CLAVIERS - A 'PERCHED VILLAGE' IN PROVENCE

A LEISURELY WALK WITH MELODY

            At last!! Hurrah! Hurrah! My latest memoir, Adventures on Land and Sea: Searching for Culinary Pleasures in Provence and along the Côte d’Azur has finally gone to the printer. No, we will not see the books immediately, as the launch date is not until November 12, 2024, but I can’t wait to share some of the stories hidden in those pages.

            First of all, let me share with you the book description you’ll find on the back cover of the book:

---

Join Carole Bumpus, her husband, Winston, and their friends in Book Four of Savoring the Olde Ways, her culinary-travel series. Following in the footsteps of writer Peter Mayle, Bumpus is on a quest to find the real Provençe. On three separate excursions—from Nice to Nîmes, Moustiers to Marseilles, and San Tropez to San Remy—and while sailing along the Côte d’Azur, she invites you to join her in uncovering the mysteries of Provençe. Are they hidden within their myths, festivals, or traditions? Is it possible they’re veiled in the sheer beauty of the land and sea? Could they be concealed in Roman arenas in Arles, Orange, or Glanum? Or, perhaps, within the ancient methods of traditional cooking or winemaking? Maybe they are hidden in plain sight among the locals who open their hearts, their bistros, and homes to strangers.

Yes, you may find it in chefs while cooking in ancient kitchens, in the smile of the shy barmaid who speaks no English, in the giggle of the Pizza Wagon baby, in the agreeable village baker, or in the patient waiter and harbor master—but you will most especially experience it through friends who fling open their doors to share their families’ recipes. Traveling alongside Bumpus, that is where you’ll discover the real Provençe.

---

My book is divided into three separate tours to Provençe. So, today I thought I would share a little . . . should I say an amuse bouche? . . .. from one of the first chapters of Book One. I think this might help you understand some of my motivation for travel writing!

In this beginning foray through Provençe, my husband and I had rented an ancient ‘farmhouse’ in Clavier, a “perched village” high in the mountains north of Cannes for ten days. We had invited two other couples, including my sister, Melody and her husband, Dan, plus another couple, Bob and Shirley, who were good friends from the States. In this chapter, we had been enjoying this medieval village of Claviers using it as a base, but also to luxuriate in the wonder of place . . . .

---

CLAVIERS - A ‘PERCHED VILLAGE’

STREETS OF CLAVIERS

CHAPTER EIGHT SAUNTERING WITH MELODY

On one particularly exquisite afternoon, after eating a sumptuous brunch on the outside deck, Melody and I decided to take a walk together through the nearby hills. Yes, it was just the two of us, as the guys opted to relax and read at the house, and Bob and Shirley? Well, they were carrying their swimming gear when they crept out the door, and the words ‘St. Tropez’ were whispered in a way that if spoken out loud, their plans might be dissipate. We all shrugged, and went on with our plans.

Melody and I took some straw hats, and I recall the dust lifting off the roads as we padded along coating the crystal clean air around us and turning the nearby plants and our feet the color of dirt.

Carole and Melody in Claviers

The local dogs, which were all characters everyone, began barking as we passed. I guess they wanted to let us know that, yes, they did have homes and were, at times, frequenting them.

You see, it had become a comedy caper each and every day as we walked through the village center heading for our cars, that the town dogs, would bound out to greet us. They, it seems, were allowed to go anywhere and everywhere. No leash laws here. When they would come careening through the streets, racing their buddies, or carousing under the tables at the little café, if one was not careful, your legs could get knocked out from beneath you. Ah, but then they would back off, as if to say, ‘Just kidding!’ One hound, in particular, would saunter past us, as if we weren’t even there, but clearly his eyes were keeping us in sight. Just in case. Oh, I digress!

So, that day when Melody and I walked down the road leading out to the west of town, we trudged up and over a ridge and past houses set outside the city walls. We had not been aware of where many of these dogs lived, but, they were quick to let us know they saw us coming. And those who were well-fenced, echoed all of the greetings from their rambler buddies. Of course, some came bounding down toward us barking, but then quickly lost interest!

