Le Couvent Diary

We're well and truly into the busiest part of our season now. The days have turned long and hot and air is alive with the sound of cicadas. When we walk the dogs in the vineyard we frequently hear a speedy rustle ahead of us as one of these big beauties runs for cover.

 

 

 

Lézard ocellé - Ocellated lizard

I absolutely adore them. They are magnificent creatures with beautiful markings and are a protected species. But Kit and Flynn don't know that and can sometimes spend a quarter of an hour barking at a dense bush until, eventually, one of them manages to grab the lizard, and with one swift shake of the head the poor lizard's life is over. Any ideas how to stop them?

The weather's taken a grand turn for the better and we've had unbroken sunshine for days and days now. With temperatures in the mid-30s (90s for those on the old scale) guests are enjoying long lazy days by the pool or chasing Cathars in their many castles in the region.

 July marks the start of the fetes/festival season and wine domaines open their doors now that the heaviest of the early Summer work is just about done. The grapes are left to get on with growing fat, fullsome, flavoursome and ripe. So the winemakers party. Our pals Hans and Christa open their doors each Monday night for a couple of months so you can go to taste their lovely wines in the middle of the vineyards.

 

 

We still have some availability at the end of July as a result of a cancellation, so why not escape the bustle and come to sunny Roujan for a few days? There's no-one in the pool right now - it could be all yours!

 

 

I haven't blogged for ages because there's been an elephant in the room. How could I have written and not mentioned the awful weather? It's been the worst June for forty years, but I could hardly have told you that. You'd have cancelled in droves! However, everyone has survived and had a good time visiting the lovely Languedoc's wildest places instead of lolling by the pool.

But THE SUN's BACK. That's the forecast at 9.07 this morning. So now we look forward to the return of the cicadas and their heat-driven whistle.

We've been battling with vine-spraying between showers. A mixture of heat, rain then plunging overnight temperatures has meant that the vines have been very susceptible to a number of conditions such as powdery mildew and shatter - the latter producing poor fruit set. But now I'm hoping we can hang on to as much of the good-looking berries as possible and that we have a long hot period from now until harvest. We need sun-soaked guests and grapes.

I'm about to have a rant, so look away if you're not up for it on a fine June day. Four days ago I received an e-mail from a guest who'd booked to stay for four days with her parents who were coming all the way from Rio de Janeiro. She wrote to say how much she was looking forward to cycling through lavender fields here in Provence. PROVENCE, LAVENDER FIELDS? Eeek. I wrote immediately to say that she did realise that Le Couvent is in Languedoc surrounded by vineyards, didn't she? She didn't and could I show her on a map when they got here?

They duly arrived two nights ago and were clearly bemused by where they'd pitched up. No lavender fields and no castle. CASTLE? What castle? Our lovely Brazilian then went off to find the picture she'd cut from a magazine three years ago and had been carrying in her pocket and her dreams ever since. At this point it all came clear.

In 2007 we had an e-mail from a journalist from Elle Spain who asked us to send photos of Le Couvent as she wanted to write an article. We sent photos and expected her to turn up. She didn't, but the article was published and I found it online. To my horror I saw that she'd said Le Couvent was in the lavender fields of Provence and at the top of the article was a Photoshopped stock image of Senanque Abbey sitting in a field of lavender. I wrote to the journalist immediately and pointed out her mistake and told her that I was furious that she could be so misleading. She told me I was worrying unnecessarily and that it didn't matter.

Lots of people contacted us to book and we told all of them the truth. Some of them came to stay anyway and we all had a lovely time. Some really wanted the lavender - just as our lovely guest who's here at the moment. So yesterday I suggested that we find them somewhere in Provence and I've now booked them in to a B&B that looks lovely and definitely has lavender there right now.

