Le Couvent Diary

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 .

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By popular request we've offered an alternative date in February 2009 to come to help at Le Couvent, Roujan. If you're up for some fun and hard work in the vineyards and here in the old house, do take a look at this page . We've had volunteers apply from several other countries, so the talk should be good and the jokes multi-lingual/cultural.

Don't hold back - this will be an extraordinarily interesting week/fortnight. You'll learn loads and get fitter into the bargain.

There's nothing like a bit of teamwork for getting things done.

 

 

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As soon as we saw the damage and realised we had just a few grapes we could rescue if we did it immediately, we started ringing round our team. Within one hour of seeing the damage we had thirteen pals and all the equipment in the vineyard. What fantastic friends. We hit the remaining grapes like demons possessed in that thundery heat that threatens another storm. To the chorus of endless yells of 'BUCKET' meaning 'this ones full and I need another' - a signal for the porters to hurry over bringing empty buckets and lugging off the full ones, we cleared the surviving grapes in less than three hours.

 

 

As you can see, the grapes are not pretty. The hail has smashed them open, but they might just be usable if we're quick.

There's so little that we have decided to use them to make some wine for ourselves, so we take them to our new cuves at my brother, Justin's, house.

The grapes come up to the 750 litre mark on the cuve, but that includes stalks and skins so we'll have precious little when all that gets taken off eventually.

As if the day hasn't already been difficult enough, the cuve containing the grapes decides to lurch into a jaunty angle thanks to a rather-too-soft floor. There's only one thing for it, we have to move all of the grapes into the second tank. And there's only one way to do it - by getting into the tank with the grapes.

Here's Michelle, my sister-in-law, getting down and dirty with the grapes.

 

Now, you have to understand that we are wine-making virgins and all this has come upon us with a rush. So a hurried phone call to the charming and helpful winemaker, Simon Coulshaw , gave us these instructions.

And those led to a rather inexpert approach to measuring out the stabiliser and yeast.

After the addition of the stabiliser and yeast we got our mate Kate to say a few fine words to encourage the mass to turn to ruby nectar.

Now it's up to Bacchus and a fair wind.

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This is the scene that greeted us this morning. We have almost nothing left. Last night we had the most enormous rain and hailstorm. We spent the morning in the roof repairing a leak, then went to the cave co-operative to see if they had a date for the harvest. 'Have you looked at your vines yet? We have an emergency and if you have more than 20% hail damage you can harvest all your grapes now, whatever variety' We shot up to the vineyards and were greeted by scenes of devastation. A tornado had passed and ripped off every bunch of grapes and the plum-sized hailstones had shredded of every bit of leaf on 95% of the vines. In the picture above you can see one bunch of grapes caught in the branches of the vine. All the others have been ripped off and carried off by the deluge to God knows where. There's no sign of them here.

 

 

 

Not a pretty sight eh? There is barely a leaf left on any of the vines. The only vines with any grapes left on are the Syrah and Cinsault in the amphitheatre. All the vines on the upper slopes are completely naked.

 

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Today we took a sample of 200 of each variety of grapes, picked at random, down to the cave co-operative to be tested. We stood in line with all the other vigneron waiting for Mme La Cave to squish our grapes and tell us the potential alcohol. When they have gathered all the results they can then declare when we can harvest our grapes and deliver them off to the cave.

Our grapes all came out higher than anyone else's with our Syrah having a potential alcohol of 15.4%. That's enormous and all the other wine-growers had between 10.5% and 12.5%. Ours are this high because we have a relatively low yield, but of high quality thanks to very heavy pruning in the winter. Now we have to wait until the average is high enough, then we get the go ahead. We have all our buddies lined up to go at the drop of a hat and the trailer is loaded with dozens of buckets, crates, secateurs, rubber gloves and sun tan lotion.

Now we just need a date. It's all very exciting. This is how the vines look today. 

 

 

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Well it had to happen. We'd been looking at the muscat grapes for ages, tasting and wondering when the Cave would put out a call for the grapes to be picked. We took a selection off to our friends, Hans & Christa, from Domaine Bourdic to test. On squishing the muscat sample and squirting some of the juice onto his shiny refractometer, Hans let out a guffaw and declared they were already too mature to make wine, unless we were prepared to wait to make a sweet 'tardive' later. We don't have enough for that, so we just picked them.

 

And the guests squashed them in buckets using their very clean feet, and squeezed the slush through an Ikea muslin curtain. Who needs a pressoir? Well we do actually, and one's on order, but it hasn't arrived yet.

 

 

 

 

 

We gave gallons away and we've all had glass after glass of the sweetest, most luscious juice imaginable. It doesn't last long so it's a good excuse to dive in head first.

