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Bardou is a tiny, stone hamlet in the Pyrenees of sw France. Almost 50 years ago, a couple named Jean Ann and Claus stumbled on the place which was literally falling down. They had been looking for a place to call their own, a place to raise kids, a place to live freely and be the king of the mountain. From the beginning, they could see the good bones of the place, and went about buying each little wreck of a place piece by piece. Now, they own the whole mountain top and have restored the houses stone by stone. In the late 60's, they got the water running through the village (though the flush toilet is relatively new). In the 90's, they got electricity. There is a road that comes up here to the parking places (which is really just a wide spot on the side of the mountain.) but the village remains strictly pedestrian zone, there's no way a car could fit on these steep, narrow, stoney pathways.
From the very beginning, Claus created a renaissance place where there were art shows, music concerts and weekly readings of Shakespeare. He raised award winning sheep, and welcomed visitors who would work for their keep. Claus has passed away, the barns are all that remains of the sheep, the Shakespeare is a thing of the past. Yet, yet...the spirit of this place remains. Guests are still welcomed by Jean, and concerts still happen on a regular basis.
I came to this place because of Dave. Jean Ann is his mother's sister and at 80+ still walks the pathways, goes to the garden and up to the pastures, books the guests and minds the details with a sharp mind. She's got a quiet wit and a strong sense of self which couldn't help but develop in this place where one can almost be self sufficient.
The road here is long and steep. We picked up a friend of Aunt Jean's at the train station in Beziers. He knew the way to get here, so it was lucky for us because we didn't. Just a bit of serendipity before we even got to this magical place. Turns out, Daniel is a German reporter who has decided to write Jean's story about her life here at Bardou.
So we climbed up and up the twisty road that leads to the magical place that is Bardou. Getting out of the car, everyone else went ahead. Outside the wisteria draped arbor, there is a wooden carved sign that simply says "Bardou". I stopped there, on the threshold under the wisteria, feeling for all the world that I was awakening into magic. Tears sprang to my eyes, while I stood there in the falling light, taking in the stone walls, and cobbled paths, and round spring full of gold fish trickling water. Then, just to make the picture complete, a peacock crossed my path! I was standing there laughing and crying, ready now to step into 300 years ago.
Our house, golden, sparkling stone on the outside is rough plastered and whitewashed on the inside. Tables and chairs tend to sit a bit away from the wall, as the bottom of the wall is thicker than the top. We have a perfectly functional kitchen with a two burner stove hooked up to a can of propane, a sink that has cold only running water, a fridge the size of one you'd find in a dorm and open shelves for all and sundry. The window sills are deep enough to count as counter space so they're my favorite place to chop veggies, as I can scrape the scraps right out the window (no screens)!
The rest of the house consists of two rooms downstairs. One has the fireplace and a big table flanked by benches, and the other is kitted with two beds and a huge wooden, carved chest. I'd use it as a dresser, but it's much more than that. Up a steep, twisty staircase, that's almost a ladder, there are two rooms. One is more of a loft with a double bed, one room has twins. Simple, sufficient, and substantial. The door frames and huge beams are low enough for Dave to smack his head, so he's walking around like the hunchback of Norte Dame. I, however, don't have that particular problem and have settled into life here quite nicely...I'm cooking, painting, observing the beauty all around, eating cherries off the trees and strawberries right out of the garden, trying to remember some French, and am very grateful that most people speak English. I'm taking so many pictures, too. Every angle here is photo worthy. Tonight<x-apple-data-detectors://0>, as I sat on the terrace eating dinner, I watched the light change and the peacock preen.
It's such a relief to just BE; to sleep until I wake up, (which generally is fairly early...peacocks are LOUD! - And they're very excited in the spring, as Claus, the man who helps in the garden says.) to eat when I'm hungry, to take a nap, or a hike, or a shower, or a deep breath whenever I need to.
I feel like I could stay here for a Long time...I'm sure the romance of this would wear off if I had to chop my own firewood to heat my house, or had to walk though the slush and snow over slippery, uneven stone paths to take a shower in the dead of winter. But truly, I feel like I'm waking up to myself. I told Dave that European Christine isn't nearly the tight ass that Am. Christine is. A few more days , and I should be all awake and ready for the summer of art and love. [image.jpeg]Jazziestcj@yahoo.com
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