shewhomust (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shewhomust) wrote2007-11-26 09:28 pm
shewhomust) wrote2007-11-26 09:28 pm
In the land of Minerva
South of the Montagne Noire is a rocky landscape dotted with villages, with vineyards and with olive groves. The rivers run dry in the summer, but their valleys are deep cut, so the village (the use of the word "cité is a tribute its age, or its beauty, but not to its size) at the confluence of the Cesse and the Brian huddles high on its rock surrounded by a sheer drop on all sides, linked to the valley side by a single narrow bridge.
The name Minerve reflects this lofty position (Menerba in occitan, the root men, as in menhir) rather than the patronage of Athene, Despite which we spent two happy nights at the Relais Chantovent, flinging the window wide open to look across the roof of the restaurant opposite to the vines across the river, crossing the street to dine in the restaurant under the guidane of the smiling maître d'hotel with the Vercingetorix moustache.
Between those two evenings was a busy day. We followed the waymarked walk, crossing the river bed and climbing to the plateau, making a wide loop around the village, enjoying the sudden shift in the vegetation. At Nasbinals we had walked through broadly familiar plants, but now we were among Mediterranean scrub, scented garrigue of wild thyme and spiky thistles. We saw vines, and the first olive trees of the trip, and a rusty old press to confirm that we had identified them correctly.
In the afternoon we drove to Saint Jean de Minervois in search of the muscat we had drunk as an aperitif the previous evening, with no more to guide us than the name "Barroubio", but found it, triumphantly, after several false turns, a property several miles out of saint Jean, along minor roads between the glaring white soils that produce the muscat grapes. We tasted a variety of wines, the dry white and a pleasant, easy-drinking red, but when we reached the sweet muscat, Madame removed the bucket into which we had been emptying our glasses: "This one," she said, "you will drink." She was right; we emptied our glasses, and would have licked them if we could.
The name Minerve reflects this lofty position (Menerba in occitan, the root men, as in menhir) rather than the patronage of Athene, Despite which we spent two happy nights at the Relais Chantovent, flinging the window wide open to look across the roof of the restaurant opposite to the vines across the river, crossing the street to dine in the restaurant under the guidane of the smiling maître d'hotel with the Vercingetorix moustache.
Between those two evenings was a busy day. We followed the waymarked walk, crossing the river bed and climbing to the plateau, making a wide loop around the village, enjoying the sudden shift in the vegetation. At Nasbinals we had walked through broadly familiar plants, but now we were among Mediterranean scrub, scented garrigue of wild thyme and spiky thistles. We saw vines, and the first olive trees of the trip, and a rusty old press to confirm that we had identified them correctly.In the afternoon we drove to Saint Jean de Minervois in search of the muscat we had drunk as an aperitif the previous evening, with no more to guide us than the name "Barroubio", but found it, triumphantly, after several false turns, a property several miles out of saint Jean, along minor roads between the glaring white soils that produce the muscat grapes. We tasted a variety of wines, the dry white and a pleasant, easy-drinking red, but when we reached the sweet muscat, Madame removed the bucket into which we had been emptying our glasses: "This one," she said, "you will drink." She was right; we emptied our glasses, and would have licked them if we could.
no subject
Romance?