France by Foot

France by Foot is the third of a trio of essays on my recent trip to France.  Click on the links to see France by Family and France by Food.

To be transported to an era where babies were bathed in basins in cobblestone streets; where women set laundry on second story lines draped above narrow alleyways; where men spent evenings sat on benches in rows facing the street, perfectly placed to watch the world slowly go by – to walk around the villages and towns of France is to step back in time.

I wasn’t in France for tourism, per se, but I didn’t need to make deliberate trips to visit particular sights to feel the charm of the region. I just had to walk.

We walked around Grau D’Agde, the village where Bruno’s seaside home is located. The village has a small, fisherman charm, with pastel-colored facades boasting names like hippocampe (seahorse) and la sirène (the mermaid). A lighthouse at the end of the pier houses fishermen casting their rods out to sea. A pétanque field serves as the reunion place for the locals, showcasing the skills and strategies of the very accomplished club players. The muddy Hérault River marks the edge of the village and features cafés, restaurants, and gelato shops for summer tourists.

We walked around Saint Thibéry, the village where Annie was born, and where both Bruno’s parents now live. Her tall and narrow childhood home on the corner of the main roundabout no longer holds her father’s barber shop on the main floor, and a young man lives upstairs. The medieval cathedral marks the center of the historic district, where you can get lost in the narrow lanes that curve around corners and lead to dead ends with old wooden shutters painted anew. Gigantic arched doorways remain, even though they no longer lead to the barns where families working the vineyards used to store their heavy machinery. Some of the doorways still carry their cat-holes, though, where the plentiful neighborhood cats were free to hunt for barn rats.

We went to the top of a hill to see the red-hued roman tiles of the town. We visited the ruins of the old roman bridge that marked the ancient path between Rome and Paris. And, with Annie as our guide, we visited the village’s cemetery and paid respects to the generations of Duharts and Servents – Bruno’s ancestors – that have been laid to rest here.

We walked around Florensac, a larger village nearby where Pierrot was born and raised, and where Bruno spent his summers as a child. The old home of his aunt and his grand-parents are still there, as are the alleys where Bruno rode bicycles and did scores of naughty things. The striking cathedral smells of must, and on that day housed a candle lit in honor of my grand-maman, who would be so happy I now have roots in France. The edge of town still smells of acidic grape from the same vineyards that Bruno’s grand-father labored upon for so many years.

We walked around Pézénas, the town where Molière wrote and performed so many of his ancient plays. It is the facades of the buildings inside the walled-in historic center of town that strike me. Scary bearded men look out over stunningly ornate doorways. Heavy wooden double-doors bear the test of time. Mother Mary statues seemingly float above homes, watching over the families inside. And inside the vaulted rooms of these brick buildings are shops displaying the work of fabulous craftspeople – soap and candles, mirrors, hand-made dolls, paintings, funky clothing, and more sweets that I’ve ever seen.

We walked around Agde, the town which had served as all of our landing points, via train, into the region. The town runs along the side of the Hérault River, and includes the first round lock built in history – we had gone through the lock earlier that week when we’d taken a boat tour up the canal du midi, a World Heritage Site. The tour had taken us past vineyards, through the national reserve of Bagnas , and to l’étang de Thau, one of the most reputable oyster farms. On the way back we had sampled an oyster with a glass of picpoul de Pinet, the white wine of the region.

But in Agde that day, we walked to the vibrant Thursday clothing market, set near a walled fortress whose base was built in Roman times. We meandered down the narrow rue de l’amour, took in more shops, ancient doorways, and brick facades. In the musée agathois we learned about the local culture and history, and in the cathédrale Saint-Ethienne we listened to someone play the breathtaking organ. We ate croque monsieur along the Hérault River, watching the fishing boats go by.

We walked around Divonne-les-Bains, the small spa town on the border of Switzerland where Patrice, Micheline, and Romane live. A rustling brook meanders through the center of town, past a small square facing an old church with a few café tables set up for sunny days. An amazing patisserie sells hazelnut bread that is to-die-for. And a man-made lake affords runners, rowers, and romantics a chance to pursue their passions.

And we walked around Annecy (with our awesome tour guide, Micheline, who may or may not have played hooky that day), a picture-perfect French Alps town. Set on the clearest and cleanest lake in all of Europe, with the foothills of the Alps just beyond and a canal cutting through the center of town, this was French Alps charm embodied. We waltzed past Swiss mountain architecture, meandered past the food stalls at the weekly farmer’s market – cheese! produce! artisanal sweets! – and wandered through the mini-island in the center of the canal housing the old prison.

And with that, the walking was done. Visiting France by foot was to be no more. We had a plane back to Africa to catch, after all. But judging from how great it was to visit France by foot, we might have to visit Africa by foot, too.