Spain-ish and The Gers

SST and I headed on from Carnoux, further south along the coast. Having awarded ourselved a friend-date night, we stuck a pin in a map and headed to Port de Bouc. Upon arrival, we realised that the port really is a port and is a 'zone industrielle'. Not pretty, very smelly, generally  grim. Undefeated,though a little deflated, we stuck pin number two in the map and found 'St Marie de la mer'. 

Hooray! We accidentally made it to Spain! For those with googlemaps, or, heaven forbid, real maps, St Marie de la mer is actually in France, and is nowhere near the border. It is, however, just like a Spanish holiday postcard. Amid the Andalucian-style terracotta rooved houses, we saw signs telling us we had missed the bull-running by one day (good news for the jeep). We saw row after row of horse ranches on the way into the town. Restaurants offered bull steak and tapas. We watched flamenco dancers and a mariachi band in the town square. We saw an exhibition of torreador costumes and posters. We drank brandy. There were even a couple of Spanish flags. Weird, but great. Apparently it was a famous stop on the pilgrim route for many years, and so many of the Spanish pilgrims made their mark here.

SST and I made ourselves comfortable with oysters and moules frites (I know how to show a girl a good time), and decided to stop for the night before heading to the region of the Gers the next day. 




Our journey to the Gers was interesting. Perhaps the heat did something to Katy (the satnav) or perhaps she was having a small rebellion. Maybe put it down to user error (most likely). However. Firstly, we decided to stop at that well known and beautiful medieval town, Carcassonne. We arrived, we parked and headed for the centre, getting more confused by the minute. After asking around, we discovered that we were 'only a short train ride' from the medieval bit and had basically done the equivalent of travelling to Luton to look for Trafalgar Square. With not much more time on our hands, we had a bit of lunch (more food, of course) and then headed on. Arriving at our destination, we called Will, our host, and, after more ridiculous confusion, discovered that we were roughly forty minutes drive away in the wrong direction. Please now follow, in pictures, the journey we took through amazing countryside to get to the right place.....

Eventually we turned up at the small town of Lectoure (above)  where a friend of Will’s, Genowefa, was having a gallery opening. It was there that we met Matthew Weinreb, photographer and local-man-in-the-know. After explaining sing for your supper to him, he rang around and organised for SST and I to perform at a festival at a medieval castle on Sunday afternoon. Hurrah! 

We then followed Will across-country to the hamlet of Saint Caprais, where we were to stay with his parents. As with much of the journey so far, our arrival and first night was a mix of filmic, storybook surrealness and 'The Rae Show' slapstick. It was about ten at night, we drove up a dirt track past sleeping cows, twenty minutes drive from the nearest village. Pulling through the gates of the eighteenth century farmhouse, we were almost floored by the joyous greeting of Dillon the briand (he is very, very big). After then meeting Colin and Marion Bond (Will's parents), Biggles the maine coon cat (see below, the biggest cat I've ever seen) and Henri Cat (a bit shy, unsurprisingly, as he shares his territory with giants), SST and I were shown to our own floor of the house with beautiful, timbered, attic rooms, shuttered windows and huge beds. 














Dillon, however, then started to get rather excited. It turned out that a guest had entered the house with us, a tiny, bright green, tree frog. Cue slightly ridiculous episode of four slow humans trying to stop one giant dog 'playing' with his new, very energetically jumping, living toy. After lots of missed attempts, I (woo hoo!) managed to catch monsieur frog (well, he was French) and pop him back onto a tree outside. By the time I got back into the dining room, lamps were lit and a table was laid and groaning with food: duck cassoulet, cheeses, bread and wine. Over our feast, SST and I started to learn a little more about the Bonds.

Colin Bond found the Gers whilst working as a pilot for a wealthy arms dealer. He flew said man to a D'argtanan fancy dress party in the region and when he got home, told his wife that he had found them somewhere to retire. Colin began his career as a pilot in the Canadian air force. His young girl-friend Marion followed him to Canada, but was living hundreds of miles away. In order to propose the question of marriage, Colin flew across to where Marion was staying one Friday night. By the time he left on Sunday, she hadn't given an answer. It was only on Monday when he got back that she telephoned to say that 'they may as well get married'. The air force chaplain, an understanding bloke, organised a special licence and the couple were married on Friday, a week after the proposal. 


They honeymooned that weekend at Niagra Falls, although Colin had a terrible cold and for a second or two, the nineteen year old Marion did wonder if she had 'made a terrible mistake'. 
Apparently not, as the Bonds then spent very happy years in Canada. Colin, who has passed his artistic side to both his sons, became, almost accidentally, the man in charge of the air force entertainments. He ran the air force theatre company, making it more successful than it had ever been. Back in England, after saving Marion from kidnapping (really! but a long story not for here), Colin joined the Royal Air Force for several years, before becoming a civil pilot for such passengers as Nigel Mansell (and that un-named arms dealer).  As well as continuing his events and creative work with the R.A.F. Colin also painted murals in several of the homes that the family lived in, including a thirteenth century cottage in England. The cottage was sold, redecorated, and then sold again, to a woman who 'discovered' the amazing medieval mural on the wall. Unfortunately, as Colin said, 'I may be old, but definitely not that old'.

Illegal Armagnac


The plan on Saturday was to go to a festival where Will was working as chef. This didn't  happen, however, after we encountered one of the local delicacies. At the end of a walk with Marion, Colin and Dillon, we called in on their neighbours. The chat turned to wine and the local cave, run by an elderly woman named Angelique. We were informed, that if you go to said cave and ask for 'not wine', you get firstly, the third degree to check that you aren't the police, and then a great bottle of her (now dead) husband's secret  supply. A glass or two of this later and the hour long drive to the festival seemed like a very long way to go, compared with an evening of chat with the Bonds and a very comfy bed....Lovely Will was very understanding and still arrived the next day to take us to Larressingle. 


Larressingle

Larressingle is a beautiful medieval village in the Gers, with an amazing chateau. 



On the Sunday that we were to perform, the chateau courtyard was used for an anti-violence festival. In the glorious sunshine, a French woman sang traditional chansons. Then a flamenco group performed onstage. 

After this, (following a combination of misinformation and a slightly angry French man) I took to the stage with SST as my microphone stand. She now has bionic strength in both arms, and the slight tremor as she wearied made my vibrato sound much richer. 

The best bit of the day was when the two of us sat at the edge of the stage, legs a-dangling, and performed, with no amplification. Our lovely, lovely audience were silent and then very appreciative. About two hundred people and we could still be heard across the courtyard. It was great. (Matthew took some photos and I'll put them up when I get them).

We were followed by the amazing Christel, one of the organisers of the festival. Christel performed a specially choreographed contemporary dance around the site, accompanied by her boyfriend Ben on piano. Mesmerising and truly special. 

After all of this fun, it was, of course, time for more food. This was provided back at Saint Caprais by Marion, then we drove through the early evening sunlight, feeling very lucky to have met more amazing, kind and hugely interesting people.