WWOOFING IT IN SW FRANCE

I FOUND OUT ABOUT WWOOFING through the Frugal Traveler column in NY Times. Just by Googling 'wwoofing' you can get a wealth of information to start you on your travels in just about any country. WWOOF is a world wide organization that links to opportunities to live and work on organic farms. In previous posts I have described how I journeyed to and from my wwoofing experience in the Ariege Region in South West France, adjoining the Spanish border. Quite a journey from the small rural community around Corning/Painted Post (Upper NY State) to the small rural community around St. Girons, Ariege, the best part of which were the long rides through the lovely French countryside absolutely alone in the sense that hardly a soul in that part of the world had any knowledge of me. This may seem curious to you but I recommend the experience of solitude.

My hosts were Erwin and Jasmin Berg who, for the past 12 years have owned and run an organic farm of 40 hectares in the hamlet of Rames, near Moulis, near St. Girons, in the very hilly beginnings of the Pyrenees. You can Google-Map these places to see the region. Here are my hosts. They are dear people whom I am now very pleased to count as friends. They have hosted many wwoofers over the past decade and have wwoofer friends all around the world. Besides being hard working, they are wonderfully welcoming and kind; as well, they are most interesting people. Erwin is German and Jasmin was born in England. They have been traveling entertainers and Erwin is a professional glass worker (which automatically gives him entrance to Corning, the center of glass working here in the US), and also briefly ran a circus. They raise cattle and rabbits and grow produce for local markets.

I had the company of two other wwoofers (Katy and Matthieu) and also Celia who was doing her second internship on the farm as part of her studies. One of the really great experiences were mealtimes, sitting around and eating wonderful food (Jasmin is a very good cook), and talking a lot. Here we all are (I am out of the picture, taking the photo). From left to right, clockwise, Celia, Matthieu, Katy, Dominik (the son of the house), Erwin and Jasmin. As most of the talking was in French, I gradually became better at hearing French and I think my spoken French has improved a good bit. Both Katy and Matthieu were good tutors. Also in the company were two dogs, three puppies, several cats, and two kittens.

How did each day go? Up around 7 AM and coffee which we all seemed to need to get going. The French do not make much of breakfast (which is why it is called 'petit dejeuner' or 'little lunch') so we each were responsible for our own food. For me, that was oatmeal. Then it was off to work. This might be haymaking, weeding, digging, mulching, planting out, or cleaning out. we did a lot of haymaking since it was the season. This involved a deal of successive turning of recently cut hay and, finally, baling. It being hot and humid on haymaking days, at some altitude, and the ground steep, I can vouch that this was hard, steady work. Fortunately, being German, Erwin had a good supply of beer which we were all very glad to drink whenever available and at all times of the day, as well as copious amounts of water. Maybe I am getting too old for this? I asked myself at times! As wwoofers, we could work at our own pace and rest as necessary. I took time out to wonder at the view, especially that across the vally of the other farms. Even so, as part of the haymaking team, one really had to just keep up with the work. I will up-load a video of the haymaking, when it has been edited. We would take mid-morning and mid-afternoon breaks as well as for lunch and dinner. All up, a working day might be 10 hours but, apart from the hay, not hard or difficult, just pleasant and steady. Have you discovered the zen of weeding?

It was not all work. Several times I went off with Erwin to visit friends or neighbors...very pleasant and involving drinking good French wine (sometimes a good bit of wine). On another day,we all went off to explore part of an extensive cave system under the hill on which the farm was situated. My first experience of real caving. I passed on the final descent and spent some 20 minutes in complete darkness (I did have a flashlight) listening to the voices of my friends coming up from the deep...another experience of solitude. This is a well known cave system (Grotte du Portillou a Moulis, Ariege) and begins through a quite tight entrance and steep descent leading to large chambers formed by a (subterranean) river. On other days we went to the local markets at St. Girons and Engoumet. Also, I took a Saturday off to visit St. Girons and St. Livier on the day of the finish of the 8th Stage of the Tour de France at St. Girons. And then there was the pub at Engoumet where we all had a drink (clockwise: me, Matthieu, Celia, and Erwin), so it was hardly all work and no play.

