I visited my friend Marie this weekend at her new place in Tarbes, and since the weather favored us, we were able to take a drive up the valley to the Col du Tourmalet, alongside riders training for the Tour de France (either professionally or enthusiastically). Then, we went down the west side of the col and up into the jaw-dropping Cirque du Gavarnie with its vestigial glaciers.
We stopped for coffee and cake at her niece’s house in Arreau–a 17th century Relais de Poste (sort of a Pony Express inn) that they’ve turned into a lovely country house complete with a wall full of original copper pots, apple trees in the back garden, and an “automatic” 19th-century weight-driven rotisserie that still roasts chickens in the giant fireplace. I didn’t get any pictures because it felt a bit intrusive, but trust me that it’s hard to get more French than that house. I wanted to move into the attic bedroom toute-de-suite.
The piedmont of the Pyrénées this time of year is all waterfalls and green pastures full of wildflowers, brébis sheep, cows, and the Great Pyrenees sheepdogs that keep them company. The little limestone village shops are well stocked with good charcuterie, sheep and cow cheese of many sorts, gateau à la broche (an amazing sort of waffle made by pouring batter on a rotisserie over a fire), and the treats from neighboring Gascony, including foie gras, armagnac, fruit jams of all sorts, and excellent Madiran and Pacherenc wines. We had several of these things in a nice lunch and then finished out our day trip in Lourdes at the site of the famous grotto–well, we didn’t go to the grotto, but we stopped in at one of the bazillion tourist shops so I could pick up medallions for some Catholic friends back home. Marie told me that Lourdes has the second highest number of hotels of any city in France after Paris, and I believed her–it was just one hotel sign after another plastering every street surrounding the grotto.
It was a relief to get back to Tarbes, though it was still busy there as it was Mother’s Day weekend in France. On the main shopping street, well-dressed mother-daughter pairs shopped for jewelry, cosmetics, etc. Men bustling out of florists’ shops with arms full of flowers every few minutes. The Jardin du Massey was a welcome respite from the hustle with its sweeping pelouses (untrodden, as lawns are generally to look at, not to sit on in France), towering cedars, and multicolored peacocks. Too soon, it was time to head back to the airport in Toulouse, but it’s always too soon….
The Rookery 