Some artworks or artefacts can take you by surprise and leave you jaw-droppingly stunned. That is to say, you might take a passing glance at something that appears mildly interesting and assume that you have it more-or-less figured out. For instance, the gargoyles of Reims with their molten-lead filled mouths…

The art of survival

So, you find yourself in the French city of Reims. Reading that previous sentence, your ‘internal voice’ might have pronounced the city’s name as something like ‘Reems.’  Take a lesson: the French pronounce the name of the city as something more like ‘Rrraants.’ It’s now time to adjust that internal voice of yours as you read on about… Reims. And more specifically about Notre-Dame de Reims, otherwise known as Our Lady of Reims or simply Reims Cathedral. (Got the triple-time hang of it now?).

Built in the soaring High Gothic style, the cathedral in Reims assumed its (more or less) current shape over the period 1211 – 1345. But a Catholic church of some kind has existed on the site since at least 496AD, being the year that the first French king, Clovis, was crowned there. From that time, all French coronations took place in Reims Cathedral: yes, all 31 of them, ending with King Charles X in 1825 – with various revolutions and republican outbreaks along the way.

The cathedral is immense and is topped by twin bell towers that climb 81 metres or 266 feet into the sky: the modern-day equivalent of a 26-storey building. Next time you’re in a city centre, take an elevator up to the twenty-sixth floor and make your way to a window that looks out and down. And then imagine the visual impact that Reims Cathedral must have had when it reached those giddy heights back in 1345.

A visually striking external design aspect of Gothic cathedrals are the typical abundance of stone grotesques and gargoyles projecting outwards from the walls. They might look pretty much the same to the casual observer, but fantastical grotesques are decorative, while gargoyles are actually cathedral roof drainage channels that cast rain water away from their open mouths. When viewed up close, those channels carved into the upper stone surfaces of gargoyles are quite obvious – but they cannot be seen be people looking upwards from the ground. When you see a gargoyle at work on a rainy day, the water cascading from the gargoyle’s open mouth seems to appear and fall as if by magic.

Here is where the gargoyle story takes an odd turn. During the First World War, Reims Cathedral suffered around 400 direct and deliberate hits from German artillery shells. A great fire broke out in September 1914, melting the lead sheeting and capping on the roof. On this occasion, the gargoyles drained rivers of molten lead instead of water. When the fire subsided, the gargoyle as pictured (among several others) was found in the rubble, with the molten lead now solidified in its channel and mouth.

When you see this artefact on display in the Tau Palace next to the cathedral, you might imagine that it is simply demonstrating how a gargoyle functions as an elevated water drainage channel. But no. You come to realise that the molten and now solid lead has been fixed in place since the fateful events of September 1914. It’s an immersive moment in your life that is utterly staggering.

After the devastation of the First World War, Reims Cathedral was painstakingly rebuilt in the High Gothic style. It was re-opened in 1938 – just in time for another German invasion in 1940. But the Second World War in France was a ‘blitzkrieg’ or ‘lightning war’ of rapid military mobility and this time the cathedral was spared any significant damage.

Reims styles itself as the ‘unofficial capital’ of the Champagne region. It’s a title that is hotly contested by the nearby city of Epernay. Truth is, both towns have their own fabulous charms and each is well worth your attention.

By Brad Allan, writer and wine tasting host in Melbourne, Australia and frequent visitor to France…

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Some of the greatest works of our culture, including those from literature and painting, can inspire our admiration, but also leave us feeling a sense of mystery and ambiguity about their underlying meanings. For instance, despite their incisive insights into human nature, what are we to finally make of Shakespeare’s Macbeth or Hamlet? After lifetimes of questioning and the deepest contemplation of these plays, we can still find nuances of meaning at every new and thoughtful encounter with these dramas.

The art of suspenseful ambiguity has also been expressed by a Swiss-French artist, Felix Vallotton, in his painting from 1899, La Visite or The Visit. In this picture, we are presented with an interior from a seemingly respectable and well-furnished bourgeois home. The male figure is attired in a suit, while the female is wearing a fine overcoat and fashionable hat. Since the painting is titled The Visit, perhaps this is a scene of domestic harmony. Perhaps. But let’s start asking ourselves some questions.

The art of ambiguity

Take a good look and ask yourself, is someone on the way in or about to leave? Is the woman being welcomed with love or is she being restrained by the male’s power? We’re led to ask a central question: what is the emotion that’s driving the man’s tight grasp of the woman? Why is the woman leaning back so far? Does her posture indicate that she is offering physical resistance? Or is she simply swooning in a romantic gesture of love?

Why does the section of carpet on which they’re standing have the pattern of a jagged crevice opening up, looking very much like a violent earthquake? Why do two other sections of the carpet look like a grate or perhaps shadows of prison bars?

On the floral carpet in front of the sofa, there is a cushion on the floor. Presumably, it should be on the sofa. How did the cushion come to be on the floor and what does that mean? At the left of the picture on the table, is that a segment of a sheet of paper? Perhaps it’s a letter from one to the other, expressing some kind of sentiments – welcome or unwelcome?

