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| Church of Mary Magdalene, Rennes-le-Chateau Languedoc-Roussillon |
And now our final day in Cassaignes arrives: I’m writing on the 16th, before W. and K. drive us after lunch to Toulouse, from which we’ll fly early tomorrow to Paris and then from Paris to Atlanta. On Friday (the 13th), we spent the day at home in Cassaignes, since W. and K. expected his cousin M. and wife K. for an evening meal and spent part of the day preparing that meal. W.'s grandmother and M.'s grandmother were sisters in Alsace, with M.'s grandmother marrying and going to Paris and W.'s marrying and going to Frankfurt — so that there are both German and French branches of their family now.
On the evening of the 12th, W. marinated the lamb he bought in Limoux earlier in the day in a liter of the red wine he got in Durban-Corbières, adding chopped shallots and herbs and spices — thyme, bay leaf, and juniper berries, I think. On the 13th, he cooked a lamb ragout, lamb in a rich sauce with carrots and zucchini and onions added. This was the main dish at the meal we ate with M. and K. in W. and K.’s garden that evening, with a beet salad made by K. K. had bought packages of cooked beets in Limoux and then cut them up with cubes of feta cheese and dressing. The meal was wonderful, with a cheese course following.
Steve and I enjoyed W.’s cousin M. and his wife K., who live part of the year in a nearby village and the rest of the year in Monaco. I think K. is from there. M. spent some of his early years in the US — his father was American — and says he likes the US and Americans very much. He has dual citizenship. I think he lived on Long Island and in Philadelphia, and spoke of a cross-country motorcycle tour he took from the east coast through Kentucky and Kansas to Arizona, where he spent months, if I recall correctly, with friends.
We talked, of course, of Trump and what he and his followers are doing to the country and the international reputation of Americans. I haven’t met anyone in France or Germany who professes to admire Trump — quite the contrary. People are baffled that American voters, who used to be thought sensible and democracy-oriented, would choose to empower an empty, obvious thug with fascist leanings. They’re also resolute about encouraging nations in the European Union to stand against these trends.
The evening was very pleasant, as we sat and talked with night falling in W. and K.’s garden. Much of the conversation was in French, and that helped me polish my lamentably bad French a little bit.
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| Capitelle de Planeses, Cassaignes, Languedoc-Roussillon |
The next day, Saturday the 14th, in the morning W. and K. took us on a long walk to see close up one of the capitelles that dot the countryside of southern France. As I mentioned in a previous entry, these hive-shaped stone buildings are thought to have been built a very long time ago to give shelter to shepherds in inclement weather. They're constructed with drystone technique — no mortar.
There were signposts as we walked through fields and forest pointing to “Capitelle de Planeses.” Google tells me that “planeses” is not a standard French word and Google cannot translate it. I don’t know if this is perhaps a local dialect word, the name of this particular capitelle, or if the word indicates something else. We went inside this capitelle, and it felt rather eerie to be in the fairly low-ceilinged building made from stones that have nothing holding them together. Claustrophobic-feeling….
As we walked, I took photos of the many flowers in the countryside around Cassaignes, blue chicory, blue and pinkish scabiosa, yellow dandelions, pink and white blackberry blossoms, orange and rose-colored poppies, pink and white blossoms similar to the blooms of morning glories, chicory, and others whose name I don’t know.
The walk to and fro the capitelle was rather taxing, since much of it was uphill, and the day was muggy and fairly warm. By the time we returned home, my shirt was drenched with sweat and I lay down and had a good long nap for much of the afternoon, after we’d had the leftover ragout for lunch.
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| Sunday market, Espéraza, Languedoc-Roussillon |
On Sunday the 15th, the big event was a visit to the extensive market held each Sunday in Espéraza, at which everything under the sun is on offer — fresh fruit and vegetables, sausages, cheese, raw oysters, olives, nougat, clothes and handicraft items, etc. I enjoyed walking through the market, seeing people smile and greet each other as they shopped, enjoyed looking at the manifold things for sale, though we bought little. Steve got two cotton scarves that we’ll give as gifts when we return home, one for his brother, the other for Suzy, our house cleaner. The man selling those seemed to be Indian or Middle Eastern, so they may be made in that part of the world. Steve asked him for a deal since he was buying two scarves, and the vendor reduced the price from €30 for the two to €25.
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| Le Fournil d’Espéraza bakery, Espéraza, Languedoc-Roussillon |
M. and K. rendezvoused with us at the market and we all sat at a café with outside tables, Café Relais Occitan, and had cups of coffee and, for those who wanted, croissants. W. and I walked to a wonderful little bakery just on the edge of the market, Le Fournil d’Espéraza, and bought more croissants for the table, along with baguettes and two almond cookies that caught my eye.
As we sat at the table drinking coffee and eating croissants, W. suggested to Steve that he might try the oysters, since he wouldn’t have another chance. So Steve and M. then walked to the oyster vendor and bought six oysters on the half-shell each, and enjoyed them as an unusual breakfast with the coffee.