After lengthy dinners, so beloved by the French, we would retire around 10 PM, bone tired and quickly off to sleep. Matthieu and I shared the loft above the main living area while Katy and Celia had separate quarters attached to the house. The house was built in the 19th Century and has needed (still needs) quite a bit of work. It is pictured at the top of this post. It is comfortable and has a wonderful fireplace which was just great on one cold and rainy day. We did have some cold and wet days. The locals have a couple of sayings about the weather. One is, 'If you cannot see the mountains, it is because it is raining; if you can, it is about to rain!' Another, 'We have seven months of winter and five months of terrible weather!' Living in Ariege is no picnic; as one of their story tellers (Olivier de Robert) has remarked, 'This mountainous area is never a gift for anyone..." It has long attracted folk who are suspicious of central authority, seeking a free, simple, and independent life.

Wwoofing is not everyone's idea of a vacation. It is unparalleled however as a way of entering into the life and ways of a region and of making friends. Would I do it again? I must admit that age may be working against me but...maybe once more in a wine growing area? If you like the idea and really search it out, you may be lucky enough to meet folk like Erwin and Jasmin.

BACK IN THE USA

BACK IN THE USA now for almost a week and just about back to my former self. It has been hard to leave behind the experience of 'wwoofing it' in that small hamlet where Erwin and Jasmin have their 40 hectares on the steep slopes of the rising Pyrenees. What have my fellow wwoofers, Katie and Matthieu, been up to these last seven days...haymaking, digging, weeding, transplanting, or perhaps have they been up to the mountain pastures to check on the cows?

I will write about the wwoofing experience in my next post. Here I simply say a little about watching a finish of le Tour de France, the journey home, and my state of being.

Yes, I did get to see the Tour competitors go by! Through no fault of my own, I found myself in an excellent position about 400 yards from the finish, able to see about 250 yards up the hill in the direction from which the riders would be coming, and about the same distance towards the finish (which was around the corner). More of this in a moment.

The highlight of the day for me was to visit the Cite and Cathedral of St. Lizier, about two miles west of St. Girons. The town of St. Lizier, set atop a hill overlooking a beautiful valley, has a history going back to roman times while that of the cathedral goes back to the 6th Century. The cathedral is said to be made of bricks from all over France, has a beautiful adjoining cloistered garden containing a crypt and the burial places of several religious notables in the distant past. Given the steep descent from the farm and that the wind was behind me most of the way, I made it up to the cathedral in just half an hour. A baptism was in progress so I spent an hour walking around the cite streets and exploring a garden atop the hill from which are some great views of the valley and distant mountains.
Here you can see the cathedral. The crane does not go back to roman times...France is spending a lot of their economic stimulus money on refurbishing historic sites. The photo at the top is of the cloisters.

I then rode down to St. Girons along the old road joining the two towns and found myself in the small square where I had first stopped when arriving almost two weeks previously. Time for lunch. When I had finished a leisurely meal 'a la terrace', I discovered that the gendarmerie had locked the town down (must have been 200 0r so positioned along the final route). So I had to abandon my plan to ride further out of the town. I found a position right next to a TV camera and figured this would be a good spot.

So began a two and half hour wait for the action which consisted of about three quarters of an hour of 'The Caravan'... a cavalcade of all the team and sponsors, throwing out all sorts of gifts (hats, bottles of water, scarves, clappers). Then, after about 15 minutes, in came the first three riders! Several minutes later, the peloton; a hundred of so riders going past in just about 30 seconds!! At this point, one realizes that the Tour is what it is because of the TV coverage that so effectively expands the scope and detail of the racing,

It took two hours to get out of the town and on the way back to the farm. Here I am in St. Girons on that memorable day.

My trip home had several segments. Riding first from Rames to St. Girons and then east to Foix (with a couple of long climbs and a great lunch at a pretty hotel at the top of the final climb) where I was due to catch an overnight train to Paris, via Toulouse. However, the train drivers were still on strike and I made it to Toulouse by bus. A long wait to catch the 1:15 on Tuesday morning. Only five minutes late into Paris Austerlitz station and smooth connections to the airport. With luggage checked and customs behind me, I got trapped in a long, slow security check and nearly missed my plane. The cheers that greeted me as I took my seat were premature, unfortunately, as we then had a six hour delay due to a technical fault with one engine. However, I had good company and we actually enjoyed our conversation through the long wait. All this led to an overnight stay in Philadelphia that gave me a chance to catch my psychological breath and arrive really clean and refreshed in my local airport. Home at last!

