Notes

1. Thinking of going to Labastide Esparbairenque?

It is possible, but not likely, that you will one day find yourself in Labastide by chance. You don’t just stumble on it. It is on one road definitely not leading to Rome. Chosen by hardy souls to do their hill training (preparatory to the Tour de France), it is, in season, frequented by morille-gatherers and boar-hunters. The most realistic scenario, in my opinion, puts you in Labastide playing the part of a resident of La Muse, Kerry and John’s fantastic writers’ and artists’ retreat.

The name itself, Labastide Esparbairenque, expresses an endearing reluctance ― to be pronounced, and to be understood. And it’s not just you. The correct Languedoc pronunciation of this village perché escapes most francophones. One night, fortified by a lively dinner, you will try it in public. (Oh, that troublesome “-arbairenque”.) You will switch the conversation to matters of etymology. And for the time being, perhaps, stick to “Labastide”, confidentially, you know.

Because, you see, you do aspire to be part of the La Muse circle, although you may not be aware of it. I was exactly in your shoes barely a month ago, absolutely unaware of Labastide and its exceptional contents.

Links

La Muse

2. Carcassonne, if you insist

For me, Labastide will always remain inextricably linked to Carcassonne: that’s how it presented itself. “Labastide Esparbairenque, near Carcassonne, in Languedoc, Southern France.” Carcassonne is the closest town of importance ― a UNESCO World Heritage site, an “outstanding medieval fortified town” that the conscientious traveler will naturally want to visit. It is accessible, by train or car, from Toulouse; the Carcassonne airport serves, mostly, extremely convenient flights from England and Ireland. For those who arrive from Canada, the Montreal-Frankfurt-Toulouse route is generally suggested.

My introduction to Carcassonne was off to a very pleasant start at la Maison Coste, a maison d’hôte with the soft atmosphere of a well-kept private home, and rooms worthy of The World of Interiors. Some of my favourite parts were the fine walled garden, the ravishing bouquets, the impeccable breakfasts, and conversation with Manu. A beautiful and comfortable house that deserves to be remembered.

But, you will say, what about dinner? You are in France and you do not want to miss anything. Well, you could go to Le Sixième sens, as I did, and dine well. You could want, though, a remarkable dinner. So on my second night I went to the Restaurant Robert Rodriguez and signed on an aventure gastronomique that had me hopping through six servings and as many glasses of wine, with flavours and aromas both distinct and subtle, prepared with impeccable organic ingredients. It was an intriguing and exhilarating dinner. This superb restaurant is located next door from Maison Coste, and if you follow my strategy closely, you won’t need a taxi.

But back to the initial trigger. The reason why the world comes to Carcassonne is the ancient citadel. I tackled it one rainy morning, before the arrival of the modern hordes. It was, in the last days of March, a fine solitary walk between the lists, generating all sorts of thoughts about watching the world from behind an arrow-slit. As the rain became stronger, I stepped inside the clubby library bar of the Hotel de la Cité, only to be drawn outside again by the hotel’s interior garden that has fine views of the fortifications. Next door, the Saint Nazaire cathedral was all pale blue light sifting through the stained glass on the three sides of the choir. With a thought for Goldmund ― and Ossip Zadkine, actually, I bowed to some marvellous ligneous statues. And yes, I had had enough for a day, and started the walk downhill to modern-day Carcassonne.

La cité neuve has the shape of a hexagon, reflecting the shape of France itself. It is a nice quiet little provincial town with an abundance of ‘exceptional everyday France.’ The best example of it, if you can arrange to be there on a Saturday morning, will be market day on Place Carnot. In very early spring, vendors tables were crumbling under marvellous, aromatic melons from Marocco, brebis des Pyrenées cheese made by someone who knows how, mâche, the divine ear-lobed lettuce, asparagus and artichokes, and the first garriguette strawberries.

All this will constitute a sort of triumphal march to Labastide. Plumped up by the riches of Carcassonne, you will, on the appointed day, rendezvous at the train station, or, like me, drive a rented car through a landscape of vineyards and ruined castles to Lastours, Roquefère, upwards, through a wooded area with long shadows, into the arms of La Muse and its hosts, John Fanning and Kerry Eielson.

Links

Maison Coste

Robert Rodriguez

Hotel de la Cité

3. La Muse from the inside

As I explained, the reason why you will be in Labastide is that you will be staying at La Muse, Kerry and John’s fantastic retreat.

And the reason why you will be at La Muse is that you are probably a writer, a painter, a poet ― you know what I mean, a horse-whisperer/chef/sculptor, or a plain old fiddler/mathematician. Which means you have work to do, or things that require thinking. La Muse attracts people in a variety of categories, with similar or compatible interests, thus creating an ever-changing group of residents. Residents usually have a creative project and spend the day immersed in it. Common spaces are the library, the dining room, a large kitchen, and in season, the terrace. There is a computer room, and one can work in one’s room. Hikes, walks to the spring or the torrent help concentrate or aerate your thinking.

Evenings are a different matter. After a day of artistic tribulations, residents turn their mind to things culinary, which can mean anything from digging into super-colossal preserves of foie gras, to the preparation of vegetarian stews, or, on occasion, more ambitious communal meals. Residents get their groceries mostly during weekly trips to Carcassonne, but can buy local eggs, honey and trout, and pick bread, meat or groceries from travelling vans.

As it is wine country, wine can be found anywhere. But it would be a good idea to find it in nearby Sallèles, at the Château La Villatade, where the Morin family offer a tasting of their wonderful Minervois, Rituel, and the quaffable Le Vin de Sophie, boasting a recently redesigned label. Afterwards, go practically next door (well, next road) where monsieur Patrick Maux, of L’Olivette, will conduct a friendly olive oil tasting experiment on your taste buds, in the kitchen of his farmhouse set among the olive trees.

Back at La Muse, the abundance of local and mildly exotic products, the variety of personal clocks and the range of culinary traditions create, at meal hours, a sort of fantastic kitchen anarchy, spurred by haphazard readings of the numerous available cookbooks. The meals varied from global cafeteria to the solemn attempt at French classicism, but they were always as solitary or communal as one wished. Once in a while, John and Kerry will host a meal or join the residents in the dining room, bringing to the table their considerable experience as professional writers and their natural gift for encouraging the temporarily confused. Apart from art, books and film, and food, the other inexhaustible subject of conversation is France itself. Et pour cause. La Muse reaches out to local visual artists and to the local community, recently opening, behind a red door, a studio that doubles as an exhibit space. I have seen it on a Sunday afternoon warm with lively conversations, paintings, watercolours and drawings, and a tall aromatic bouquet of wildflowers and rosemary twigs. (2008/04) (to be continued)

Links

La Muse

Château La Villatade

Previous Notes:

In what language should I read Russian authors since I do not speak Russian?