The South of France: A Lifelong Love Affair
My Tender Ode to Occitania
Editor’s Note: Due to a glitch on the Substack platform, many of our subscribers did not receive the email with last Friday’s podcast. If you did not receive Friday’s email, click below to listen to our most recent podcast:
The South of France: A Lifelong Love Affair
My Tender Ode to Occitania
by Ryan Wildstar
For many many centuries, the South of France has beckoned and beguiled a myriad of artists, writers, musicians, and indeed vagabonds of every variety. From mystics to minstrels, the terroir of this magical land has been alluring to wandering spirits for a multitude of reasons. From the howling mistral whistling through mountains of maquis, wafting up waves of odiferous garrigue, to the genetic gnostic imprint of Cathars and troubadours, the tender odes to Occitania remain effusive and abundant.
My heart was first taken by the South of France in the summer of 2001. At the time, my soon-to-be husband and I were recent Bohemian expats living in Paris, where we conspired with his visiting mom and two of our best Judys to take a roadtrip to a quiet little seaside village on the Mediterranean named Vic-La-Gardiole.
There we passed an absolutely idyllic week guzzling goblet after goblet of aromatic Muscat blanc à petits grains, which we habitually replenished in 10-liter plastic tanks from the nozzle of a roadside vendor’s wine tank. Like stopping for petrol . . . if your gullet was a car. We lunched on deliciously pure white anchovies marinated in olive oil and herbs sopped up with toothy baguettes à l'ancienne and washed down with bone-dry rosé. In our quaint 4-bedroom little house on the marshes, we dined on homemade bouillabaisse (prepared by yours truly) brimming with loup de mer, mussels, clams and langoustines plucked fresh from the sea that day.
And thus was a love affair born. Since childhood I had entertained romantic notions about the South of France — from visions of Van Gogh traipsing blind-drunk through the vineyards of Arles to visiting Villefranche-sur-Mer to marvel at the Chapelle Saint-Pierre painted by Jean Cocteau. But now my reveries were finally made flesh.
Several years after our maiden voyage to Le Midi, we found ourselves living in Los Angeles, where I had landed a job with a small French wine import company specializing in the wines of Southern France. Because I was fluent in French, I quickly became responsible for organizing our biannual trips to France to visit our winemakers. This meant spending at least a month or more every year in the region that had captured my heart.
I was fortunate over the next six years to travel across the South of France from Luberon to Perpignan to Limoux and hundreds of cities and villages in between. I lunched in fairytale spots like Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert (ranked as one of the most beautiful cities in all of France), sampled new vintages of 130-year-old-vine Carignan in the majestic vineyards of Terrats, and dined on unforgettable homemade rustic French fare in the homes of legendary winemakers.
Each time I found myself back amongst the unbridled beauty of this land, it was as if my very essence began to unclench and I experienced a kind of transcendental connection to this sacred parcel of earth. At that time, my deep-rooted connection centered around my exposure to the vast world of viticulture from the largest winegrowing region in the world. While many of these winemakers and farmers had been practicing biodynamic agriculture for ages (based upon the theories of Rudolf Steiner), they also possessed an innate primal understanding of what it means to live in harmony with the land, to listen to the earth. Standing amidst the rows of burgeoning purple clusters ripening on the vine, I felt as if I could hear the pinecone-tipped staff of Dionysus himself pounding down against the limestone and schist to initiate the Bacchic rites.
In 2011, shortly after my tenure in the wine import industry had ended, I created my own wine tour business which focused on trips revolving around wine, food, art and culture. And surprise surprise, the maiden voyage was a tour of the Languedoc-Roussillon in 2012! Who knows, maybe subconsciously I had created the whole business just so I could keep going back to the South of France? As it turned out, over the next nine years, my husband and I hosted a total of six tours in the Languedoc-Roussillon, the Rhône Valley and Provence. And each time we returned, it felt like embracing an old friend.
Epilogue:
In October of 2023, after not setting foot in the South of France in over seven years, it was with tremendous excitement and anticipation that we booked a month-long stay in a detached barn transformed into a designer loft in the quaint and remote village of Bellegarde, just 20 minutes outside of Nîmes.
Arriving at about 8pm on a Sunday night, I was quite sure that our prospects for a meal in this sleepy village might be nil. But Christiane, the lovely mother of the owner of the guest house (who lived conveniently next door), had thoughtfully reserved us a table in anticipation that we might need dinner at the only game in town open on a Sunday.
All eyes were upon us as we slid open the door of La Petite Cantine, an absolutely charming eight-table bistro in the center of Bellegarde. As we stepped in from the brisk night air, the owner, the chef, the dishwasher and all the diners carefully scrutinized us with a palpable curiosity that said only one thing . . . they ain’t from around these parts. Thankfully my French kicked in, which seemed to perplex the clientele even more, and I informed the beautiful middle-aged owner that Christiane had reserved a table for us. She smiled graciously and settled us into a 2-top by the wall. Perfect!
When dinner arrived, I was savoring a robust glass of Costières de Nîmes rouge from Domaine Pierre Teissonnière as the owner set before me a wooden plank of seared duck breast drizzled with a honey mustard sauce and a crispy side of frites. Magnifique! By then we’d struck up a conversation with two tables of rough-looking locals who were there to watch the World Rugby Cup on the bistro's big-screen TV. They were thoroughly fascinated by the presence of foreign visitors but absolutely welcoming. As we cheered along with the crowd every time their team scored a goal, a tear of joy and warm familiarity came to my eye . . . I was finally back in my beloved South of France.
I remember this trip so fondly. Such good food, expansive scenery, and, of course, the best company imaginable 💛
Some of my loveliest memories are of my trips to southern France. I still dream of fields of sunflowers.