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not altogether comfortable with unknown dogs lurching about without a tether. But, Melody seemed quite fine. (She did live on a farm in Iowa, so this was right up her alley—or field, so to speak.) But since I was not quite certain how to speak French to people, how could I possibly speak to French dogs? The village of Claviers is not a tourist town, so it is unusual for folks and dogs to deal with the likes of us. But, there we were and somehow, the locals, whether on two feet or four feet, seemed to tolerate us. And in a kindly way!

Lining the road were enormous bushes of yellow broom with their sweet pea-like golden blossoms, a sprinkling of purple irises, random blood-red poppies, and blue-flowered rosemary hedges which competed with an overwhelm of aromas. The area outside of town was surrounded with a smattering of olive, hackberry or plane trees and off in the distant fields, we could see wide expanses of lovely purple lavender. It was purely idyllic!

“Melody, do you remember when I lived in Illinois with my husband and two small children, and you drove all the way from Iowa to visit us?” She turned to look at me. “I remember sitting on a set of stairs in our apartment hallway, where our pre-school-age daughters were able to run and play. The winter winds, which were always whipping up deep drifts around our complex, had once again denied us the ability to go outside. So, this was our only reprieve.”

“Yes, Carole, I do remember! We were attempting to hold a conversation but the noise from the kids was so deafening that we couldn’t finish a sentence.”

“Yes, and that’s the reason I bring this up. It was right then and there that you and I made a pact that when our children were grown and gone, we would fly away together! Anywhere, just to be able to spend enough time together to finish each other’s sentences. Don’t recall if France was our goal, but, I feel as if this was the day we prepared for.”

Melody turned and swooped me up in a hug, our hats colliding in the mix. And as we began to talk, she grabbed my hand, and we ambled slowly along, catching up on the years of intimate conversations we had missed. As I recall, the afternoon was not deadfully hot, but remained like a warm embrace. The aromatic air gently held us as we walked... it was such an amber time. When I think back on that memory, I recall it was one of comfort and a congenial joy for this treasured ‘sister time’. 

Once we returned, Dan looked up from his book and looked at the two of us. I’m not certain what he saw, but he said to Melody, “I think you lived here in another age.” What a sweet observation of his dear wife, I thought. And I believe he was right. It felt like we had made an almost spiritual connection to this place—this little out-of-the-way village of Claviers.

Years later, I recall reading a description of Claviers, as “A secret surrounded by olive trees; a ‘perched village’ which manages to preserve the languor of Provence.” Yes, that was the experience we came away with. A slowing down of life; and a relaxing into a world lived many years ago.

Melody and I made dinner together that evening—our bond was always strong, but now even stronger. Memories of us as little girls standing on chairs to help with dinner came flooding back, but especially the nightly dish washing duty. Being the two oldest in a family of five children, we were the designated dishwashers. Plus, we were the only girls!

 For our hors d’oeuvres that night, we began with little pots of rich black olive and artichoke tapenade. Glasses of rosé were poured, and as wedges of ripened Brie cheese were laid out, Bob and Shirley made their entrance. Totally sunburnt, but excited about their day at the beach in St. Tropez. “We have to go back,” they both exclaimed. I voted to join them.

A little repast on the deck - with Winston and Melody

After the two cleaned up a bit, we sat down for a course of mushroom-filled tortellini splashed with vegetable-infused pasta sauce. As I keep saying, we might have been in France, but we were in southern France and were paying attention to the Provençal cuisine which embraced both the Italian as well as the French. Plus, these items were readily available at the local market. Ah, but we did need to stock up!

---

To preorder the upcoming book, Adventures on Land and Sea: Searching for Culinary Pleasures in Provence and along the Cote d’Azur, click on the image below.

I have a number of events scheduled for the book launch in November, so please check out my website for the event and pop it onto your calendar, if you can, as I would love to have any and all of you come to celebrate with me.

Also, I thoroughly love the comments you send my way! I can’t tell you how much joy that gives me! Thank you!