"I've done the Grouse Grind..."

"I've done the Grouse Grind... I can surely handle this."  Famous last words by my sister-in-law Mel, as we head out to conquer the hill between our gite and Chamelet.

After reading my blog about how this hill puts Coquitlam's Thermal Drive to shame, the gang from Coquitlam experienced what Rudolph Otto would call mysterium tremendum et fascinans:  a simultaneous awe, attraction, and fear of something so overpowering, so wholly "Other"... that with a trembling in their bones, they just had to try it.  Ok, I'm being facetious, but they really did want to try it, and they really were a little nervous about it.  Thermal Drive is no laughing matter.

Oh no, you may groan, not another story about walking to Chamelet and back!  Never fear, dear readers... there is always something new and interesting happening on the way to and from Chamelet.

So today we set out with the goal of getting down to the Pressoir and back again... with a minor goal of doing it without getting rained on.  Well, the minor goal is out the window within the first five minutes.  It is a showery trip down Rue Le Cocon to Le Cret, where we watch a man climbing a precarious ladder to restring a downed power line.  I'm shocked to see how much the grape vines have grown since I've been away.

The donkey is at his post today, along with two new horse friends.  He does not deign us worthy of a visit to the fence, however.  The grass is NOT always greener on the other side, apparently.

Matt and Mel comment how the scenery is too much like a painting to be real, while Jan explains the differences between walking in the French and English countryside.  I'll let you know how my experiences go next month, when I head to England for a few days. ;)

By the time we get to the bottom of the hill, it has stopped raining.  We pause at Les Halles de Chamelet... a far cry from Les Halles de Lyon, where we were only two days before.  For one, there is no ham in sight.  ;)   No market at all, in fact, since this oak-beamed Halles was more active around the 16th Century.  Mel is ok with it, though, because we are now standing next to the cave au vins of Stéphane Bouillard, a Chamelet winemaker who gave the group a wonderful tasting experience while I was in Paris.  Here is a photo Mel standing on the Highway 157 next to Les Halles.  No seriously. That's the highway she's standing on.  Because France.

Part of the motivation why Mel has come to visit France (besides the obvious, "because France!!") is that she works in the wine industry.  What better way to sample the terroir than right on the terroir?  :D   So while I was away in Paris, Colin had taken the group to several local wine caves for tastings, and filled our gite with local wines.  Today, as we stand next to Stéphane's cave, they tell me all about the great wine, cheese, and education that Stéphane had offered them.  The other wine cave they really liked is owned by a different Stéphane in Oingt.  It turns out, statistically speaking, Stéphane does not make the top 100 most popular male names in France today... however, in 1974, it ranked #2.  While I've had a chance to enjoy the hospitality of the first Stéphane, at his Open House on May 31, I am still waiting for the chance to visit the second Stéphane, who I'm told is also an excellent host.

After the Halles, Matt wants to visit the nearby church, Eglise Saint Barthélemy, and we stroll down Rue Nationale a couple of blocks to the square that hosts the church, the war memorial, the Mairie (town hall), and Chamelet's fortified tower.  The church is closed, of course, as is the tower.  However, I notice for the first time a memorial plaque engraved onto the front of the Mairie, to the right of the church, and translate it for the group:  "In memory of Jean Marie Sonnery, Mayor of Chamelet, deported by the Germans on Dec 19, 1944.  Killed April 18, 1944, in Camp Flossenburg: victim of Nazi Barbarism."

  

I take the group further down Rue Nationale to where it changes name to Montée des Roches, and meets Chemin de la Baronne at a little parking lot.  From there we hear some loud baaaaaaaaing, and pop our heads over the rail to see one very noisy sheep and her quieter relatives in the little valley below.  We cross the road to the long straight staircase leading down to Highway D385.