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Well, we've just about recovered from the headiness of the Roujan annual fête. This comprises four nights of live music at the open space by the football ground, lots of big tables with hundreds of people scoffing moules frites, wine tastings, boules tournaments and the smallest parade in the history of carnivals. Four floats, one and a half papier-maché hedgehogs and the Joyeuses Minettes de Roujan.

The latter is a troupe of short blokes (except one) who wear wigs, short white skirts, bloomers, hats and falsies who dance about being majorettes. Their claim to fame is that, in their 26 years of formation, they've never had a rehearsal. The result is very funny. The one tall bloke is my brother. We worry for him.

 

 

 

Guests from Le Couvent drag themselves from the pool for the four and a half minutes it takes the carnival procession to pass.

 

Only to have stuff chucked at them by evil-looking small boys.

 

 

And a very jolly clown.

 

 

Everyday gear for this tractor-driving vigneron.

 

 

 

The town totemic animal is a hedgehog. If your french is up to it, here's an explanation: La légende du Hérisson « Lou Roumégaïre »

La tradition et la légende rapporte que, lancée à la poursuite de la Tarasque, qui semait la terreur dans la Basse Vallée du Rhône, Sainte Marthe, Patronne de la paroisse dépêcha à l'encontre de l'animal sanguinaire, une armée de hérissons dont la mission consistait à défendre la cité contre toute agression extérieure.

Mais le monstre ne fut pas au rendez-vous. De ce fait l'armée des vaillants insectivores fut autorisée à prendre ses quartiers d'hiver. Pourtant un hérisson demeura dans sa place. Il y fut nourri, choyé, adopté jusqu'à sa mort.

Depuis ce temps, cet animal totemique est devenu le symbole légendaire de la protection de la ville de Roujan contre toute attaque venue du dehors.

 

 

So now local Roujan muscle carries this big and very heavy hedgehog through the streets, lurching hither and thither fuelled by white wine, scaring onlookers.

 

 

Not to be outdone, some younger Roujan boys have made a second, smaller, version.

 

 

The boules tournament with all the local chaps showing off their boule skills and beautiful legs. What is it about men who are completely used to wearing shorts all the time - why are their legs so much more good-looking than Englishmens'?

 

 

Five peach trees at Chateau Mal Au Dos bore fruit this year, despite having been neglected for the past three years. This week we picked the last of them and made some delicious peach jam.

 

 

And, just for a change, we went strolling about in our vineyards with a fine glass of the new wine from the Cave Cooperative in Neffies which is a beautiful and complex red - called Hadrien. We're sporting small pockets in which one can carry a glass of wine while scoffing canapés and shaking hands in greeting (or kissing if you're here in France).

 

 

Meanwhile we are happy to see that our cinsault vines are coming along nicely. I'm slightly anxious, though, having bought a couple of wine fermentation tanks ready for our first own-production. They're currently near Orléans in Northern France and I can't find anyone to get them here. Transporters say they're too small and the post-type business says they're too big. Surely there's someone who can shift two tanks 1.3m wide by 1.8 metres high - made of fibre-glass and weighing next to nothing. We have just four weeks to get them here. Help!!!

 

 

 

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If you're free in February 2009 and you fancy a heap of hard work in exchange for free bed and board, we're running two Volunteer Weeks . We haven't done this before, but we have had some wildly successful volunteer weekends and now that we're in danger of using up the goodwill of our friends we're hoping to spread the net a little wider. Our friends tell us they have loved the weekends, so we hope you would too.  If you're interested follow the Volunteer link on the menu at the top of this page, or click here .

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The problem with writing a blog is that sometimes you don't have time to write it, then all the stuff that happens in between becomes so huge that you can't face the task of going back over it. So you don't write. Sorry about that, I'll make amends now.

Since I last wrote we've had wonderful Swedes, Americans, English, Scots, Dutch,  New Zealanders, Australians and many others staying. They arrive already knowing about our lives thanks to this diary and website. But we know nothing about them, so it's like sticking your hand into a lucky dip and finding a treat every time. Film-makers, glassy-winged sharp shooter expert, tennis coach, mountain-climber, charity bosses, ballet dancer, widget manufacturer, software architect, writer, lawyer, homeopath, urban regenerator, public relations experts, an honest estate agent, hoteliers, a cop, musicians, accountants, architects and artists have all turned up at Le Couvent in the last month. Can you imagine how interesting it is for us to learn of the wild, wonderful, awful and exhausting ways people find to make a living? We salute you all and hope you found a bit of peace and inspiration during your stay. Thanks for the stories!

As for us, we've been run off our feet with lovely guests and have had a great time in the process. The pool's stayed bright, clear and fresh thanks to slightly cooler than average weather at around 24 degrees-ish. Very comfortable and quite unlike the energy-sapping high 30's of the first year we were here six years ago.

The vegetable garden's groaning with salads threatening to run to seed so I'm doing my best to palm stuff off onto guests who decide to take a picnic to our vineyards.

