Lay It Out In Lavender

As Rosemary is to the Spirit,

So Lavender is to the Soul

-William Shakespeare, Winter's Tale

And truer words were never spoken! Since moving to France, July quickly became my favourite month of the year! Apart from the toasty, 38 degree days; afternoon storms; shallow, light evening skies covered in a blanket of stars and the endless throng of daily fairs, festivals and feasts to partake in... July, is lavender time.

And, do. I. love. lavender time! Lavender is a truely amazing herb; it has so many health benefits - both physical and emotional, and it's uses are endless! Lavender essential oil can be used in the treatment of acne, burns, aching muscles, cuts, earaches, headache, insomnia, depression, anxiety and menstrual cramps. It truely is a wonder-herb! For more information, check out this website - it's my 'go-to' website when I have an queries about essential oils.

Now, it's one thing to own a bottle of lavender essential oil, it is something else to see where it actually comes from, and there is nothing like driving along an endless, gray road and suddenly coming up and over a hill,  to be engulfed by a field of deep, rich, vibrant colour! 

Depending on what time of the year though, will determine which colour will carry you away because there are several stages of colour, before we get to the purple!

March through to July you can see wheat fields in every stage of growth from fresh, flowing green, to dry, mellow yellow, or beige - ready to be cut.  By this time, sunflowers have also made an appearance.

April, May and June is poppy time. I adore poppies and always pick a few to press between the pages of an old book. They are extremely fragile and pretty much wilt and die within a few mintues of picking them, as they are wild - not like the sturdy ones that you can buy in florists. Because of their silk-like petals, they dont really withstand the heat, so, by late June, they have mostly all but died off.

Come July, the lavender is in full bloom and a lavender field is something that you will definitely want to see at least once in your life time - if not for the endless ocean of purple alone, but for the devine scent, wafting through the air!

As I make quite a few things which contain lavender, my landlords were kind enough to let me have the lavender that they grow, as it lines the driveway - so today, I started picking it. I picked one bush and that gave me 5 {medium sized} bunches of lavender which I am going to dry and use in my heat-bags, soaps and body scrubs/salts. 

{Note to Self: Pick lavender later in the evening, as to not be surrounded by bees, wasps and other flying bugs. All seem to be of the unified opinion that I taste good!}

As for the medicinal uses of lavender, I have to say that I am defintely a believer! For the last two days, I had been suffering from a terrible migraine. Last night after dinner, Gabe and I took an evening stroll and we picked a few stems of lavender. We sat by the pool for about half an hour soaking our feet and making shapes out of the clouds. Every now and then, I'd smell a sprig of lavender. I rolled the flowers between my fingers, releasing a burst of strong, lavender scent. I rubbed it on my temples and my chest. By the time we went back inside for some ice-cream, my migraine had disappeared. Was it the fresh air or the lavender, or a combination of them both? Two hours earlier I was in the foetal position on the couch waiting for an excessive dosage of neurofen to kick in but half an hour outside with some lavender and I was walking on air. If you're not a believer in natural remedies, lavender alone is defintely worth looking into.

I'm going to leave you with one of my favourite quotes, from one of my favourite movies, and they are words that we should all live by...

 "There's a few things that I've learned in life;

always throw salt over your left shoulder;

 keep rosemary by your garden gate;

plant lavender for luck...

 and fall in love whenever you can" 

- Sally Owens, Practical Magic
{written by Alice Hoffman}

Village Of The Week: Aups

This is the first post in what will be a series of posts entitled, Village of the Week. I have lived here in Provence for a while now and have done a lot of exploring. I have come across many charming, quaint,  picturesque villages that barely get a mention in the tourist books, so I thought that I would shine a light on some of them for those who want to discover the real Provence and perhaps see a part of France that they never knew existed!

This is Rue Rosette Ciofi; through to the left of the arch is where I hold my market stall.

I am somone that loves history; it facinates me and I love going to old places, standing on cobbled roads and wondering who else walked those very streets in another time. I am mesmerized by the architecture, the bell towers, fountains and the narrow streets lined with stone houses adorned by window boxes over-flowing with colour. To me, it conjures up memories of life from another time that I have never lived - that sentence could only make sense to me, but... it's pure magic. 

This is the Bell-tower of Aups; it is a certified, historical monument and dates back to the 16th century.

With that said, my first Village-of-the-Week-pick is Aups. I've chosen this one to start with because I have quite a soft spot for this village. It is part of the National Park of the Verdon and is known as the 'Southern Gateway' to the Gorges du Verdon {Verdon Gorges}. Aups rests at the foothills of the Alps  and is rich in culture and history dating back to 6 BC. It's a stone's throw away from Lake St. Croix and Lake Esparron, two of the most beautiful lakes in the South.