Alive and well, bone weary after two weeks of farm work and lots of French, about five pounds lighter and not quite back into my accustomed self.

FROM THE SOUTH OF FRANCE

I PROMISED A POSTING FROM FRANCE; so here goes.
First, thank you, Glenn for your comment.
I have been here for two weeks now (almost), writing on Friday morning July 20. After arriving in Paris (CGA) two weeks ago in the morning, I made my way to my train connection, lugging my suitcase containing the bike and my soft luggage (attached to the suitcase by bungee cords) up and down stairs with lots of help from Parisians to catch a crowed train to Toulouse. Quite an experience, sitting one's suitcase watching the world wizz by at 200 kph!
At Toulouse, I found my way to the Metro (more stairs) and then to the Youth Hostel for my two nights and one day in this very pleasant city (fourth largest in France) where everything is so compressed compared with the US (I refer to streets and houses). Sunday saw me off early with the weather fine and warming. Coffee and pain au chocolat for breakfast some 17 km down the road and soon I entered the Valley of the River Leze, catching glimpses of the distant Pyrenees at turns on the road. The day warmed and the slight wind was in my face, so I drank lots of water and an occasional beer or two at the lovely little towns along the way.
It was steady going with gradual ascent as the mountains drew nearer. The total distance was to be 112 km but my average speed took a dip by the time I had reached Le Mas d'Azil, some 77 km from Toulouse where I crossed from one valley to the next. In this area there is a large cave that has been used as a refuge over the centuries by several groups (hence the name, which means 'house of refuge'. Nowadays it is a park where both the river and the road go through the mountain from one valley to the next.
It was not too long to Saint Girons with the ride becoming easier. There I stopped for a beer and called my hosts. Just 12 km to go; no sweat I though to my self. In fact, after the village of Moulis, the road steepened very considerably. Now I know why my host had wished me, 'Bon courage, Robert'! For the final 3 km I mostly walked, pushing my bike along the quite narrow road. It is hard to accept that, some 15 years ago, the Tour de France competitors actually came down this steep, narrow, winding track to the finish at St. Girons...surely a suicide mission!
Altogether, due to the last 5 km or so, probably the toughest ride of my life.
I soon revived with a beer from my host. I had a quick look around, met the other wwoofer working on the far, had dinner and went to bed.
Since then, dear Mates, it has been farm work: digging, haymaking, weeding (being an organic farm, there is a constant war on weeds) and the occasional visit to neighbors and friends, some of whom appear to be serial murderers dedicated to the putting to death of wwoofers by the administration of large quantities of wine. We have since been joined by a third wwoofer and a fourth worker who is doing a second placement on the farm as part of here degree. Which is just as well, as there is lots of work to do and the days are long. However, they are punctuated by excellent meals and long conversations around the table.
Saturday and Sunday last, we went to the markets at St. Girons and at a small village called Engomer, more to the South. Here is a photo of my hostess, Jasmin. She and her husband, Erwin, have the farm. She does three markets each week

Here is the market. This market is just a small village market. They had just concluded their three day 'fete de ville' and everyone was in good spirits.

At the top of this posting, you will have seen the River Lez which runs through this village and just the other side of the line of stalls you can see here. By way of contrast, the market in St. Girons is absolutely huge, flowing in all directions away from the town square and with an abundance of local produce, vegetables, fruits, meats, cheeses, shoes and other leather work, knives, garments, and much more beside

At the local, earlier an Irish Pub, I bought Erwin a beer; then he bought me one; and then, the publican bought us each another!

Lots of people come here to retire, attracted by the simplicity of life, including Germans and English, as well as French. I love it here despite that we have had a good bit of rain up in the mountains where the farm is. In the valleys, the weather is mild and town life very charming indeed. Back to the US of A next Tuesday, after riding to Foix on the Monday and the overnight train to Paris. Oh yes, and tomorrow, I will watch the finish of the eigth stage of the Tour de France at St. Girons.