also how wonderful to surf on the energy of the new (sorry for the silly phrasing!) at times as well.
Hooray! Welcome Miss T! 🙂
Thanks for retelling the stories and questions that get whispered in your ear as part of your daily life in such a magical place. There is so much newness in the states – especially on the West Coast, that it's easy to forget how far back time goes, how many were here before us. I like to be able to wander back into time a bit, to be reminded of our small place in the Universe. It makes life's problems seem so tiny!
Have a lovely week, Heather! XO
Such beautiful photos!!! Just found your wonderful blog…
🙂 T
Thank you so much ladies. Blogger is being funky and is not letting me reply to you individually.
Dustjacket–I am WAY too young to be acting like an old fart–and yet I am!
Helen, yes absolutely I feel the same and was raised that way as well. Both sides of my family come from hard workers who believe that "if something is worth doing, it is worth doing well"–to put it bluntly! But here in France, especially, I see more evidence supporting what your Mother had to say, a step even farther forward…
And Clare, my fellow dreamer! This doesn't surprise me from you at all…
Oh, Heather, I often do that. Sometimes there's so much amazing history in a place that I can almost see the people walking about me from hundreds of years ago, going about their daily lives. I often feel like I'm transported to another time even if only for a moment or so…
~ Clare x
Good Morning Heather
Your walk through Bargeme in the Haut Var I thank you for and it has included me. Your descriptions and observations are so fresh and exciting. The pride of skilled craftsmen and workers has stood the test of time. I can hear my late mother's words ringing in my ear when I was assigned a job at our farmhouse and was too eager to complete it. "Helen,just remember no one will ask how long it took, they will ask who did it".
Wishing you a week of continued wonder and joy
Helen xx
Ahh if the walls could talk…stories in stones as you so eloquently put it. Loving the photographs.
xxx
your comment was hilarious 😉