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| Sunday market, Espéraza, Languedoc-Roussillon |
After this, W. and I visited a stand with a vast array of olives and W. selected some for our evening meal, and we then visited a garlic vendor, a sweet elderly man who told W. he wouldn’t mind having his photo taken with me. As W. told me, “This is a photo of the old France that doesn’t exist in lots of other places.” I wanted to buy the bread and pastries, the olives, and the garlic, and gladly did so as a contribution to our meals, and also bought some eggrolls from a Thai vendor that we thought we might have for our evening meal.
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| View from Rennes-le-Chateau, Languedoc-Roussillon |
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| Rennes-le-Chateau, Languedoc-Roussillon |
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| Urs Zimmerman sculpture, Rennes-le-Chateau, Languedoc-Roussillon |
From Espéraza, we drove to Rennes-le-Chateau, a pretty (and rather touristy) little village perched high on a mountain overlooking the lower landscape, including Cassaignes. The main attractions there, I think, other than the village itself, are a church and museum connected to the many myths about Mary Magdalene found in this part of France. There are stories that the body of Jesus was exhumed at some point and brought to the Corbières, that Mary Magdalene spent the latter years of her life in this region and is buried here, etc. All these are elaborated by and imbricated with legends about the Cathars and Templars and secret caches of treasure and of explosive gnostic religious messages.
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| Church of Mary Magdalene, Rennes-le-Chateau Languedoc-Roussillon |
The church in Rennes-le-Chateau is dedicated to Mary Magdalene. It was originally built in the 11th century, in Romanesque style, and then remodeled in the 19th century by its pastor, Abbé Bérenger Saunière, about whom there are fables, including whispers that at some point, he unearthed a trove of gold and other treasure — under an ancient tomb in the church, the story goes — and used that wealth to have the church remodeled. The reality seems to be more pedestrian: he was a royalist, an anti-democrat, and a wealthy patron who shared his political sympathies gave him money for the project.
Just inside the door is a statue of a devil crouched in a prone posture, with the holy water stoop on his head. It’s glassed-in and W. says the reason is that the original was vandalized at some point, and what’s now inside the glass is a repaired version of the original. There seems to be mystery about who vandalized the original — a devil-worshiper? As I say, many stories, legends, myths connected to this church and churches in this part of France, all rooted, I suspect, in Cathar history….
In the garden of the museum and in other places throughout the village are sculptures of Swiss-born artist Urs Zimmermann, who lived in Rennes-le-Chateau in the final years of his life. Zimmermann spent some time in Africa, and most of these sculptures seem to be African-inspired, to have African themes.
After our return to Cassaignes, I cooked creole stuffed eggplant for our midday meal. We had bought two medium-sized eggplants at E. Leclerc in Limoux several days before and I boiled these while Steve helped me chopping vegetables. I sautéed chopped bell pepper, onion, and garlic in olive oil as the eggplants boiled, and when they were fork-tender, Steve cut them lengthwise and scooped out the flesh. I chopped it up and mixed it with the sautéed seasonings, then added some breadcrumbs we’d made from stale baguettes, some grated Parmesan cheese, some herbes de Provence, and several of the good fresh eggs W. and K. buy in the village, and the result seemed good to me and to the whole table.
Later in the day after we’d all enjoyed a rest, W. and K. took us on a final walk around the village. We walked down to a garden plot they own where they have several fruit trees, a Mirabelle that was very abundant last year, they say, an Alsatian Quetsche, and a Reine Claude. Villagers tell them that if a Mirabelle bears abundantly one year, it takes two or three years for it do the same. This year’s crop does look unpromising, but the other two plum trees seem laden with green fruit already.
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| St. Martin church, Cassaignes, Languedoc-Roussillon |
A villager who has the key to the parish church in Cassaignes, St. Martin, also kindly showed us the interior last evening. We think it's medieval, from the Romanesque period, but haven't been able to find specific information about it. Perhaps the date 1866 over the door means that the original medieval church was remodeled in the 19th century?
Also inscribed over the door is the name Monsieur Saunière, the same Abbé Saunière I mentioned above. The Cassaignes church is no longer in use. W. tells us he knows of two occasions since they have had their house here that it has been used for funerals, but not otherwise. Some kind of vandalism apparently took place in the church some years back (this has happened to a number of churches in this part of France), with religious artwork being smashed, and the church is kept locked as a result.
Following the final tour of the village and its church, W. and K. opened a bottle of crémant de Limoux and then served some cassoulet they’d bought earlier and put into the refrigerator, after Steve expressed an interest in trying that local dish combining white beans, duck or goose, and sausage. They asked people they know where to find the best cassoulet in the area and bought it there.
We had a nice evening listening to music and sipping wine after we’d enjoyed the crémant and cassoulet, a Bunter Abend, W. and K. called it, a party evening — a term they say dates them, and at which their daughters T. and A. would probably laugh, since it’s very old-fashioned. Then to bed….
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