Month: June 2013

Beep beep

And I’m off, quicker than a fleeting shadow. 
We are heading north for a wedding–no, not our own, yes, I am taking my camera and no, the puppers will not be ring bearers.
This will be the first wedding that I am attending in France and I am curious as to how that will roll but above all delighted for the happy and deserving couple.
Wishing you all a wonderful next few days, I should be back at this space early next week.

La Côte Bleue

It was 2:30pm, my stomach was rumbling and the heat of anger was building between my ears. Remi had an idea in his head and he wasn’t going to stop for our picnic until he had made it a reality. I tried to bite back my bitterness at the thought of the near empty beaches we had passed along the way at Sausset-les-Pins and even a rocky crique at Carry-le-Rouet with a direct view on the sea where the dogs would have been welcome too. On we drove beyond beach shacks crowded with laughing diners on their second bottle of rosé and relaxed bronzed beauties languorously rearranging their limbs. 
I crossed my legs for the tenth time, trying to shake the spiders out of my veins and worried as the dogs shuffled with longing in the back. “Ok, ok just this last try. I know what I am looking for exists,” Remi insisted and it made me furious. “A bit of land with a view above the sea? All to ourselves? On a Sunday in high season?” I responded silently for the sarcasm was rising fast, I could see that there were no roads for where he wanted to go, we had been turned back at dead ends too many times…And then he found it. 
The unmarked path rose sharply, dissembled into dirt and opened onto an enclosure…

…where two empty picnic tables were waiting, not a person in sight…
…with a view over the sea and…
…Ben! Get out of the photo!…

…the shade of pines to swish with the crash of the waves into a patch of peace.
Immediately, the goods were laid out. Paté, jambon, beurre, cornichons, brie. The simpler our picnics become, the more I enjoy them.

I kicked off my shoes under the table…
…where several beggars slyly surveyed our every move until…
…with a sigh Remi and I laid back on our respective benches, looking up at the flickering sun until sleep claimed us all.

We woke refreshed, not having been disturbed in the least during our sieste. I couldn’t help but think of the crowds we had left behind in Arles. And of all the times during our travels when Remi would declare, camera at the ready, “I just need a man to walk across in front of the monument/church/mosque/temple now,” and…he would.
But, as glorious as this is, others are more fortunate than we. Several small cabanons are perched at the cliff’s summit, including this petit bijou…
…that looked out on to quite a view.

We took the dirt path to its end and clambered up to the top of a winding crest. All of Marseille was waiting to greet us.
It was quite something to behold.

Scrub-like maquis that are surprisingly similar to the land of our nearby Alpilles, did a dip drop directly into the Big Blue.
“Ici, ça s’appelle La Côte Bleue.” We were corrected by a fit gentleman who paused to pet the puppers while out for his daily walk through the hills. His smile widened as he added with a wink, “C’est la Riviera pour les pauvres.” And yet we certainly didn’t feel so poor at the moment, on the contrary, quite rich with the giddy surprise to have found a spot guaranteed to set the dream motors running after eight years of living so close and yet so far.
Perhaps this panoramic stretch had been surpassed by the more scenic calanques further east? Or is it just a carefully guarded secret? 
It was bumpy breaking back into the bustle below.
So I thought of the man striding the hills above us as we turned the car back towards Arles. How he must be breathing in the salt, the wind whipping his cap, no sound but the distant sea between his ears like a cupped shell. I turned over my shoulder and took a grateful glance to the Mediterranean as we turned inland, knowing that when the moment is right, I will be more patient. It will be worth all the time in the world to sail into La Côte Bleu once more…

The Renaissance of the Roquette, part three


 
Long light is stretched lean and tight by the Solstice but has been ever so in this corner of Provence. Other seasons, other times have left their mark beyond this eternal summer. For two thousand years, the Roquette has been inhabited, there is still a rue de la Monnaie from when the mint of the Roman Empire was transferred to Arles in 313 AD. The fishermen that worked the port of the Rhone, creating power as they pulled and docked, have always lived right in this neighborhood. Or did until the trains came and the industrial age with it, leaving their livelihood to sink slowly down. But the buildings remain. Not all have been made their pretty. And yet the details present a palette, one that is both  beautiful and true. 

So this renaissance is taking flight but it will fade and be replaced by future hopefuls, leaving trails and lounging on another June 21. 
I thought that this would be the round-up of this week in the Roquette but Remi suggested another post about the life on the quay. We shall see but in the meantime…

…for those of you in France or participating countries, Bon Fête de la Musique!