Why is the door to the bedroom open? Have they already been in there? Or is the man trying to prevail upon the woman to enter the bedroom?

From all of these questions and their possible answers, there arises the great overarching question: is The Visit a painting expressing a vision of a romantic liaison or is it a scene of sexual predation? Perhaps the artist himself was feeling the same kinds of ambiguities and uncertainties about his own picture as he created it. We just don’t know. We are left with our own thoughts and interpretations, which may well change as we ‘revisit’ this intriguing painting again and again.

As in Macbeth, we don’t know if Lady Macbeth really did faint when the blood-soaked horrors of King Duncan’s murder were being vividly recounted or whether she cold-bloodedly pretended in order to divert attention away from her nervously babbling and murderous husband. And in Hamlet, just how genuinely mad or calculatingly sane was the Prince of Denmark when he embarked upon his regime of cruel and outrageous behaviour? Again, we don’t definitively know.

Nevertheless, it’s important to ask all of those intriguing questions about great artefacts of our culture, including The Visit. Look again. Think again. Feel again. Construct your own interpretation or narrative, while also making allowance for the elements that challenge your evolving narrative. You may well be in for a lifetime of fascinating ambiguity.

The painter of The Visit, Felix Edouard Vallotton, was born in 1865 in Lausanne, Switzerland, to a French-speaking family. He moved to Paris at the age of 16 to pursue his ambition of being an artist. He became a French citizen and worked in France until his death in 1925.

The Visit can be viewed at the excellent Kunsthaus Zurich in Switzerland.

By Brad Allan, writer and wine tasting host in Melbourne, Australia and frequent visitor to France…

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Wine has been made in Provence for a very long time. Grapevines were first planted in 600 B.C. by the Greeks who founded the city of Marseille. Later, the Romans planted vines in practically every corner of France—along the Rhône Valley, in Burgundy, in Bordeaux, and elsewhere. But it all started in Provence.

Provençal winemaking boomed during the Middle Ages, led by monks in abbeys like Saint-Victor in Marseille and Le Thoronet near Draguignan. And the medieval seer Nostradamus included wine in a spooky prophesy, proclaiming that one day “the seas will cover the earth and will stop at the stele of Mas de la Dame,” a winery near the town of St-Rémy-de-Provence.

In the Pink

Today Provence is best known for rosé wines, which make up a majority of its wine production. Pale in color, and made primarily from Grenache and Cinsault grapes, they are popular the world over. So much so that celebrities like Brad Pitt, Jon Bon Jovi, and John Legend have gotten into the act, making rosés under their own labels.

As you might expect in sunny Provence, the region also produces robust reds, made from classic southern French grapes like Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvedre—the same grapes you’ll find in the famous wines of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. One of these grapes, Mourvedre, normally gets second or third billing in a wine, if it is even mentioned at all. But, unusually in France, it plays a starring role in Bandol, where rich, long-lived wines are produced in the hills around this charming coastal town.

Further west, nearly all the winemakers of Les Baux-de-Provence use strict organic methods to make their well-regarded red wines. A number even go full biodynamic, making Les Baux a hotspot of this rather odd agricultural process (burying a cow horn, anyone?) But however the winemakers produce their wines, they are quite tasty.

Fighting Over a Name

And let’s not forget the white wines! In Provence you’ll find grapes like Grenache Blanc, Ugni Blanc and Clairette, the latter used in a delicious sparkling wine called Clairette de Die.

More controversial is the grape known in Provence as either Vermentino or Rolle. It originated in Italy, where it is known exclusively as Vermentino, and one day the Italian winemakers got snippy and decided they didn’t want anyone else to use their name! They petitioned the European Union, who sided with them. So now the French will only be allowed to call it Rolle.

Whatever their grapes are called, the wines of France’s oldest wine-growing region are delicious and worth seeking out, for any occasion.

Keith and Val Van Sickle live part of the year in St-Rémy-de-Provence and have traveled widely throughout the region. Keith is the author of An Insider’s Guide to Provence (read our review).  

More on Provence

Explore Provence without a car

Seriously gorgeous gardens in Provence

Antiquing in Provence

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With his silhouette of full-bent meerschaum pipe and deerstalker cap, Sherlock Holmes is one of the most recognized figures in popular culture. He has probably appeared in more films, television series, books, stories, plays and pseudo-scholarly articles than any other fictional character. His influence is worldwide, not only on readers seeking quality crime/procedural stories but also police officers: Not too shabby for a creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

But how many people are aware of Holmes’ connections to France? According to the great consulting detective, Holmes stated in “The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter”: “My ancestors were country squires… my grandmother… was the sister of Vernet the French artist.”

He did not state whether it was Claude Joseph Vernet, Carle Vernet, or Horace Vernet. He also consulted with various French citizens, usually of the Upper Classes, involving dastardly deeds by nefarious enemies! Most important, Holmes led to the work of Edmond Locard (1877-1966), The Sherlock Holmes of France.

Born in 1877 in Saint-Charmon, near Lyon, Locard admitted to reading the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. He was fascinated by the Consulting Detective’s keen eye, logical reasoning and strong interest in chemistry and other sciences to identify evildoers. In short, Locard admired Holmes’ approach to what would later be called scientific criminology, then forensic science.