But lazy journalism has cost us about 400 euros and our lovely guests the loss of two days of their long-awaited holiday. Sure, they've made the best of it and have had their heads turned towards the delights of the Languedoc, but that's not the point. In the eight years that we've been open as a B&B there have been many articles that mention us. We have never sought it, though we've been grateful more often than not. However, only one journalist - the lovely Louise Hurren - has ever bothered to actually visit us. Pretty poor show eh? So don't believe everything you read in the papers - good or bad.

 

 

Today I made a gate. Of course. Without success I'd looked high and low for a gate with which we can separate our bullied hen, Darling, from the others. She's been in a small courtyard under one of the bedroom windows, but, as we're about to re-open, she has to be evicted. Darling is soooo noisy in the morning that we can't leave her there to wake our unwitting, sleep-seeking guests. Hence the gate. No-one seems to make a 1.5 metre by 1.6 metre gate for less than 1,000,000,000,000 euros plus tax, so I had no choice. It cost me 34 euros and took about two hours and a lot of tools. I'm hoping it won't be hell to install. I'll have to ask my pal Teddy to help since I can barely drag it, let alone lift onto prongs, handily concreted into the wall at exactly the right intervals. I do hope Darling thinks it worth the effort.

Just to prove that Summer is finally on its way I sploshed into the glacial, but pretty, swimming pool for the first time this season today. I managed half a length before I thought the heart attack imminent and turned around to safety. I was cowardly, but my recall is that it was a lovely thing to do and I can't wait for my next plunge. Maybe I'll get to the other end.

 

 

Another clue to the passing of the Winter is that the barbecue is on its third outing. Here it is happily smoking away with some chicken sizzling away. Ali's been feeling a bit grotty with a bug for the past couple of days so I'm hoping she can't face it and I can have hers too. For those of you who say 'but that's not a barbecue' - oh yes it is. It's a very wonderful Cobb barbecue for which one can buy magic coals made from coconut shells which light and are ready to cook with in less than five minutes. Wonderfuel. It's smelling delicious from where I'm sitting - out here on the balcony at 7.00pm with gentle chickeny, jasminey, lavendery zephyrs passing by.

I've seen planes passing overhead today and not one of them fell from the sky, so I'm hoping tomorrow will herald the very end of all the no-plane shenanigans so our lovely guests can get here safely.

I sit here on another sunny morning that portends a perfect day for the guests who love to read and snooze by the pool. We've been full-on with guests, leaving no time for blogging, so I'm playing catch-up.

Our main news is that we've decided to move our wine-making mini-operation to Le Couvent, so we've been clearing out the cave and buying new tanks in preparation. It'll mean that we can keep a closer watch on our wines, and guests will be able to learn a bit about the process, and to taste the wine in all its stages.

Last year's wine is just about ready for bottling and we're hoping to get that completed in the next three weeks before this year's harvest. If you're coming to stay at Le Couvent towards the end of August, or the beginning of September, it's highly likely that you'll be able to witness the harvest and wine-making first-hand. Unless we have another hail storm, that is.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, guests continue to arrive from all of Europe, the Americas and Australia, except England. We have far fewer guests from England this year. We still have lots of Irish and Scottish. So what is it about the financial crisis that it appears to have affected Les Anglais more than anywhere else in the world? I don't suppose the media could have fuelled it at all - could they? Very bizarre. But for us it is all the more rewarding to have a house full of different nationalities. This morning we have Swiss, Irish, American, Scottish, Colombian - and English - around the breakfast table. It inspires wonderful conversation.

Having said that, the weather appears to have taken a turn for the worse in the UK if the flurry of late booking enquiries is anything to go by. And receiving an e-mail asking for four rooms for next week does sometimes drive me to mentally conjure a response slightly less polite than the reply that I actually send. Ho hum.

The weather's been hot and gorgeous, so the ice-cream machine's been put to good use. It's hard not to when the hens are producing such luscious eggs at the moment, thanks to leftover croissants, pains au chocolat and fruit.

This week saw the Roujan fete, with four nights of music, food, wine and dancing and a carnival procession through the streets of the village. I'll leave you with some photos of the jolly events of the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This last photo's here because I love the small dog, eager for the chap in the yellow jacket to move so he can see the action. 

