Return to the Land of Wine

Or Wind. We had a reasonably trouble-free journey back yesterday, and while it wasn't sunny when we landed, at least it was warmer.

Today (Tuesday) was the first day of my New Year resolution to get into training for walking (Bundle will know why). I have joined the tamer of the walking groups at the activity centre in Lézignan, i.e. not the one S belongs to. This one has close to a hundred members and they do several different levels of walk. Friday's is only for really doddery old folks according to S, so I went for one of the two Tuesday afternoon ones, which turned out to be perfect for me -- 8 km and a mere 50 m of climbing. I also knew quite a few people in our group of twenty from other activities.

It was a windy but pleasant afternoon, and we walked from Castelnau d'Aude to Roquecourbe. Here we were met by a local chap who assured us he wasn't a professional guide, but then took us round the village regaling us with stories of its culture and history. It was practically feudal till the early 20th century, with the lady of the manor owning the chateau and half the village, grandly dispensing charity to its inhabitants on condition that they attended mass. Gautier finished his tour by reciting a lovely piece about pruning vines. We clapped in admiration and he then modestly revealed he'd written it himself. You could pretty much tell from the way he told it, extempore and without notes, but his gruff exterior belied the poet within.

Finally, we visited the disused wine cellar his son has just bought. It's vast; he's planning to turn it into accommodation and a visitor centre, but for the moment it's still home to ageing barrels (blip). Extras: the chateau, and the massive stone wine vats, with walls over a metre thick; enough capacity for hundreds of thousands of litres of wine -- now unused because so many vines have been pulled up. Our guide claimed they were built in the 15th century; I didn't believe him for a minute.

I got back home and like several other walkers went straight out again for the evening's Maghreb film festival: two films separated by a meal of couscous. Sorry to say I wasn't over keen on either film. The first one, the catchily titled A mon âge je me cache encore pour fumer, was set in a hammam in Algiers and while it had its entertaining moments, it was very obviously a stage play translated to the screen with little modification. It's banned in Algeria because it's full of semi-naked women talking about sex, childbirth, and other bodily functions. The second film, Razzia, set in Casablanca and the Atlas mountains, is not yet on general release and my advice is, when it's released don't go and see it. It's a mishmash of five fairly unrelated stories, and like the first film it ends with scenes of gratuitous violence. We should have left after the first half hour really because it went steadily downhill from there. A very blustery drive home and bed.