Locard studied law and medicine as logical approaches to finding evidence and arriving at the appropriate conclusions. Mostly, detectives in those days arrived at the solution to a crime through some intuitive leap of faith, rather than the systematic collection and analysis of evidence in a logical, rational process leading to the resolution of a crime.

The handsome, dark-haired young man, sporting a modest moustache, began his professional career by acting as an assistant with the celebrated French physician and criminologist, Alexandre Lacassagne. Locard was the image of intelligence and persistence, and with his movie matinee image, often appeared in daily newspapers.

Once Locard passed the bar as an attorney, he essentially duplicated Holmes’ rational approach to criminal investigation. But he wanted to learn more about this relationship and travelled to gain insights into the criminal lifestyle.

In Paris, during his first stop, he met and studied with Alphonse Bertillon, an anthropologist, who had created a criminal identification procedure using body measurements known as anthropometry. This was an attempt to identify unique criminal types. From anthropometry, Locard was guided to the more accurate technique of dactylography, the study of fingerprints to identify both suspects and victims. Fingerprinting soon became standard for evidence collection in criminal investigations.

Locard then traveled to New York City. Here he continued his studies of various investigative tools and processes in criminal procedures. Chief among these were the extensive use of various photographic methods to document and preserve evidence And most importantly – the use of chemical analyses to identify and catalogue physical evidence.

After returning to France, Locard immersed himself in the task analyzing, cataloguing and better understanding potential evidence obtained from the various crime scenes. He convinced Lyon police officials to give him the use of two empty attic rooms. There, he conducted chemical analyses and other investigative procedures related to the murders. In short, he created the first forensic laboratory.

The First Forensic Laboratory

In that laboratory, Locard proceeded to solve some of the highest-profile criminal acts. One of the earliest ones was in 1912. The so-called Lyon Strangler brutally killed Mademoiselle Marie Latelle. Her boyfriend Emile Gourbin, the principal suspect, claimed she had been killed while he was playing cards with his friends, each of whom supported his statement.

After analyzing the dirt beneath Gourbin’s nails, Locard found traces of Marie Latelle’s makeup. Faced with this evidence, Gourbin confessed to the brutal murder. Soon, seemingly unsolvable mysteries from around the world began arriving at Locard’s laboratory. His fame was now established.

The Legacy of Locard

His most lasting contribution to forensic science is known as “Locard’s Exchange Principle”.  As he wrote:  “It is impossible for a criminal to act, especially considering the intensity of a crime, without leaving traces of this presence.”

For example, a person walking through a crime scene may leave a trace of mud on a carpet while, at the same time, having carpet fibers attached to the soles of their shoes. Today, this is known as trace evidence.

A second major contribution of Locard is the use of fingerprinting.  During his studies into dactylography he established that if twelve points of comparison could be found between two fingerprints, this would be enough to confirm a match.

During his lifetime, Locard published numerous articles which significantly helped to increase both the quality of criminal investigations and the conviction rate of criminals. His most famous work is his seven-volume series, Traité de Criminalistique (Treaty of Criminalistics). Sherlock Holmes is still working on his masterpiece of criminal investigation: One can only wonder how the world of forensic science might have been exponentially enhanced had Holmes published his insights.

By John Pekich  producer, director, actor and writer, especially of original Sherlock Holmes and Victorian Mysteries in Cape May, New Jersey, USA

All rights reserved. This article may not be published, broadcast, rewritten (including translated) or redistributed without written permission.

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Émile Friant is a French artist whose name is little known today. Yet he was a painter of immense and widely acclaimed talent in his own era, being awarded the highly prestigious Legion of Honour when he was just 25 years old in 1888. Friant’s painting from that year, Les Amoureux (or The Lovers), is a characteristic expression of his immense talent.

The art of being unconvinced

A notable aspect of Friant’s art was his ability to use painterly techniques in subtle or almost hidden ways to create scenes of seemingly ‘effortless’ harmony – as if a scene had been captured completely naturally, without recourse to any obvious technical effects. We can still enjoy this painting, while also considering how Friant deliberately went about creating the effects that make the picture so engaging.

It’s characteristic of Friant’s technique to bring his subject into sharp focus, while softening the less important aspects. We can see that the heads and hands of the lovers in the foreground are crisp and vivid. As the lovers stand upon an iron bridge over the Meurthe River in the countryside around the French city of Nancy, we can see that the trees, water and structures in the background fade gently into the distance. It’s tempting to think that this technique is reminiscent of modern long lens photography: sharp subjects in the foreground and very fuzzy backgrounds.

But then take a look at the bridge upon which the lovers are leaning. Although the bridge is virtually the same distance from us as are the lovers’ faces, the focus on the bridge is very much softer. By using selective focus as a painterly technique, the artist is gently establishing a hierarchy of importance, drawing the attention of the viewer to the sharpness of the key subject: the relationship between the lovers. The bridge, while very near to the viewer, is deliberately softened by Friant’s brushwork, because the bridge is much less important than the lovers who stand upon it.

