.
July 24, 2010
Internet access is intermittent. This post is #2 of 3; scroll down and read from the bottom up, to read them in order.
*****
It started out ordinary enough. Petit dejeuner in the Toulouse hotel, picking up the rental car. (Although, it continues to amaze me that hotels and rental agencies have our names on their list, and are ready for us—it’s all going so smoothly, there’s nothing ordinary about it.) We made our way out of Toulouse with help of our GPS (loaded with a map of France) and instructions from the rental guy. Neither worked well; we followed signs, and ended up exactly where I would have chosen—NOT on the big toll road.
Then came the sunflowers. We’ve all seem them, the fields, thanks to Van Gogh and ads for Provence. To experience them from the inside is entirely a different matter, so when an accessible field came available, we pulled over for photos.
*****
The smell of woodsmoke, a cooking fire. Timber-framed buildings overhang the public square. Children play at bows and arrows. A horse nickers. Canvas tents. Hand-made shoes, voluminous medieval shirts—these are here for purchase. It’s Saturday, the artisans market. You can buy hand-made hats, or honey, or soap made from the lavender of the field. You can eat crepes made on an open fire, or play games as old as your ancestors, compete with your brother or your father using sticks and wooden balls, or ropes and hand-carved pulleys.
This is Mirepoix. Simon de Montfort, the ubiquitous bastard, tried to destroy it in the 13th Century. Later fire tried. But it remains much as it was, a center for the people of the surrounding fields to gather in, a place to buy and sell. The beams not varnished, the paint not so fresh, this feels like the real thing. We buy a book, eat some lunch. The man next to us is from Brazil, but now living here. He is a horse man, inquires about Vancouver. This was Piece of Perfection #1.
*****
We plan to visit Grotte de Niaux tomorrow, a paleolithic painting site not unlike the more famous Lascaux. In Tarascon-sur-Ariege, there is a prehistoric park dedicated to educating the public about the times of the Magdalenian people (of 14,000 to 13.000 years ago) and replicating and explaining the art in the caves. I didn’t expect a lot from the park, but it turned out to be astoundingly good. The indoor exposition took us through a series of rooms, each with a different focus. We were given headsets with English commentary, but these were infrared-triggered, so that when we stepped into a certain area, the commentary would start automatically. The space was dimly lit, and the soundscape meditative. There were few other people there. We were urged to walk slowly, and we felt like we were carried into an otherworldly space. The lives and the environment of the Magdalenians were explained, the art was described and duplicated on a reconstruction of the wall as found at Niaux. There were film clips of scientists explaining how they analyse their findings, down to microscopic examination of brushstrokes and chisel lines. (You can tell the difference between carving done by a master and that done by an apprentice, based on how smoothly the stone is cut.) There were complete skeletons of a wooly mammoth and some kind of ancient lion.
The outdoor space of the park, which covered many hectares, included a large artificial lake (whose purpose is, I don’t know, but it looked good), and several activity centres which showed how the ancients lived. There were several types of animal-skin dwellings (there is no evidence that people ever lived in caves—that is a nineteenth-century myth), a spear-throwing range, a sound labyrinth, with bird and insect songs to lead you through. It was a magical time; perfection #2. By the time we left the park, we were saying, “Could there be a better day than this?”
*****
We drove back up the road from Tarascon to Foix, where we had the Hotel Lons booked for the night. The town is typically medieval in that there are no straight roads or two-way streets (except one, the “Champs-Elysées” many towns seems to emulate). We parked where we found a spot, walked until we found the hotel, and then moved the car closer with the aid of a map from the Tourist Info centre. Our way through, we noticed a lot of people gathered in a big covered space at the town centre, so after dinner (at the hotel), we wandered up to check it out.
It turned out there was a traditional music festival going on, and since it was Saturday night, the whole town seemed to be there, along with many from the surrounding region. People aged twelve to sixty were dancing traditional dances to music that sounded almost Celtic, played on an accordian, fiddle, clarinet, hurdy gurdy, The band leader sometimes called instructions, and it was clear from watching that there were those that knew the dances well, and those that followed along. We joined in, definitely followers. (John humoured me, knowing I can’t NOT join in when there’s dancing.)
This was the kind of event I’ve looked for, for years, but never quite found. In Ireland, we found the trad music, but not the dancing. In Mabou, Cape Breton, we found the music and the dancing in a community hall, and it was real, but the dances were so complicated and involved so much partner-changing, we couldn’t join in comfortably. This night in Foix, the dances were simple (big circle dances, with people moving around the circle with their partners) and no one cared if you messed up. The smiles, god, it was one big smiling party. We worked up a sweat that even Ami would approve of: real exercise!
When the band finished, a group of early-music enthusiasts (we knew from their t-shirts) played, in front of the stage. They played shawms and fifes and guitars and a strange clay-pot drum with a stick piercing the skin. People continued to dance. Then, at 11:30 p.m., came the featured act, a band called Bombe2Bal. Bal, as far as I can figure, refers to the type of music, or maybe to the dances; I’ll have to look it up later. The band included three women singing together (as well as playing instruments) and some back-up players, and their music sounded sometimes Brazilian, sometimes Celtic, sometimes African and always fantastic. They are available on iTunes, I found, and I’ll buy when I return home. We listened for a while, then wandered through the bare streets, music echoing, back to our hotel.
Perfection #3. NOW we say again, could there be a day to top this one?
.
No comments:
Post a Comment