…and for everyone else, make some music of your own this fine weekend…

The Renaissance of the Roquette, part two

The renaissance of the Roquette neighborhood in Arles has been driven by the people, places and pets (!) that are hoping to shake it’s previously shaky reputation by transforming it into one of the town’s most charming areas. But come along, let’s see for ourselves…

Let’s begin on the rue des Porcelets as it leads to the Place Paul Doumer. At all hours, it is bustling with activity…
…but not all of the merchants are newcomers. The Genin family installed their boucherie-charcuterie shop, La Farandole, on this corner in 1877 and have fabricated their world-renowned Saucission d’Arles since 1655! That means that five generations have kept their recipe a secret. Did Vincent Van Gogh enjoy this tasty hard sausage? Quite possibly!
Further along on the left is Le Gibolin. Something tells me that the crazy Dutchman might have appreciated this spot for its tipple. Brigitte and Luc, two former parisiens, have established the spot as Arles’ only cave à manger, where you can pop in to buy a bottle of wine or sit down for considerably hearty Provençal food such as piquillos peppers stuffed with morue and a fine daube de taureau in the colder months. The town’s movers and shakers are happy to elbow up at the wooden communal tables for a chance to imbibe the warm ambiance.

Le Gibolin
13 rue des Porcelets
Price: around 16-35€ without wine
Keep walking, past the delightful children’s book store, and Ben (isn’t that a fine name? 😉 will give you a welcome you won’t forget in his tiny but charming shop. We chatted for quite some time (he recognized me because of the puppers–yes, I am famous for mes chiens) but I will definitely head back to try his incredibly reasonably priced delicacies. He offers up sandwiches, salads and paninis with over thirty fresh, seasonal toppings for you to choose from. As he stated, “It is like Subway…but better!”  With ingredients like home-made foie gras dusted with sea salt, fresh goat cheese with mint and shallots and Paletta Iberica on the menu, I would say that is something of an understatement, wouldn’t you?
Le Comptoir Des Porcelets
21 rue des Porcelets
Tel.: 04 90 4905 46
Open non-stop, very unusual for Arles
Sandwichs: 4.50-5.50 Euros, Salads: 4-5 Euros, Paninis: 5-6 Euros
Home-made daily desserts: 3.50 Euros
Also can be ordered for takeaway for a picnic on the Rhone!
Cross over to the right hand side and dive into the cool depths of Grenad’in Ice, which has only been open for two weeks. My food radar doesn’t miss a bit and so, dear reader, I made the hefty sacrifice of researching it for you on a scorching day. Florence is the owner and ice-cream maker (her labo is visible from the shop). Everything is from scratch. She buys the fruit at the market and even bakes the pain d’epices to crumble into the flavor of the same name. That was exactly what I chose after asking Florence what was her favorite…
Can you tell that I enjoyed it just a tiny bit? 
(Confession: this photo was taken after I had delightedly slurped down nearly half of the cone, portions are far more generous)

Grenad’in Ice
20 rue des Porcelets
One Scoop: 2.50 Euros, eat more at your own risk.
Milkshakes and sundaes available as well and Florence hopes to soon offer a few salé options too.
While there were plenty of seating options in the cheery space, I chose to park myself for prime people watching at a bench in the Place Paul Doumer just beyond. Such a land of far niente this shady café dotted square is. Clearly folks had nowhere pressing to be…
…save for the Mommy’s on their after school runs. The stylish model thin woman with the red espadrilles flared up an ugly spot of jealousy in me until I remembered one very important fact: she wasn’t enjoying an ice cream cone, now, was she?
There are several new establishments on the place, including L’Epicerie Moderne at #24, which specializes in the finest products from the region such as olive oils and red Camargue rice, all displayed with a retro touch…

…as well as Cécilia Flor at #16, where Sébastien celebrates my favorite–bouquets of all-white flowers…ahhh…

On a chilly winter’s afternoon ten years ago, we were welcomed out of the Mistral and in to the fantastic antique store Circa to have a cup of tea. It was a kind gesture that I never forgot and so it was with little surprise that I learned that it is something of a mini-cultural centre with exhibitions and musical performances surrounding the excellent pieces for sale, all from the 1930-1970s.
Circa
2 rue de La Roquette
http://www.circa-arles.com/index.html