As an artist, Friant was famous for his subtlety in depicting quietly expressed but deeply held emotions. The eye contact between the lovers is a key aspect of this painting. But look again: their eyes do not actually meet. What we are seeing in this painting is really the avoidance of eye contact. This makes the painting so much more intriguing than had their loving gazes simply met in a romantic scene. Friant is far too good an artist to depict a merely one-dimensional sentimental scene.

With this in mind, we might speculate that someone has some explaining do or some unwelcome news to deliver: the someone being the male figure. Despite what he might need to say being difficult, he is nevertheless leaning very much in towards the female figure, apparently hopeful of maintaining a loving relationship. It is the female figure who we might speculate looks unconvinced, gazing off into the distance, beyond the attempted eye contact of the male. Note also that the female’s ear is painted with superb clarity: the young woman will listen closely, but she will not allow herself to be swayed by making contact with the young man’s eyes.

It seems that Friant may well have captured the lovers at a difficult moment – perhaps it’s a passing moment, but perhaps it’s a turning point with a more profound meaning for their relationship. Friant’s gift to us is that ambiguity of meaning, inviting and enabling us to wonder about the meaning of it all, well beyond a century later.

Friant’s painting Les Amoureux can be viewed in peace and quiet at the Musée des Beaux-Arts at 3 Place Stanislas, Nancy, in the ‘far off’ Grand Est region of France. While the museum in Nancy is host to many highly accomplished works of art, the painfully massive crowds that throng the main art galleries of Paris are utterly absent.

By Brad Allan, writer and wine tasting host in Melbourne, Australia and frequent visitor to France…

All rights reserved. This article may not be published, broadcast, rewritten (including translated) or redistributed without written permission.

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Julia Wingfield finds France may not be 100% perfect for wheelchair users, but its friendly folk make up for it …

I wasn’t always a wheelchair user. I was twenty years old when I sustained a spinal cord injury (SCI) as a result of a motorcycle accident. Since that time, I’ve been wheelchair dependent, although I prefer to think that I am giving an inanimate piece of furniture purpose – without me it would be a rather useless chair on wheels.

Prior to my accident I travelled with my parents on family holidays around the UK and the channel Islands, as well as France for the 24-Hour Le Mans Motorcycle Race.

I’ve had some fun and not so fun holidays along the way, but by far my biggest enjoyment and most memorable experiences have been while travelling through France, with and without an impairment.

Like most Brits my first visit to France was a school day trip Calais in my teens. Back then I doubt anyone thought about risk assessing or supervision, we were literally taken by coach and dropped somewhere and told to ‘interact with the locals’.

Interact we did, but I’m not sure being chatted up by lorry drivers was quite the cultural experience described in the school the curriculum. However, once we’d successfully given them the slip we went off in gangs of six to explore and practice a few French phrases. It was my first introduction to the most delicious pastries I had ever seen or tasted. The crusty loaf and custard tarts I could buy in my hometown were very different to the patisseries with their stunning array of delicious rainbow-coloured macarons. Although I can’t remember where we went, the medieval town remains imprinted in my mind, cobbled streets reminiscent of something out of a Harry Potter movie.

Le Mans on a motorbike was very different. Sixteen years of age, rebel without a clue we set off from Portsmouth to Le Havre, then down to the racetrack. Winding roads, castles on hilltops, I remember the journey more than the race itself. We stopped off on the way back in the pouring rain somewhere in Normandy where I was introduced to my first sip of Calvados with a side shot of inky black coffee. Restored and fully awake, if not a bit wobbly riding pillion I promised myself I would return one day.

Fast forward a few years and post injury I read the iconic book ‘A year in Provence’ by Peter Mayle. Captivated by the romantic images of life in France I persuaded my now ex-husband into crossing the channel with our young son who’d been recently diagnosed neurodiverse.

We settled for Quimper in Brittany, as my ex preferred a shorter drive.

The Gite we booked was advertised as fully accessible. It was owned by someone in the UK with a SCI, and I was assured the property would meet our requirements. Inevitably we ran out of fuel but were rescued by a lovely French lady who used her credit card in the unmanned service station at 1am in exchange for the cash. Finally, we arrived in the middle of nowhere at 5am in the pitch black.

The gite was quirky. The electrics blew the minute we opened the door, so we were forced the navigate the house by torchlight. The two-bed accessible gite had a ground floor bedroom with a surprisingly modern WC and shower room. But the second bedroom was on a mezzanine so even with a rope and pulley system I couldn’t put my sleepy, anxious son to bed. What’s more the front door wouldn’t close properly, so we had to ram the large wooden table up against it to prevent any potential marauding invaders.

Our first night or should I say morning, was spent with all of us in the same bed, fidgeting, snoring, and complaining about trades description versus reality.

At 8am, barely a few hours after we’d retired to bed, a woman introduced herself by shoving the door open and offering a basket full of eggs, butter, and bread. Using my English to French dictionary, we established she was the housekeeper. We explained the lack of power, so one by one she flicked switches mumbling merde every time the fuse box pinged, until finally normality returned.