Hello again. Did you think we’d gone forever? It took me a while to notice that our website went off line for a few days, an inexplicable dearth of e-mails prompting a call to our hosts who had us back online in moments.

I’ve also been away to England to help my mother arrange all the stuff you have to do when someone dies. My step-father, John, had the send-off he’d have hoped for. We had a full house while I was away which made for a difficult time made easy by help from our great pal Alex.

Sweltering weather here in France welcomed me home – it’s been between 33 and 36 degrees for the past ten days. Humans, dogs and chickens have coped well, but my tomato plants look exhausted and I simply can’t give them enough water. They sit in the middle of the vineyard in full sun, along with pathetic courgettes. The aubergines are fantastic, however. Heaven knows why they tolerate it so much better.

As if it isn’t hot enough, this is the time for jam and chutney making. Why does everyone think this is a snugly winter pursuit? The fruit is all hanging heavy on the trees so we’re making the most of it. Last week I made fruit salad jam. My own recipe. It seems very successful. Last night I made plum and apricot chutney. Kilos of it. Today I’ve been fighting with a recalcitrant printer, trying to do labels. I’ve given up and just ordered a new printer. It’ll arrive on Wednesday and I’m praying it will arrive already tamed.

I seem to be having a creative spurt at the moment. Ali thinks I don’t have enough to do already. So this week I also made beeswax furniture polish, lemon verbena hand + lip balm and aloe vera + lavender shower gel.  They’re all available here for a tiny handful of euros. Needless to say the house smells wonderful and guests wander round sniffing the air like Bisto kids.

This afternoon I’m considering dead-heading the roses and geraniums. I’m not eager since it is still about 33 degrees and there’s an awful lot to do. On the other hand, I’m paler than the guests after days of inside jobs, so it would be a chance to catch some vitamin D. I just wish I had a job that would demand this product. Are they serious?

 

 

Just in case there aren't enough photos on this site to whet your appetite, I thought I'd show you how it looks today.

 

 

 Le Couvent from the upper garden, where the pool is.

 

 

The kitchen, just after breakfast.

 

 

Your sunbed by the pool.

 

 

Post-swim.

 

 

Balcony waiting for this evening's aperitifs.

Tempted?

Around lunchtime I wandered across the bridge and took some photos around the Le Couvent garden. Everything is in the fullest flower and looking absolutely gorgeous.

 

 

 

 

But just 40 minutes later the sky darkened and down came a waterfall of rain and hail.

 

 

 

 

Now rain is one thing, but regular readers will know that hail is the very thing us wine-makers hate. At the moment our white grapes are at the stage where the tiniest pre-bunches are just about to start coming into flower. For every future individual grape there is a flower. Hail is nothing but a bully, smashing anything as tender as a grape bud to smithereens. No flowers, no grapes. I haven't been up to the vineyards to check yet, but I'm uncharacteristically pessimistic after the loss of last year's crop to hail the night before the harvest.

I'll let you know. Of course the sun is shining again now, as if nothing ever happened. Harrumph.

The forecast has been dreadful for the past few days, but the heavy rains just haven't come - yet. So this week we have taken up 450 vines that were on a slope too steep to manage. We're wimps really, the old boy who used to own our vines did it all by himself with the aid of a mule. Having nearly lost Queenie the Quad on an escarpment we gave up on the Cinsault vines at the top of the amphitheatre. So they've been pulled up.

But today was bright, hot and sunny so, albeit too late in the Spring, I planted two plum trees, one more cherry and three peaches. If the forecast rains come the trees will get a decent start. If it just turns hot I may lose them, but they were cheap so I'm giving them a whirl.

Around here they say if you can see snow on the Pyrrenees it's going to rain within three days. This photo was taken this morning at Rochelongue by my good friend Chris Kemp. Looks like the trees may get their chance.