At the bottom of the stairs, Matt finds a bunch of mint growing wild, and picks a sprig to spice up our gite cuisine.  I believe this is called wild foraging... although picking it off the highway might be breaking one of the cardinal rules.  I've noticed that in France, there are quite a few herbs I recognize just growing wild beside the roadways. I'm sure there are many more that I don't recognize.

We cross the bridge over the River Azergues, then drop down below the bridge to stroll a little by the river and watch the fish.  Mel spies a crawfish in the water, but it scurries under a rock before she can add it to the mint and boil it up for our supper.  So much for our wild foraging.   ;)  

As we pass the Parc des Loisirs, a grand mystery is solved for me:  a group is using the little pens to play pétanque. I've been trying to figure out what those pens were for since we first got to Chamelet.  Pétanque was on the list, behind childcare and goat husbandry. 

Since Mel is here to further her wine education, I am eager to show her the ancient Pressoir.  She is suitably impressed.  I dare her to try to turn the crank, but I don't double-dog dare her.  Without the appropriate double-dog pressure, she doesn't go for it.  The sign next to the Pressoir tells the history of the town, and concludes with "Why not climb up to view the village from above, from la Chapelle or Le Cret?"

With that, we are off.   As I take them back over the bridge into "downtown" Chamelet, we notice the bar is open, but quickly realize that not one of us has brought our wallets.  The sun comes out as we walk to the Moroccan Restaurant, located at the opposite end of town from the long straight staircase. "Really?  NOW it gets sunny?!?!"  Matt exclaims.  We would have much preferred descending the hill in the sun, and ascending it in the rain.  Colin and I have found it is significantly easier to climb the hill in cooler temperatures.

We head up La Promenade des Bourdons opposite the restaurant, then, to give them the full Chamelet Montée effect, we wind our way through Montée des Pavées, to Montée Escalier du Cordonnier, right by the public toilets just past Passage des Quinconces, which puts us back on Rue Nationale, facing the church.  No pit stops are needed on this trip, and so we turn left and continue on to Les Halles without a break.   Stéphane the winemaker is sitting in his windowsill by Les Halles, and we startle a boy playing soccer when we all call out at once:  "Bonjour Stéphane!"  

At Les Halles, we follow the signage at Rue Terme and walk through to the back end of town, to the base of Rue Le Cocon (at this point called Les Danières).  Mel starts repeating her mantra:  "I've done the Grouse Grind... I've done the Grouse Grind..."

The frog ponds are surprisingly quiet as we pass, as are the sheep. Perhaps our heavy panting is distracting them from their usual chatter.  Just kidding.  The whole group is doing really well.  With my rib still hurting from my fall, and aggravated by deep breathing, I lag behind the group, taking my time.  I tell the group that anyone who wants to walk in the back with me can blame their slow ascent on me.  Mel takes me up on my offer, and gives me company while Matt teases us from the lead.

Back up at Le Cret, the group is already chatting about how much easier the ascent was than they expected.  I warn them about Le Cret... how it offers false confidence, before taking you to your knees in the last stretch.  lol.  I've spent many a day gasping to Colin: "Just leave me here..."  However, the group trooopers up the last deadly hill with relative ease.

Back at the gite, they generously crack open the huge bottle of wine gifted to them from the other Stehane in Oingt, so I can try it, and we sit on the patio with the cat as Colin completes his evening work meetings.  Matt and Mel fire up the BBQ for dinner just as the rain starts to pour.  And pour.  And pour.  The poor group brought Vancouver with them... although apparently tonight doesn't quite match the thunderstorm they had here when I was in Paris, which knocked out the wifi and several of our host Alban's appliances, it's still a pretty discouraging last day in the countryside.  We end up inside for dinner, chatting about their France adventures, and the upcoming ending to their trip.  Jan flies out of Lyon tomorrow, and Matt and Mel will spend a romantic weekend in Paris before heading home themselves.

[update:  I found out much later that Matt and Mel flew out of Paris the day there was a bomb threat at the airport.  They were forced to evacuate and missed their flight.  It took them an excruciating 30+ hours to get home. ]