Bleary eyed and hungry we inspected the basket and helped ourselves to crumbly croissants, pain au chocolat and half a freshly baked baguette.

She must have been psychic or used to the daily ritual because she also left a selection of fuses. It was just as well because every time we turned on more than two appliances the house plunged into darkness. But did I care? No, this was the holiday we needed.

The tiny kitchen was basic, and as anyone who’s blessed with a neurodiverse child knows, mealtimes can be stressful. Apart from the croissants, he would only eat food he was familiar with and cooking on what was essentially a student version of a grill and two ring hob tested my culinary skills considerably.

Quimper was charming. And it was noticeable that when my little son displayed what might be considered ‘naughty behaviour’, it resulted in a pat on the head, or a smile from the French. At every café he was given crayons and a colouring book, the waitress directed questions to him with a smile, even when he shrugged and couldn’t reply.

The cobbled streets in Quimper were somewhat uncomfortable in my wheelchair, and access in the medieval town was as expected fairly challenging, but there was always help available even without asking. If I stopped to look in a gallery window in a blink of an eye men appeared, cigarette clamped between lips, and like it or not I was lifted into the building and greeted with a cheery Bonjour!

Quimper’s Cathédral Saint-Corentin, with its stained-glass windows and twin towers is well worth a visit, it’s the oldest gothic structure in Brittany and dominates the landscape. The potteries, famous for their rustic designs, proudly display their colourful ceramics in the windows of many of the shops and boutique galleries. The medieval quarter is a feast for the eyes with its beautiful architecture, cafés, and shops.

Driving back to the Gite one early evening I spied a sign nailed to a wall advertising cider, we doubled back and drove down a dirt track and ended up in a farmyard. I don’t quite know what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t a French farmer, rosy cheeked and brimming with enthusiasm thrusting glass after glass of rather unpleasant apple juice into my hand. To be fair, after sampling quite a few I did find two I particularly liked, so I paid a few francs for two fertiliser containers filled full of what looked like bad urine samples and promptly fell asleep the minute we got back to the gite. The week flew by with daily deliveries of pastries and eggs then it was time for home.

Despite the very modest and basic amenities I was hooked on France and in particular, the kindness of strangers.

In 2016 my new partner bought a town house in Normandy and set about making the ground floor accessible for us to use for vacations and rental purposes. It’s been an adventure and continues to give me great joy to visit France.

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Business seems to be booming for the abbeys and monasteries in France. Brexit, the Covid-19 pandemic and an economic crisis don’t appear to have slowed down revenue for these entrepreneurs at all. Whilst we tend to think of these religious buildings solely as peaceful places of worship with magnificent architecture, they are also thriving businesses which have survived not just decades, but centuries. In the current economy, when so many local and global businesses are fighting for survival, how do these abbeys and monasteries continue to stay afloat? What is their secret?

For many of these religious institutions, the answer is simple… diversity and evolution. The Abbaye Saint-Martin de Ligugé, which dates back to the 4^th century, is a shining example of such diversity. As one source of revenue, this beautiful abbey offers lodgings where you can enjoy a spiritual retreat. Every year, over 4,000 visitors spend time relaxing here in the tranquil countryside just south of Poitiers (Vienne), whilst embracing their spirituality.

Other income comes from its charming boutique of books and artisanal products, and sales of enamelled goods made by the monks here and sold throughout France. Not forgetting its pâtisserie, Scofa – a simple, yet mouth-wateringly delicious, almond cake. The initials of the five ingredients in this cake form its name (Sucre, Crême, Oeufs, Farine, Amandes) and it’s sold at the abbey, as well as in local shops and large supermarkets throughout the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region.

The monks didn’t sit idly during the pandemic, choosing to use their time productively instead. Frère Christophe of Abbaye Saint-Martin de Ligugé explains, “There was a drop in sales of Scofas, our tasty cake, but we took advantage of producing less pâtisserie to ramp up our production of enamelled goods. We increased our stocks and now they’re selling well today.”

Long known as astute businessmen and women, the religious communities in France seem to know how to adapt to changing times to continue to attract visitors and bring revenue to their sites. Most of the abbeys and monasteries here have some form of boutique in their grounds to promote sales and increase revenue, and during the Covid-19 crisis, a large majority of these turned to internet sales when they were forced to close their physical shops during lockdown.

Frère Christophe emphasises the importance of evolution. “During the Covid period, the abbey was closed, so we sold our boutique items online and we developed our website for this purpose,” he states, adding that it functioned very well.

The Abbaye Notre Dame de Bonne-Espérance (Abbaye d’Echourgnac) in Dordogne also evolved during this period. This magnificent Cistercian abbey, dating back to the 19^th century, has diverse sources of revenue: cheese production, spiritual retreats, pottery manufacturing and an artisanal production of herbal teas, sweets and jam, amongst other things. Soeur Nathalie explains that for this abbey too, evolution has been paramount to surviving. “The change in economic conditions led us to adapting our work. In September 2020, our community partnered with the Dumont family who now manage our cheese production in Echourgnac,” she says.