 

 

Yep, it's my fault. I'm responsible for the rain here in Languedoc today. Yesterday was bright and sunny so I was eager to take the cover off the pool to start its pre-season warming-up. Ali and I spent the entire day working on it. Ali jet washed the paving - a long and noisy job, while I set to cleaning the pool. It looks fantastic and the sun shone so brightly I was tempted to take a dip. I'm guessing it's around 16 degrees so it'd feel like the Arctic. I resisted.

Still, the vegetables in the kitchen-garden are happy.

Today we're going to do repair jobs round the house. You know, all those niggly little jobs you don't do unless someone's coming. And we have lots of people coming - all through the summer, to Le Couvent, Roujan - the best bed and breakfast in Languedoc. There, the day isn't going to be entirely wasted. I managed to get in another shameless plug.

 

 

Today we had the Roujan Foire, an event where around sixty or more stallholders sell stuff in the streets of the village amongst lots of noise and milling people. Someone on a microphone talks right through the day - irritating, but it keeps the buzz alive. The weather was fantastic so everyone looked in a jolly frame of mind.

 

 

I was thrilled to find a chap selling exotic citrus plants. He had some extraordinary stuff, and I'd have loved to have bought lots, but where to put them? So I settled for one beautiful lime tree.

 

 

Ali couldn't resist the charms of the saucisson man, so we have enough to last for a month.

 

 

I bought aubergine, tomato and pepper plants and they are all now planted in the potager at  Chateau Malaudos. One could take a lesson in Archery (Ali and I were both too embarrassed to have a go) or Fencing (both of us felt at least 40 years to old for that too), but the bit we had been very much looking forward to was a display of old photos of the village. In the event it was merely some copies of very familiar postcards so a little disappointing. However, I was rather taken by this one which I hadn't seen before. I especially like the look of the chap on the right.

 

 

So beautiful was the weather, we took lunch in our, now customary, new spot in the garden (thanks to the new bridge).

 

 

All in all, a very good day.

Wow, it seems ages since I last wrote a post. Meanwhile Ali's been to Western Australia to see her family - and I took the opportunity to organise a couple of surprises for her return. We have a friend who says I move the house three inches when Ali's away, but this time I managed 4 metres. Yep, the bridge between the convent and the garden has finally been constructed, some three years after we first thought about it. It is just wonderful to be able to walk from our apartment straight to the garden. We're both thrilled. Huge thanks to the Welder-Beast and Teddy.

 

 

The second surprise has been installed in the vineyard and is a real treat. Whenever we have a bit of time during the closed season Ali and I camp in the mazet (Chateau Malaudos ). But, to be frank, sleeping on a stone slab has quickly lost its appeal. So I've bought an ancient caravan to keep hidden in amongst the olive trees. She's 25 years old - at least - and we've painted her the colour of the surrounding foliage and soil. So now she's called Olive. Best of all she has comfortable beds and a gas cooker. I love having the open fire beside the mazet, but it's a fag to light a big fire when all you need is a quick coffee whilst working on the vines.

There's nothing better than breakfast in the middle of a vineyard in the warm sunshine of a March morning. Can you smell the bacon?

 

 

 

 

On Thursday we returned home to Le Couvent, the best B&B in the Languedoc (shameless plug), to find vast bag full of wild asparagus on the doorstep. Our kind neighbours over the road had been out foraging and had left them for us as a thanks for some eggs we'd left on their doorstep. Oooh, they are sooo delicious. We had lots gently steamed with a smoked salmon bake the other evening and I made a couple of Wild Asparagus and Cheddar quiches for the freezer - using our hens' wonderful eggs of course.

 

 

 

 

 

Cooking has been made even more pleasurable this week as the lovely Teddy made me a new chopping board.

 

 

 

 

I'm sure he'd make you one too if you like. Just let me know what size and I'll ask him.

In the evenings we can now hear the Scops Owl doing its impression of a car alarm and I've seen my first Hoopoe of the season. Ali and I both have agricultural tans from pottering about in the vineyard kitchen garden and the temperature hovers around 21 during the day. So Spring has definitely sprung.

