Violès

Although in the Côtes du Rhône region, Violès itself is a tiny village fairly unremarkable for anything except its wine. We based ourselves here for a week, using the house just outside the village in the countryside as a useful midpoint for moving around the area.

On our day of arrival, we’d just returned from the initial move into my accommodation in Aix, getting the keys and dumping the vacuum packs. The peace of the countryside with only vineyards and one another house nearby was welcome after such a hectic day. It took more than one day to recover from the clash with French administration – we spent most of the next day with a nose in a book until it became suitably late enough in the afternoon to consider wine.

At a restaurant in Orange, I made a happy acquaintance with another wine called ‘M de Malijay’. On the way into Violès we had eyed up a sign advertising Château Malijay. Taking the excuse that France is several centuries ahead of England in time when it comes to wine-making (rather than the one hour the English claim), we drove to the Château at half past four in the afternoon. After all, is the French equivalent of afternoon tea not a small glass of wine?

Our host greeted us, inviting us to wait while she dealt with the wine agents with whom she was coming to the end of a meeting. We were well rewarded for our efforts! Not only were we able to taste a selection of the wines from Malijay, but also from the partner estates in Gigondas and Vacqueyras, only there for the delectation of the agents. This all took place in the medieval kitchen of the chateau.

Although many of the wines were tasty, our mutual favourite was definitely the ‘M de Malijay’. There was an issue with electricity which prevented us leaving with any wine and delayed us going to the next place for tasting in St Martin. There our host was very talkative with a strong Provence accent; Saint Martin became Saint Marteng. Offering considerably smaller tasting samples than at Malijay, we tried a variety of red and white wines. The reds we liked less than the Malijay despite them having similar prices, and settled on a selection of the whites instead.

Vacqueyras

Ever hopeful, we once more tried to go to the market in Violès whereupon we made a discovery shocking to Londoners. Not only was it on holiday on account of it being August, but the ‘market’ was made of one stall! We were advised to try the one in Jonquieres which was much, much bigger. Arriving there, we found a fish stall, a cheese stall, and a chip stall. Granted, it was three times the size of the one in Violès, but hardly constituted a market. Such disappointment drove us to an earlier-than-planned wine tasting in Vacqueyras. The Hollywood-esque sign as we neared the village sent us into laughter.

Before it reached midday we had consumed twenty five samples of wine, all for free! My palate had not had enough time or food that morning to suitably form, meaning I was not massively taken by any of the wines – although there was potential in one or two. My sister (who did not partake) and I sought refuge at the restaurant across the road towards the end of the tasting, whereupon we carbed up once joined by parents. In order to be fit to go anywhere else, it was imperative that we walk some of it off. So off we went on a jaunt around some lovely local vineyards.

Near the end of the walk we began to notice the clouds above our heads darkening and edging menacingly towards us. Just after we’d hit the village once again, the rain began a downpour with just enough time to soak us before we could leap into the car. My sister was dropped back at the house; we made a return trip to the Caveau de Gigondas. A few purchases were made, including my favourite from the previous week. We made our way back, and I finished my book.

Séguret

The next evening Dad and I drove to Séguret to watch the sunset. Officially one of the most beautiful villages in France, I would love to come back to stay here another day. Instructed to check the evening market for cheese to go on pasta for dinner, we discovered it was twice the size of the one in Jean-Pierre. That is to say, it had six stalls instead of three! We climbed to the highest point we could find in the village next to the church and settled down in the company of passing cats.

This sunset was a slow burner – the clouds near the horizon didn’t look promising, but transformed after sundown as they were lit up in beautiful colours.

Under pressure from our bellies to eat, we headed back for dinner.

Sensory experiences in Violès

The last day we spent in Violès was half business, half pleasure. Having passed by the sign for it when driving around the area earlier in the week, we went into L’Atelier 3 Souquets to taste different olive oils. The owner of this boutique didn’t merely sell the regional olive oil; instead he was something of an amateur olive oil taster. Each year he travelled around the south of France tasting a selection of olive oils from different regions, and chose the ones he liked most to stock in his shop.

Olive oil groves, like vineyards, have their own appellations. However, as Peter Mayle writes in Encore Provence, it takes an olive oil grove about fifty years to make it worth investing in; vineyards take three to five. Our host explained that Sablet and Séguret used to be all olive tree areas until the 1950s, when a frost killed off the olive trees. Since then, it has nearly all been replaced by vineyards.

We began by tasting an olive oil from Les Baux, which was sweet and almondy, the lightest of the olive oils, before progressing onto more peppery ones. These were quite a shock to the palate. Our family favourite one was made from black olives rather than green, and had a definite nose of tapenade to it.

Business then began as various olive oils were carefully selected as Christmas presents for family members and friends, while I sampled the quality of the tester olive oil hand cream. We bade him goodbye and moved onto the next location.

Yet more Christmas presents were acquired at the Parfumiere, which boasted an array of room diffusers, perfumes, candles, soaps – all in the smells of Provence. Luckily for Dad there was a sofa for the more reluctant visitors where they could happily zone out of the tinkling piano music and product displays. I was treated to a room diffuser which has done wonders for diminishing the omnipresent plumbing odours which arise from my shower plug.

During the days we spent in Violès, I managed to read my way through a hefty number of books:

• The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy. An ephemeral prose style exposing injustice and trauma deep in the heart of the caste system.
• Welcome to Nowhere, Elizabeth Laird. A captivating story of a child and family fleeing Syria with a strong appeal to the reader.
• Encore Provence, Peter Mayle. The last in his memoir trilogy of an Englishman who moved to Provence.
• The Invention of Wings, Sue Monk Kidd. Intersectional feminism in the early 19th century fighting against slavery and for equal rights.
• All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr. The power and compassion of radio during WW2, told through two children.

A plus,

Zoe x