The Abbaye du Barroux in the Vaucluse department already had thriving sales by mail order and internet before the recent pandemic even began. Its boutique showcases everything from books (spiritual and non-religious) and wine to sweets and leather sandals. You can even purchase CDs and DVDs of chants and songs by various religious communities here. A genuine one-stop shop for everything you could possibly want!

Each abbey or monastery has a particular speciality, produced by the site itself, then sold via the network of religious boutiques throughout France to increase revenue. The Abbaye du Barroux (84) is renowned for its olive oil, produced by the monks there; the Trappist nuns at the Abbaye de la Coudre in Laval (53) produce thousands of their famous flan sachets every year; and people flock from all over the south-west region to purchase the delicious cheese made by the sisters at the Abbaye Notre-Dame de Bonne Espérance in Echourgnac (24). This network proves invaluable in promoting a strong community spirit and increasing revenue.

If there is one thing the recent health crisis has taught us, it’s the value of community. Perhaps it is this shift in attitudes which has encouraged people to spend less on factory-produced, imported goods and more on locally produced, traditional products with natural ingredients? A much-needed “return to basics” to remind us all of the important things in life. No longer solely for religious and spiritual people, the abbeys and monasteries in France are now sought after by all those looking to buy locally, regardless of religion.

Frère Christophe explains, “Monastic products bear a monastic label and they always sell well, even though their price is often quite high. They are top-quality items that people love to buy and they’ll continue to buy them even in difficult times. When it’s good, it’s worth it!”

Many abbeys and monasteries in France focus on producing high-quality products using the finest, natural ingredients to justify their price. Remedies and healing treatments using formulas which date back centuries form a large part of their boutique revenue. You can purchase delights such as the “Pilgrim’s Foot Balm” designed to ease the aches and pains from a long day spent on your feet, or the “Lavender relaxation spray” to help you unwind and sleep well after a tough day. Who needs to spend a fortune on designer brands when the enticing aroma and nurturing properties of these natural products are so captivating?

Another highly cherished value adhered to in all the abbeys and monasteries in France is that of a good work ethic. Soeur Nathalie explains that a typical day at the Abbaye d’Echourgnac begins with morning prayers (Vigiles) at 5.15 am and ends with evening prayers (Complies) at 8.30 pm. Typically, this includes between six and seven hours in one of the abbey’s work areas, which include cheese production, pottery making and welcoming guests for the retreats.

Soeur Michelle of Abbaye de la Coudre describes a similar pattern of long days, incorporating prayer time and working hours, with the nuns beginning their day at 4 am and finishing with evening prayers at 8 pm. Abbaye de la Coudre is a stunning, early 19^th century abbey in Laval, Mayenne and the community of nuns who reside here divide their work time between cheese production, manufacturing artisanal leather goods and producing their delicious flan mixes. Originally in just six flavours, they have recently added pistachio and salted caramel to the available choices, and Soeur Michelle adds that production continues to evolve here.

It’s hard not to admire the dedication, determination and passionate work ethic in these religious communities. When asked how the abbey has managed to survive the difficult, recent years with a struggling economy and one crisis after another, Soeur Michelle answers pragmatically, “Practically nothing has changed for us. We’ve just had to work more in order to sell more as our customers have fewer means to buy… and we’ve had to find new customers too.”

So, when we are counting our pennies and looking for ways to survive these difficult times, it can’t hurt to take a lesson from the religious orders in France – the key to their success lies in a strong work ethic, diversity and evolution. A winning combination and one which is sure to see these magnificent abbeys and monasteries in France continue to thrive for decades and centuries to come.

Leah Rottier is a freelance writer living in France.

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One of the best vegetarian meals I have ever had was on a mini-break in France, my native country. It was in Carteret, a small town in Normandy, where my English husband and I stopped for one night in a family run hotel-restaurant

Nothing on the menu in the reception was suitable for me, but as soon as I asked the smart and efficient looking “patronne” whether it would be possible to have a suitable dish that same evening, she said she’d ask her husband and picked up the phone. Following this brief call – which I thought sounded a touch bossy – I enjoyed one of the best vegetarian meals I have ever had in a restaurant. It was excellent. Unforgettable

Titbits were brought to our table with our drinks and a big carafe of ice water as soon as we had ordered. These “amuse-gueules” were hot small savoury petits-fours, with a tomato dip

Unlike my husband I didn’t have a choice of dishes. My starter and my main course were a delicious cream of lentil soup, followed by a haricot beans dish cooked in lots of olive pâté and dried tomatoes served with a tasty side salad, all with plenty of warm crispy bread rolls (topped up before any request) – and butter (which is still not automatically served with bread in France – never mind Normandy butter!)

 Ours sweets were equally superb. We had lemon ice-creams with brandy snaps, and my husband’s coffee was served with a few small jellies and tiny chocolate chip biscuits.

And though France doesn’t have a reputation for being vegetarian-friendly, it’s a lot better than it used to be. Many restaurants offer meat-free options such as pasta and ratatouille, and more and more are offering vegetarian options.