A similarly fine mix of deco and welcome can be found at La Pousada, a jasmine covered bijou of a bed & breakfast (only three bedrooms!), mere steps from the Rhone. But you might just be tempted to stay in et faire le cocooning at this sweetly serene spot where the buildings ancient materials have been incorporated into a comfortable contemporary environment. We love that! 
La Pousada
9 rue de la Croix-Rouge
Rooms from 80-116 Euros, closed between mid-November to the beginning of March
http://www.lapousada.net/index_us.htm
Climbing jasmine also beckons at the entry to L’Hôtel Particulier, which is, in my completely subjective opinion, the finest hotel in Arles, if not in the entire region. It might just be my aesthetic ideal, kind of like if Paola Navone designed the welcome area beyond the pearly gates. This unbelievably beautiful lieu (my design friends most likely have the Zuber wall-papered bedroom on their inspiration boards) certainly deserves its own post and then some, if only I can summon the courage to ask! For that is how much esteem I have for Brigitte Pagès de Oliveira, the hotels creator and one of the absolutely one of the key harbingers of the Renaissance of the Roquette…

L’Hôtel Particulier
4 rue de la Monnaie
Rooms from 309-509 Euros
http://www.hotel-particulier.com/v2/en/#/diaporama/
I hope that you have enjoyed this second little walk through one of Arles’ oldest and most fascinating neighborhoods…there is more to come!

The Renaissance of the Roquette, Arles

It is funny how we slide into habits, isn’t it? Those little details that slowly vanish into nothingness or strengthen with ease day after day. The things that we have to choose or those we forget, sleepwalking style.

And so it was that I realized this morning, with a hiccup of surprise, that I hadn’t really roamed the Roquette neighborhood of Arles in…months. Now, for those of you that haven’t yet visited this small town perhaps you don’t realize how limited a space it is, easily traversable by feet in fifteen minutes or so.  I wondered at my lack of wandering as I strolled with my furry companions and just then Kipling barked loudly, randomly as he is want to do. “That is why,” I nodded. For he is a bit of a handful, this creature and I have been keeping him to the quay in the mornings for several reasons but it was time to stop being so safe, so we took a left loop on the way home, threading the narrow streets of the Roquette.

It is one of Arles’ oldest neighborhoods and nearly every architectural style is present. When I first visited in 2003, it’s nefarious reputation was still intact, an area of drug deals and stray cats, where Roma families would pull their sofas and televisions into the streets to take in the night air. Like so many inexpensive urban areas, it has gentrified mightily over the years. Les bobos, aka the bourgeois bohéme, have come and gone and it seems as though the area has become the Park Slope of Arles, family-filled.

I turned on to the Rue Croix Rouge after having done a quick cat-scan for Kipling and was immediately smacked by the perfume of jasmine, one was so strong it seemed as though my skin was sucking it in. And there were flowers…everywhere. I zig-zagged back with the boys, picking up the pace as the heat began to climb. Upon delivering them to the shade of the apartment, I grabbed my camera and headed back to capture and continue to explore.

I was so delighted by what I found. While I appreciated the gorgeous renovations of many of the homes, this wasn’t about money but pride. For so many of even the most modest homes had some small touch of greenery from a lone cactus on the windowsill to outdoor gardens beyond the front door.

Walking slowly, I took in the quiet, this despite it being late Saturday morning, the market day. Kids playing ball stopped to let an elderly Algerian man pass. Moms gossiped in doorways looking on. The energy was good. No place is perfect. Certain streets still exude a rough around the edges air and friends living in the Roquette say that there can be a frustrating pressure to be neighborhoody, that folks are constantly showing up for the apero uninvited and if you don’t participate in the big get-togethers you are labelled a snob. But I liked it.

This morning I did the same loop with the boys and while the impression was not as heady, save for the jasmine, it was still positive. I am planning to do a little mini-series this week to share with you more on this area of Arles, one where the tourists seldom tread…

Have a truly wonderful week everyone…

Kindness

Just a simple question today: Is there anything more beautiful than an act of true kindness? 
I was surprised by such a moment today and it moved me as much as any rolling vista or glowing Vermeer.
To give for the act of giving without expecting anything in return, whether the gesture be big or small, is quite…pure. Something akin to Love or Hope, those most ephemeral of emotions, finding form in a manner that always brings light to the dark.
Your thoughts? 