 

 

And when they're not helping us use up salad we put them to work weeding the vines. This one's for you Sarah & Andrew.

 

 
While we're on the subject of the vines, this has been a worrying time weather-wise. The mix of warm temperatures and a bit of rain is not great for grapevines. They are prone to getting mildew and oidium, so we have to treat them. We have help in the rather delectable shape of Fred who sprays the vines for us each fortnight. We insist that he wears a mask but he's a bit reluctant to use it properly. God knows what his tan looks like after a day like this.  

 

This morning our friend the WelderBeast's been round to discuss the bridge. Many of you will know that we've wanted to construct a small bridge between the house and the garden, but we've never found a satisfactory solution to the problem. We'd like something functional and sculptural at the same time. WB is the first person to tell us it's completely possible. Watch this space.

This weekend we cooked for our lovely group from Landseer Productions (something we do very rarely) and they've asked for the recipes, so there will be a couple more in the book by the end of the week.

 

I've also made some peach ice-cream and sorbet from our own peaches. At Chateau Mal Au Dos there was an orchard of peaches and olives when we bought it. However many of the peach trees had died of neglect, except for about four. Incredibly one of them produced the smallest yet sweetest peach crop this year. I'm hoping that some TLC from us will produce even better result next year.

 

 

 

 

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Well after a couple of awful weeks when our ever-optimistic guests dashed between the sunny poolside and the house to avoid torrential rain, we are back on track again. The summer now looks here to stay. People tell us the pool temperature is lovely, although Ali & I rarely go in outside August when there' s simply nowhere else to be.

Our vines have extruded metres in a week, so Ali spends her spare time fixing them upright and attaching them to wires. I am bush-whacking through face-high thistles which have also taken advantage of warm rains to exert themselves.

The good news of the century is that a talented Parisian couple have moved into Le Presbytere in Vailhan - an eight minute scenic drive from Le Couvent. The food has a light and delicious touch, and thankfully they are open on Sunday and Monday nights - when nothing else is. The view from the presbytery over the lake is stunning and there is a lovely terrace where one can have supper on a balmy night. At the moment we have no trouble booking a table, but it won't be so easy when word gets around.

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What's stoolball? It's an old English game, the fore-runner of cricket, originally played by milkmaids. You probably haven't heard of it because it's only played in Kent, East Sussex and now, Roujan. If you'd like to know more about the game you can check it out here .

Last year Ali & I made some wickets, painted them jolly colours and hauled together a team of friends and family & called ourselves the Languedoc Crocks. We were mentioned on a website and as a result the lovely Clare, captain of Causeway Stoolball Club in Kent, got in touch with us. Despite the fact that our team had played just twice Causeway was insistent on coming to play against us. It was a howling success as witnessed here .

Within moments of going home they booked to come for a long weekend again this year. So we did it all again. We had supper at Le Couvent, we went to Pezenas market, we played on the cricket pitch at St Pons de Mauchiens.

 

We laughed, we lost, we were 31 for dinner at Les Goutailles , we played again. Ali & Nicola got silly.

 

We were 36 for dinner in the vines at Chateau Mal Au Dos and then they squeezed themselves and all their bags into two people carriers and grinned their way back home to Kent. All between Friday afternoon and Monday morning. And then Clare wrote to book for next year. Hooray! What can we conjure up as a surprise then I wonder?

Thanks to all our friends and family who worked their socks off cooking and lugging stuff and providing wine, not to mention actually playing. And thanks so much to all our friends from Causeway Stoolball Club. It was fantastic. And we're going to beat you next year. 

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The other day I was strolling with the dogs around the periphery of the newly acquired Le Couvent vineyards . As is quite usual I came across a couple of people collecting wild asparagus and taking the air.

"Are the dogs friendly Madame?"

"Absolutely" said I.

"Where is it you are from?" said the elder of the two smiling old girls.

"Roujan - the old convent and school - and we've recently bought these vineyards from M. Gineste"

"Ah, Le Couvent, you've done an excellent job there - I know it well. And we're neighbours here, because this is my land" she said sweeping her hand across some wild garrigue. "Is it you who's doing the vegetable garden?"

Bear in mind there is a sign saying that the land's private and the vegetable garden is buried right in the centre of the vineyards, pretty well-hidden and has a chicken-wire fence all round.

"Your salad, broccoli and strawberries are coming on very well" "What else are you going to plant?" she said with more than a hint of lip-licking.

It's curious. Just a couple of weeks ago I thought the water in the butt had gone down and that the plants looked already-watered. It looks as though I have a co-gardener. I do hope she has green fingers.

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Just so you can see how your breakfast is coming along I thought I show you some figs that will arrive on the Le Couvent, Roujan breakfast table a little later in the year. These are on one of about five wild fig trees that we have in the Le Couvent vineyards.