What’s it like for vegetarians in. France

Present statistics for vegetarians are more or less the same in both France and the UK, currently estimated to be up to 5% of the population. However, it’s still is not quite as easy for vegetarians to eat out in France as it is in the UK. But it is getting better. It’s not that difficult to get a decent, meat or fish free meal in France. If you’re a strict vegetarian and don’t eat cheese or eggs – it can be a bit more tricky. That said, vegan restaurants and food stalls are popping up all over the place – particularly in bigger cities.

I have also found a solution that works well if you’re a vegetarian. I just pick a dish on the menu, and ask whether they would mind altering it by just omitting the meat or the fish, and also by adding other – “safe” – ingredients that are used in one of the other dishes instead

So, punctuating my questions with “s’il vous plaît” and “merci”, perhaps sounding slightly apologetic (and trying my best to look hungry), I first ask whether they would mind altering one of the dishes on the menu:

“je pourrais/je peux avoir les pâtes/la salade niçoise/l’omelette/le riz MODIFIÉ s’il vous plaît?” (Could I / can I please have the pasta dish/the niçoise salad/the omelet/the rice dish WITH A FEW CHANGES please?)

When staff then enquire about what “modification” I mean, I tell them what I would like taken out of one of the set dishes listed, and, when possible I also suggest what they could add in place, “si possible?”

For example, I would ask if:

“je pourrais/je peux avoir les pâtes/la ratatouille/les haricots verts/les tomates à la provençale/le riz/les frites, SANS le poulet, le thon, le jambon, les crevettes” (could I please have the pasta dish/the ratatouille/the green beans/the tomatoes/the rice/the chips WITHOUT the chicken/the tuna fish/the ham/the prawns) for the initial request, and for the second one, I would add:

«ET À LA PLACE, AVEC les noix/les oeufs durs/les champignons/les coeurs d’artichaut/l’omelette/la salade?»  (AND INSTEAD, WITH the nuts/the hard boiled eggs/the mushrooms/the artichoke hearts/the omelette/the lettuce?)

If you are a strict vegetarian, you’ll find that a small number of cheeses that do not include “pressure animale”  (animal products) are available in most of the main supermarkets. And food choices for vegetarians are improving all the time as demand is growing.

Top tips for vegetarians in France

Ask for dishes that have no fish or meat rather than asking for vegetarian dishes.

Look out for V-Label  on products.

Ask at local tourist offices for tips on restaurants that serve vegetarian food.

Monique Jackman is an author, writer, teacher and translator who lives in the Var, southern France.

Great French recipes for vegetarians

Stuffed mushrooms – Champignons farcis
Pistou soup
Onion tart 

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“Imagination is the one thing beside honesty that a good writer must have. The more he learns from experience the more he can imagine” – Ernest Hemingway

Much has been written about the writer Ernest Hemingway and of the time he spent in France with three of his four wives, at different stages in his life: Hadley Richardson, the first wife; Pauline Pfeiffer, the second; and Mary Welsh the fourth. One of his favourite parts of France was the French Riviera which features in several of his works.

 The Garden of Eden

The Garden of Eden, posthumously published in 1986, is one of Hemingway’s four unfinished novels.  The locale is the 1920s relatively unspoiled Côte d’Azur, a time before it was discovered by hordes of tourists. Using fictional characterizations of himself, Hadley and Pauline, Hemingway explored the unique and intertwining elements of a love triangle much like he experienced with the two women. Pauline initially entered Hemingway and Hadley’s lives as a volunteer sitter for their seriously ill son Bumby, then became Hemingway’s lover while still married to Hadley, and a year later his second wife.

In The Garden of Eden, David Bourne is a young American writer with a beautiful young wife who is jealous of his literary successes. The Bournes live near the Golf of Napoule, in a small private pine grove. An exclusive section on the Riviera southwest of Cannes, noted for the Chateau de la Napoule, a fortified castle from the 14^th Century. They enjoy the beach, swimming, exploring the coastline, and cycling, as their real-life counterparts Hemingway, Hadley and Pauline did in 1926. Both the fictional Bournes and the Hemingways – including Pauline – took side trips to the Camargue, vast salt flats where wild white horses roam, cattle and black bulls dominate the landscape and are herded by gardians, and flamingos and dozens of other species fill the skies.

Antibes Juan-les-Pins

The Hemingways spent considerable time in Cap d’Antibes with Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and Sara and Gerald Murphy, wealthy friends of the Fitzgeralds. Hemingway often socialised with John Dos Passos, Gertrude Stein, and Pablo Picasso – a sometimes-resident artist who said: “Whenever I come to Antibes I’m always attacked by the itch of antiquity.”

The Murphys, who were the inspiration for Dick and Nicole Diver in Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night, became close friends with Hemingway, especially supporting him during his break-up with Hadley. Gerald, an heir to the Mark Cross luxury leather goods company, and a painter of early Pop Art together with his beautiful wife Sara, one of Picasso’s secret muses, were the Riviera’s original trendsetters.

