Day 38 - SkyLines from the French Lock-down: Provence - Olives, J'adore!

Salut les amis! (Hi, friends!)  So, it's a moment in time when everything sounds like doom plus gloom. Nuts! Or maybe Fruits! We don't have to let it get us down. We can beat the blues if we turn off the negative news and get our minds into a better place. Let's say.. somewhere like Provence!

A rather pretty sales room at an olive oil mill in Provence

Day 38 - It's getting to be a bit samey here in Argelès-sur-mer. Where shall I go? The kitchen? The Salon? The Office or

St. Rémy was lovely!

The Garage?  Hey. How about a really exciting place -The Terrace! After 37 days, they all feel like confinement. At least the rain has stopped! It was getting to the point where the river threatened to rise from its bed as it did in January. There were cars carried away from the parking areas along the banks of the Massane. Thankfully we were parked by the house which is higher up on the village walls. So after a routine morning under French quarantine we made a special lunch of springtime asparagus cooked with black bean sauce, garlic, and mushrooms served on rice. I know, not very French but it was really good! All this kitchen time is beginning to pay off. I beamed when my French partner, Y, declared it, "Vachement, bon!" (Cow-ly good. No, it really does not work to translate word for word. A better phrase would be "extremely good. "Vachement" is several degrees above saying, "very." French is a funny language!)

Not only is it not raining but it is sunny and warm. So, after lunch we set up chairs and a table on the terrace, not forgetting to set out a basket for the cat to snooze.  It's that perfect moment

Hotel in St. Remy with
two false windows.

again - the one when I get to write to you while Y reads French "bandes-dessinées" or graphic novels to you and me. Most people think of Tin-Tin or Astérix, but there are so many more amazing French artists, if you are interested in that, here is a starter's page on what another writer thinks are the 9 BD books you should read.

We have talked all morning about the hope that when May arrives we will be set free and can at least go outside of our village.  The sun is making it quiet warm now so we have to put up the parasol. And although it is no longer raining, I want very much to finish the game you and I began while it was bucketing down. You remember. We were on a virtual visit to Provence. First we went to the Pont de Gard and from there to Saint Remy de Provence. Let's finish our trip with a stroll down one of my memory lanes. Imagination is good for the soul. Come'on and get in the car. Allons-y! (Let's go!) 

To finish our little excursion, we’ll leave the large town behind. A touristic guide mentioned a

There's the sign! Let's follow it.

number of olive mills in the area. What a great idea! Let's go find an old fashioned olive oil press mill somewhere in the heart of this rustic countryside. We head out and leave the large roads behind as we drive south along the Apilles chalk hills. This national park is a dreamlike area of green fields, small, winding, tree-lined avenues through the countryside. It’s dotted with small collections of farm buildings and only slightly bigger villages. We pass through the village of Fontvieille and not long afterward we see a sign that promises just what we are searching for - olive oil, cold off the presses!

We drive toward Le Moulin de Bédarrides. The long tree-lined drive is white chalky gravel and golden sunlight slants through the silvery leafed olive trees on either side. The mill and barns appear ahead of us and are as pretty as we might have imagined them to be! They are made of lovely old stone, with mature vines and trees in the welcoming courtyard.

We get out of the car and I can't help but peek into a large wooden crate that stands next to the open barn door. In it, I see a rainbow of olive colors - from pale straw green, through shades of

The entry to the olive mill shop.

green-violet, to reddish-brown purple, and deepest ebony, We walk to the entrance. Where once old wooden doors stood, there is a glass wall with shop doors. You go in first and I follow, taking photos like always. The vaulted ceiling and whitewashed stone walls give us the feeling we are in another age. Then we see the working part of the mill behind another glass wall where everything is temperature controlled. We watched, intrigued, as a pale green-amber thread of cold oil flowed from the press into a vat. At last, I can see why they say “cold-pressed!”

The salesroom is filled with collections of olive oils, creams, herbs of Provence, and vinaigrettes

Y would love to have a
radiator like this one!

set off with colorful ribbons, baskets, and statuettes. An occasional large vase stands filled with branches, dried flowers, ornamental grasses, and ribbons- as if the whole room had been set up for an Impressionist painting.

We approach a small tasting table where an easel describes the three types of oil for sale. Next to the sample bottles, are teaspoons or small plastic cups. We each take a teaspoon and grin at the thought of chefs from local restaurants stopping by to chuck back a small cup of the oil and scrutinize the overall character as they planned their menus. 

First, we try the black fruit olive oil. It is nutty, sweet, and full-bodied. The green olive oil is light as a whisper and slightly acidic – but in the nicest way. The mixed fruit oil is my favorite - a balance of the two.


We chose our purchases and look around. There is no cash register or checkout counter. Instead, we see an elegant old desk with gazelle-like curved legs stands to one side. I am surprised when an elegant, white haired lady steps from the shadows where she has been sitting

Olive oil tasting!

unnoticed. I love her long hair done up in a stylish French twist! She looks quite fashionable in a black twill suit with grey silk stockings and sensible black shoes. She smiles at us and we set down our bottles and gifts. I gush on a bit about how beautiful the shop is and how wonderful the olive oils are. You are more reserved and ask how long the mill has been here. Wow! The same family have owned and run the mill since 1870! All of the oil is made from olives grown in their groves or the neighboring ones. That is so cool.

The lady carefully writes out our purchases long hand and tallies the costs on a sheet of paper. I’m still amazed as she takes our money and returns our change. I haven’t seen such a thing in a long, long time. "Bonne continuation," she says wishing us a good rest of our day.

My photo is a lot like the one on
their website! You can check it out
if you like. at Moulin de Bédarrides.

"Bonne journée!" we say. (The more general version of "Have a nice day.") The transaction complete, we walk out to the courtyard. Wow - it really is just like a movie set. And yet, it is real, makes wonderful products, and supports this family as it has for generations. That makes it even better. Thank you for going on this exploration, my friend. It's time to drive home to the wonderful department where I live, almost three hours away. I would live nowhere else, but if I had to live in any other part of France, then I believe it would be in this intensely beautiful region of Provence.  Homeward, we drive and the kilometers fly by. Thank goodness you bought some olives while we had the chance!  I'll probably finish the lot on our ride back to Argelès-sur-mer. They are so delicious.  Olives, j'adore! (I adore them!) 

So, we come to the end of our game. I enjoyed it and Y thinks I'm just a little bit bonkers. But he loves having a bonkers American writer for his companion, so that's okay. In Europe, we think there is a good chance we are over the crest of the wave. The numbers are staying low. Sheltering in Place, or Quarantine, as we call it, seems to be working. The peak has hit in the States. Some people don't get why we have to stay at home for a little bit longer. But we know you understand and as long as we can, we will hold the numbers down. And that is how we will slowly return to life, which probably will never be like before, but will be more normal. Until then, nos amis, hold on. Be safe. Be strong! We love you.

Real Provencal Olives. Yum!

A demain! (Until tomorrow!)  Link to Day 39