Moules and Frittes

Last night was a true France adventure. We set out for Tarascon. Our German host told us about a spot on the river in Tarascon where we could sit and eat moules and frittes and look out at boats on river. We had driven through there last year on the way to Uzes but did not stop.

So, we set out with the GPS from our home location. As always with this gadget it takes you on the shortest route which turned out to be down many back country roads, through farms and fields. It routed us through a town outside St. Remy called Maillone which is where the Nobel prize winning poet Frederic Mistral was born, lived, and died. It has a museum for Mistral and hosts every year a chariot race with working horses from the local farms. As we were driving through the town we saw activity on this tiny country lane bordered by working fields and irrigation canals. As we approached we saw horses with young men standing beside them, harnessed to a small cart or chariot. The harness was quiet old but well-preserved, leather with horns standing up, which from a distance looked like small men sitting atop the horses with peaked caps. We did not know what we were looking at but it was fascinating. When we returned home later I researched it and in about 15 minutes was able to locate photographs of horses in the same unusual harness competing in the chariot race.

We eventually arrived in Tarascon but realized that we actually needed to cross the river into Beaucaire. The two towns sit opposite on the Rhone river, with a castle, the Chateau du Roi looming on the Tarascon side protecting the river front. As you cross over into Beaucaire, there are inlets and canals with marinas - small boats and houseboats lining the quay, with charming small restaurants with simple inexpensive food. We found a table at the one recommended by our friend and settled in for a solid meal of moules marinières and frittes, on a night where the weather was not too hot, and joined by a light breeze. Sometimes in Provence the breeze will be a "mistral" a wind coming from North Africa which brings heat, rather like a Santa Anna wind in California. But the breeze of the last few days has brought more cooling temperatures, like a whisper of calmer days that we all so need.

On our way home, we merely followed the road signs to St. Remy. As we drove down the D roads, lined with aging Plane trees, it felt as though we were traveling through time, through a tunnel of memories planted by those who planted those beautiful trees on a night with a full yellow moon, low on the horizon, and stars shining like they may have shined one hundred years ago, rather than drowned out by modern city lights.