After studying art in Paris, Gerald and Sara moved to Cap d’Antibes in the summer of 1922.  Soon after renting rooms in the seaside Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc, they encouraged the owners to maintain the hotel with full facilities during the summer. This was unheard of, since most of the luxury hotels were only open during the winter season. The Murphys were credited with initiating the summer season on the Riviera. The Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc soon became the center of the Murphys’ social life, as well as those of their friends, until their home, the Villa America, was completed nearby.

In the summer of 1925, Hemingway and Hadley spent June in Antibes with the Murphys, while Picasso spent July there; the Murphys wisely kept the two egos safely separated.

To celebrate the publication of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, the Murphys gave an extravagant party in his honor in the Juan-les-Pins casino, as described in A Moveable Feast. The Hemingways stayed at the Villa Paquita (today the Villa Picolette) in Juan-les-Pins, close to the seaside villa Saint-Louis, which the Fitzgeralds called home, and where Scott began writing Tender is the Night. In 1929, the Villa Saint-Louis became the fascinating and trendy 5-star, Hôtel Belles Rives which has kept its striking Art Deco ambiance.

Provence

During almost 40 years, Hemingway visited much of southern France including Cannes and Nice, Avignon and Arles, Aix-en-Provence and Juan-les-Pins, Monte Carlo and Marseilles. In 1924, aged 25, Hemingway had traveled to the area on a delayed honeymoon with Hadley. In 1927, they were divorced. The following year, Hemingway and Pauline went to the Camargue on their honeymoon, staying in the Grand Hôtel du Pommier (the Hôtel Grande Bellevue today), as they enjoyed the isolation and privacy of the small village of Le Grau-du-Roi, as well as the start beauty of the Camargue.

As with the Bournes in The Garden of Eden, Hemingway and Pauline spent time in Aigues-Mortes and Avignon. Hemingway and Pauline planned to bicycle from there to the Pont du Gard, a large bridge spanning the Gard River and supporting an aqueduct that carried water 30 miles to Nîmes. “But the mistral was blowing so they rode with the mistral down to Nîmes and stayed there at the Imperator…”

In 1949, Hemingway returned with Mary, his fourth wife, to the Imperator. The legend goes that Hemingway created the Bloody Mary in the Imperator to trick Mary, so he could drink what appeared to be only tomato juice, even though his doctors insisted that he stop drinking.

By John Pekich  producer, director, actor and writer, especially of original Sherlock Holmes and Victorian Mysteries in Cape May, New Jersey, USA

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The French artist, Eugène Carrière, was a remarkable painter who worked almost exclusively in a colour palette of browns and deep yellows, using quick, semi-dry brush strokes to create his typical ghostly effects. Carrière’s name is little known now, but at his peak around 1900 he was one of the most celebrated figures in French culture. And it was in the year 1900 that Carrière turned his technique and subject matter from domestic portraiture to create a highly evocative industrial painting titled Le Fondeur or The Foundryman.

The Art of the Inferno

Context is important here. The world of work in 1900 and the early twentieth century was radically different from the world we know today. For many of us, a modern hard day’s work might involve deep thinking at a workplace with a ‘hot desk.’ While your ‘hot desk’ situated in an air-conditioned space is a metaphor for connectivity, the environment in the past for masses of industrial workers was a hard physical reality of intense heat, noise, noxious fumes, muscular exertion and the ever-present danger of appalling injury or violent death.

You might be aware that this inner-city industrial world has been evoked in recent years by a television series, Peaky Blinders. Set in the smoggy gloom of industrial Birmingham from the 1920s, the inner-city streets are far from the typically gentrified neighborhoods that we know today. Instead, the grimy, smoky, sulphureous streets are illuminated randomly by blasts of industrial fire that leap through open doorways and windows. It’s a reminder that today’s chic inner-city warehouse apartments once hosted furnaces and factories operated by masses of workers who were crammed into nearby terraces.

Everything that was made from metal – from massive steel-hulled ship plates to train rails and the locomotives that charged along them – had a large component of being ‘hand-made.’ From Birmingham to Berlin, from Pittsburgh to Paris, the inner-city industrial story was similar and it’s this world that Carrière illustrates through the medium of one individual worker.

The worker in Carrière’s hellscape is lit by the red- and white-hot metal that he is manipulating with his heavy steel implement. He stands tall amid the heat haze, fire and fumes that rise all around him. Although the painting is not ‘realist’ or photographic in a technical sense, the predicament of the steel worker is strikingly suggested by Carrière’s colour palette and technique. Note that the worker’s strong arms are not angular, but flow visually like the molten metal being manipulated beyond the frame.

We can see that he has no protection at all in this extremely dangerous industrial environment: no helmet, no goggles, no breathing apparatus, no gloves – nothing but his own clothes. Being wreathed in fire and smoke, he is alone and has no choice but to persevere working in this inferno. We can see that Carrière has painted the foundryman from slightly below, giving the tilt of the worker’s torso and head a defiantly heroic aspect. The respect that Carrière feels for the foundryman is powerfully expressed through this deliberate positioning of his individual subject.

Le Fondeur can be viewed at the wonderful Musée des Beaux Arts in Nancy, in the Grand Est region of France.

By Brad Allan, writer and wine tasting host in Melbourne, Australia and frequent visitor to France…

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