 

 Although nowhere near ripe yet, having a couple of months to go, they're looking good. Currently, however, it's the asparagus season. We're not at all happy that our lovely neighbour Stephane Cabrol, who used to have a long stall of luscious asparagus outside his house each evening, has decided to move to Alignan-du-Vent, a few minutes drive away. Gone are the days when we could stroll across the road for the fattest, most delicious thumbs of fresh-picked asparagus. I drove off to buy some last Friday. I needed three kilos to make some delicious dense soup. Although he only had the little finger sized ones they were perfect for the velvety soup.

 

 

 Our lovely writers are here still - just until tomorrow morning, when Ali and I will be very sad to see them go. They've been wonderful. There's a gentle hum of energy and thinking running right through the house. We've loved it.

Meanwhile, Ali and I have had time to do a little more in the vineyards. A good deal of the time we were pestered by Kit the Labrador wanting to ride round on Queenie the Quad. Here she is with Neffies in the background.

And here's a pic especially for my step-father, John, who's having a rough time with chemo, and for Sarah who's thinking of camping in the vineyards all summer. Here is a pic of your vineyard - they're coming along well.

 

Hope you're feeling better John.

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Wow, today has been just beautiful. Ali, Alex and I spent the day pruning at Chateau Mal Au Dos. Ali & Alex were working in the Vineyard With A View and I pruned the espaliered pear trees. With the temperature running at 19 degrees it felt very summery - we peeled off until we were in our vests for the first time this year.

It was a little less peaceful than usual as Jean-Marc the shepherd, who'd brought his sheep to the crest above our vineyard, spent the afternoon yelling at his wayward collie, Bouffe.  Bouffe took a shine to our dogs Kit & Flynn and spent his afternoon rounding them up rather than look after his flock.

 The daffodils and almond blossom look fantastic against the current cloudless skies.

   

Have you booked your summer holiday yet? Why not come to Le Couvent, Roujan? You can contact us here .

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It wasn't as warm today but we pruned hundreds of vines, and now I can barely type, so painful are my hands.

Ali woman-handled the bush-whacker. Here's the proof.

 

 

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Well, that might be stretching it a bit, but today was truly glorious. After a couple of hours bushwhacking in the vines at Chateau Mal Au Dos we went off to Grau d'Agde for lunch.

Short sleeves and ice-creams were de rigueur.

This dog was having the best time ever..

...as were these riders.

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Adopt twelve vines for a year in a romantic French vineyard and watch your grapes grow and ripen into twelve bottles of wine labelled with your sweetheart's name.

 

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All through the summer, when our B&B is full of lovely guests, one question pops up all the time - 'What do you do in the winter?'

With bright blue skies most of the time, much of it is spent outdoors. Until recently that meant the gardens here at Le Couvent. However, with the acquisition of the new vineyards Ali and I are more than fully occupied with bringing our neglected vines back to full bloom. We have until the end of February to prune as many of these unruly beauties as we think we can keep.

They are in a shocking state having been untended for three years. Ali's keeping a diary of our derring-do with heavy machinery and sharp implements on our other website Chateau Mal Au Dos.

The rest of the time we see the friends we neglect during the summer, catch up on house repairs, visit places guests tell us about, lug logs upstairs to our apartment, write and re-write websites and market Le Couvent B&B, oh - and sleep. Well, I would if the cat, Gouttiere, didn't think 6am was a good time to scrape the bedroom door. Anyone want a fat, cantankerous, wilful and greedy cat? She came with Le Couvent when we bought the house and never left. She treats us with utter malevolence most of the time.

Actually, the winters here are fantastic. For the most part the sun shines, and when it doesn't I'm grateful if it means we can fill the pool next summer, and the skies are glisteningly clear. We can see for miles and it rarely gets bone-chilling. What else could one want?

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With 20 huge old olives to prune, I set off for our bit of land shortly before lunchtime today. A nip in the air and a lifetime of pleasure in real fires had me setting up a heap of burning vine stocks in the fireplace of our little mazet.
Armed with a flask of coffee, a saw and some shiny new secateurs (thanks Mum) I was set to do a few hours work. After giving lots of air and light to two of the olives I noticed the odd flake of something kind of wet. Surely not sleet? It was 17 degrees last week. After a few more minutes the olives looked like this:

Oh crikey, we have another vine-pruning lesson tomorrow, after which lots of people are going to be coming to the mazet for lunch and a bit of work in the vines. At the moment it looks like this and Ali tells me tomorrow's supposed to be worse. Ho hum. I'll let you know how we get on.
Meanwhile, we've had my Mum and her husband, John, here for a fortnight. Thankfully, they are happy to sit around and witness our lives rather than have us chauffeur them all over the place. At one point I brought in a chainsaw and strimmer to mend. It was cold out so I put them on newspaper on the kitchen table. "I'm rather glad you left home" observed my mother.

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