Lake St. Croix.

Lake Esparron.

For those who are culinary inclined & the rest of you Foodies - Aups is full of divine restaurants that will tantilize your taste buds. You wont be disappointed with an array of local wines, olive oil, honey and of course truffles {no, I dont mean chocolate truffles, I mean the mushroomy kind}!  There are a few small boutiques & galleries and of course, the market every Wednesday and Saturday until 1pm.

Local lamb in provençal herbs, wedges & what southern meal would be complete without a serve of ratatouille!

Local honey products including various types of honies, royal jelly, honeycomb and beeswax candles!

A little French boutique selling the usual, soaps, bedding, cushions, pottery & other homewares.

The first time I went to Aups was back in 2007. I spoke no more than a few words of French - bonjour; au revoir; merci! One fine, August morning, Mathieu said to me, 'You are going to sell Melons at Aups Market today' - 'Um... OK'!

An hour later, he dropped me in front of an old fountain, set up my melon stand and off he went to another market. My stand wasn't in the heart of the actual market {I took great comfort in that!}, it was futher up a cobbled road, surrounded by old apartments and leading up to the Porte des Aires. To my left was a very romantic laneway and to my right, through an archway was a street called Rosette Ciofi. Little did I know at the time that I was surrounded by ghosts waiting for me to discover their stories.

There are many Roman remains around the South of France, even in Aups. In fact, the very fountain that my market stall was set up in front of, was an old Roman milestone. The Porte des Aires is part of the old wall surrounding the village of Aups and from this arched gateway, you can see the rooftops of the very well preserved, medievil village. In those days, outside those village walls would have been surrounding wheat fields but today, the highschool, carparks and small apartment buildings are neighbours to the ancient site. Amongst the terracotta coloured tiles, belltower, and stairwells you will also be able to spot some of the remnants of the castle ramparts dating back to the 12th and 16th centuries.

Anyone who is interested in history would know that religious wars plagued Europe for centuries. This was an incredibly brutal and bloody time and in 1574, the horror spilled into Aups with over 200 people slaughtered in front of the Church {Notre Dame de l'Assomption} which included women and children having their throats slit.

Notre Dame de l'Assomption & the fountain in the main square of the Aups village.

But, the warfare did not end there. Centuries later, as Napolean III was coming into power, Aups became the capital of  the 'Red Var', and was very much anti-Bonaparte. Troops from all over the Var faught against Bonaparte's army until they were finally defeated in 1851.

Notre Dame de la Délivrance: This church is built on the ruins of the former castle and is in honour of the Virgin for sparing the lives of the inhabitants of Aups during the war against Napoléon Bonaparte.

Aups was also home to many members of the French Resistance Army during the German occupation of WW2 and there are monuments in every village to pay tribute to them. Rosette Ciofi was a 17 year old girl and an aid to the Resistance Army. She was shot whilst trying to prevent German soldiers from discovering members of the Resistance who were hiding in a street. The street where she was shot was named after her and I have sat next to it a thousand times, selling melons during the Summer months.

This one speaks for itself.

While the history of Aups is not so well known, one thing that Aups is definitely well known for, is it's markets. Every Wednesday and Saturday, people flock from far and wide to be a part of this very vibrant atmosphere.

The tree lined square is full of white parasoles as far as the eye can see with vendors selling food, clothes and everything in between. The air is pungent with a mélange of different scents ranging from lavender & other fresh cut flowers, herby olives & garlicy sun-dried tomatoes, cheese, dried meats and of course, paella.

Dried lavender, soaps, hand towels - touristy gifts typical to Provence. 

Dried meats including donkey, goat, horse, cow, pig & boar.

Wine-crusted donkey sausage - the French dont muck around when it comes to dried meats!

Pick a sausage, any sausage!

A variety of cheese - local to Corsican!

Corsican cheese is extremely strong in taste and smell! If you are trying French cheese for the first time, dont start with this because the smell alone will put you off for life!

Fresh fish...

Artichoke flowers... these will last forever. I still have some in a vase that I picked 3 years ago!

Locally made pottery - be careful that you aren't buying cheap-made-in-china-knock-offs!

Espadrilles - A french shoe, although, if I'm going to wear a canvas shoe, it better have a 'Toms' logo on it.

Beeswax candles made by the local Apiculteur!

 

The paella, roast chickens and roast potatoes; Get there early, or you might get a free case of food poisoning.

Table cloths...

Spices, pickles & sauces - Oh my!