Yesterday was the first day this year that Ali and I found ourselves in our vineyards with no vital work to be done. All the pruning is finished, the fruit trees have been treated and pruned, the wild bits have been mildly tamed and everywhere is looking just gorgeous. OK, there are still about five square metres of the potager to weed, but there's no hurry.

 

So we took time to relax in the glorious sunshine at the top of the amphitheatre. Our stone seat there has a new name - The Lap of the Gods. We took sunbeds and squidgy cushions and flopped out under a blue blue sky and the only sounds were a zillion birds and the drone of the occasional small plane - and me snoring. Even Kit gave up her irritating guard-bark.

 

 

A halcyon day.

 

We're now into our second week of volunteers and I thought I'd drop in a quick word between all our guest bloggers. If you'd like to see what they've been doing you'll need to have a look at their diary .

When Ali and I bought the vineyard we've named Chateau Malaudos we thought it was beautiful. Abandoned for at least three years, it looked tired and neglected, but you could see those high cheekbones and exquisite structure nevertheless. However, we had no idea what a sleeping beauty the land really was until our volunteers started work. They've lifted off the dead skin, plucked her eyebrows, removed the blemishes, pulled the hairs from her chin, moisturised and given her some beautiful earrings. She has had a stunning new haircut and, needing no clothes, has revealed the body of a goddess. I think we're all thrilled at the revelation brought about by the volunteers and their fantastic work. Ali and I certainly don't have words enough to express our thanks adequately.

Each day two of our volunteers were responsible for preparing breakfast and dinner. For many this was the first time they had cooked for more than four - we were frequently at least 12 at the table.

 

 

Someone was always responsible for ensuring the dogs didn't get too stressed. 

 

So many excellent meals demanded hefty work to burn off the calories.

 

 

 

And when the volunteers had had enough of one job there were plenty of tools ready to start the next one.

 

 

But it hasn't been all work. On Saturday afternoon we all had a go at archery. It wasn't a wild success in the scoring department, although a couple of us did finally hit the target. Everyone seemed to enjoy the experience nevertheless.

 

 

 

 

Ali and I realised a long held plan when the first week's team painted a quotation from 14th century anchorite Dame Julian of Norwich on the wall of Le Couvent. It reads 'all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well'.

We have just two more working days to go and our list has been well bitten into. Today is a day of rest and our current team has gone off to explore; some to the Mediterranean coast, others to St Guilhem le Desert, and one couple are travelling about chewing over the notion of finding a second home here. Meanwhile Ali and I catch up on e-mails, clean up our neglected apartment and plan her forthcoming trip to see her family in Australia. It's been an extraordinary two weeks.

Around 30 people pitched up at Domaine Bourdic at 9.30 this bright, sunny morning. Hans & Christa, the winemakers who own the domaine, had organised a 'ballade vigneron' - a stroll through the vineyards, followed by a fab lunch outdoors.

 

 

 

 

Hans struggled to be heard over all the chit-chat of the walkers, such was the twitter going on.  Strolling through the vineyards with a wineglass in hand, ready for tastings of Le Mori and Destiny - a rich red and a grassy white, whilst standing next to the vines that inform them, is a wonderful way to spend a Sunday morning.

 

 

Chat wasn't the only sound in the air. This was the first day of the hunting season and the blokes in their camouflage fired off an arsenal in neighbouring fields. Fortunately we could see them easily, despite the camouflage, as they wear bright orange jackets on top. This is to reduce the number that shoot each other. Why the wild boar should be fooled by the camouflage and fail to notice the luminous jackets is beyond me, but there you go. Despite all this we had a wonderful walk and tasted some jolly good wines.

 

 

I didn't make the lunch as I had offered to eat at home with my lovely niece, Poppy, whilst my pals and family pass an equally enjoyable afternoon at the opera in Montpellier. However, I know it will have been wonderful - Christa's a good cook. Watch out for the next ballade at Domaine Bourdic here .