The Cool Tourist at Cuisine de Comptoir in Arles

“Yes, yes but where do the locals go to eat in Arles?” This is a question that I am asked a lot, often with an arched eyebrow as if to imply “you know, not where they go.” The ‘they’ in this case being…les touristes.
Ah, to be a tourist. It is a charged word that everyone avoids with a wince. No one wants to travel as a fool, at the whim of guidebooks or Tripadvisor’s subjective ratings. Putting together a journey these days can be the equivalent of following a Hansel and Gretel trail of crumbs while avoiding the mean ‘ol witch in the oven. 
Arles is no exception. Can one have a bad meal here, in the heart of Provence where fresh produce and ingredients are in bounty? Absolutely. As in shockingly bad or worse, a re-heated frozen dinner.
So where do the locals go? On one of my walks recently, I introduced the Cuisine de Comptoir as “where you should go have lunch every day of your stay in Arles.” 
We first met Alex and Vincent, the charming proprietors, long before living in Arles and it would be a staple of each visit before our move down from Paris. I remember Vincent telling me back in 2003 (ten years ago!), that they were determined to offer quality-only dishes at reasonable prices that would be just as good for the local businessman in February as for the flanning tourist in July. And that is what they have done.
So what is on the menu? Tartines! Delicious grilled open face sandwiches on Poilâne bread (they recently had to close for the evening due to a delay in bread delivery) that range from a healthy tomato and mozzarella to my favorites, the duck and cantal cheese or…wait for it…foie gras. Each are accompanied by a rather giant salad of fresh greens or a bowl of house-made soup (I am particularly fond of their mint-infused gazpacho at this time of year) with a glass of wine or a café–all for either 11.50 or 13.50 Euros depending on how decadent your tartine is. 
It is the best deal in town and it is little surprise that the Cuisine de Comptoir is packed all year ’round.
Don’t believe me? Just ask the locals…
Cuisine De Comptoir
10 rue de la Liberté
13200 Arles
Tel.: 04 90 96 86 28
PS. The tiramisu is not to be missed…
The only way to be a tourist? Why to be a cool one of course! This post is the first in a series inspired by one of Arles’ most fantastic new resources–The Cool Tourist map. This is the second year that Alexandre and Sébastien have put together a map that, “features the best places in town owned by friendly people only who will make you love this city as much as we do.” Perfect! I agree 100% with their selections of not only where to eat but also where to sleep and shop as well. For my posh friends discovering the other side of the Alpilles, there is also a map for St. Remy as well. 
http://thecooltourist.com

I hope it goes without saying that this is not a sponsored post in anyway, I am just spreading the joy of some awesome people and places in my little town of Arles…

Rack and ruin

Ticklish time. 
I am back again to wander in the village of our Secret Provence. Its streets are so dense with houses of all sizes pressed up cheek to cheek and each one with a story to tell. I want to push my palm to read their fortunes, most certainly that of a certain straggling Art Deco creature at the edge of the fortified walls holding back as if she were abandoned at a Bastille Day bal.
This is not an architectural style that is common at all in this part of Provence, so how adventuresome, how hopeful, someone must have been to add the ironwork curlicues and fanned rock-pocked glass suspended above the front door, just large enough for a loved one to dart out, giving a final peck goodbye under the rain.

Looking deeper, the haphazardly painted moss falls away and there it is, that 18th century stone. Solid, despite a proximity to a Rhone River that pulls so strongly here that it cuts across the maps. I want to pick a piece of that cement off and put it in my pocket.
Or if I could, I would take in hand this lonely girl to help her remember who she is.
In the 16th century, Henry Bull translated Luther’s commentary on the fifteen psalms. Amidst them arrived this: “Whiles all things seeme to fall wracke and ruine”…Hence the phrase. But do they? Do they? 
Ces traces me marque et me semble vivant.

The thyme patch

I am guest-posting over at the amazing D. A. Wolf’s “Daily Plate of Crazy” today: here.

If you need me, I’ll be napping in the thyme patch…

Soft focus

I know a woman who often doesn’t wear her glasses on purpose. She admits that, “I don’t necessarily want to see everything clearly.” I pondered if that is denial or a form of protection but gave up trying to shuffle between the two. It is a wildly rebellious gesture in the frame of an otherwise play-by-the rules type of personage.
Do you remember half-shutting your eyes as a child and walking around with your arms out-stretched, rediscovering the known while you felt your way into the fuzz? Or even shutting them tight to let the sun burn stars onto your eyelids? We too then, weren’t so desperate for everything to be utterly outlined with a thin blade of black line that can often willingly fall into “Look Here. Believe This.” Maybe it is just a question of time. Now, we rush through without enough to blow smoke rings or briny bubbles, made out of all that is half-known. Lucky then–lucky then?–a keeper sweeps our steps from under our feet while we go, leaving a softer focus, a quieter show.