So, my dear friends, I hope that you enjoyed your little trip to Aups! Stay tuned for next weeks 'Village of the Week'... I think that we may pay Cotignac a visit!

A Different Kind of Journal

A few years ago, a friend suggested to me {via email} that I should start a blog and share with the world my quirky stories about my new french life in the south of France. At the time I laughed it off, but the idea stayed tucked away in the corners of my mind. 

At the top of a bell tower, looking over a village.

At that time, I had been living in France {permanently} for almost a year and was still trying to get my leg over that bi-lingual wall! The two years before that, I had been going back and forth between France and Australia chasing the summers and hiding from the cold. I had noticed a lot of cultural differences between the french and english-speakers, that I had not read about in any book. I grew to feel very frustrated with life in France, the french population {in general} and the fact that I could never escape the label of being a foreigner. I needed a place to vent my frustrations and write about the very unbelievable observations that still to this day, leave me at a loss for words. 

Picking melons after a run.

Back then, if I wasn’t planting seeds, picking melons, or working on a market, I would pass my time day-dreaming; writing in journals, and taking pictures of butterflies and wheat fields.

I love reading back through my journals and I still remember those quiet moments of solitude, when the world had stopped turning, so that I could be alone, in the moment with my thoughts. 

These butterflies are everywhere in summer!

A lot of the entries were about things that had happened at markets or on the farm, with Mathieu’s family. A lot were funny, jaw-dropping-OMG-did-that-really-happen moments; but a lot were also sad. I was extremely homesick and missing my beautiful family and friends, my beloved Sydney and wondering why the hell I came here in the first place… oh yeah, love.

My favourite city in the world!

It’s a really hard thing, moving to a foreign country; espescially when you have gone from a glistening, vibrant city - out to the sticks and where you don’t speak the language or understand the culture. It’s nearly impossible to be yourself when you cant make yourself understood. As time passes, you struggle to remember what you used be like – didn’t I used to be funny? 

Lavender field towards the lake at Esparron.

 I hated working on the markets. I felt constant angst because I couldn't understand a damn word that was being said to me! You would think that the process of buying a melon would be a simple one and trust me; only the French could complicate this situation. They would want to know the variety, the quality, the weight, is it good, is it sweet, how long it will last, do they keep it in the fridge, is it male, is it female, was it picked today, where is it grown, am I the producer, is it certified organic, is it grown in a tunnel or in a field??? The questions were endless and so was the humiliation of not being able to answer a single one!

A lot of the time, I would meet lovely people and once they understood that my French was not good, even non-existent, they would pull a little trick out of their hat and speak in English. I have discovered along my travels that most French people keep this one hidden up their sleeve. They would ask me how I wound up in France. They would listen contently to my reply, with warm smiles on their faces... 'I came here for love', I would say in my sweet, little, Aussie voice and they would buy some melons and be on their way. I loved meeting people like that, because the rest of the time, I met some not so lovely people, who fit every horrible stereo-type ever written about the French.

I would get home from the markets exhausted from listening to people and trying to decipher words and their meanings.

One grey day at Cotignac market, a woman in her mid 50's came to buy a melon. At first, she asked how much it was for one. I replied {in French}, 'It's 2€ for one, or 5€ for 3'... the smile on her face dropped to the ground when she heard my accent and she went on to ask me several questions, to which I did not understand and could not answer. She searched through her purse for a single 2€ coin, and before placing it in my hand, she said {in English}, 'It disgusts me that there are foreigners working in my country who can not even speak the language'! And with that, she pushed the coin into the palm of my hand, trying to avoid any actual contact with my skin and went on her way. 

The old caves at Cotignac.

I stood there in shock until she eventually disappeared into the crowd. As mean and as hurtful as she was, she actually did me a favour as she gave me the nudge that I needed to focus on learning the French language, all by myself. I went home that day, exhilerated and full of energy. I put labels all around the house with both the french and english word, if it was masculine or feminie and it's plural form. I was on fire and seeing them everyday, I started remembering.

Today, I speak quite well and have really progressed in the last three years or since my son, Gabe, was born. I am thankful that I met that woman, and when I think about her, I think about how far I have come since then.

Learning to speak another langauge has been my greatest challenge and my greatest achievement, however, it is no longer my greatest obstacle... being a Mother is. But, that is something that I cherish more than anything else. And you can see why!

The Boy!

Reading back over those journals from years ago, I have changed a lot. My feelings, my way of thinking; I feel all grown up. These days, I am one of the locals and a Mama. I don’t write in journals anymore {well, I guess this blog is kind of a journal} – but I still day-dream and take pictures of butterflies & wheat fields.