Banned on The Rhone
To say that small town French living is idyllic would be an understatement. It is Utopic. The food is fresh, the air is clean, the pace is easy, the quality of life comes first. Stores close from noon til 1:30 so everyone can take a long lunch. Even the cows are relaxed – I saw them lying down in the field in the daytime. I guess the happy cow cheese comes from here! At night, it’s quiet. Almost eerily quiet, except for the occasional motorcycle or scooter. I haven’t been this relaxed since I was, hmmm…12, maybe?! I’ve had no cell phone for almost a week. This slow-paced life is pretty dreamy and dramatically different. I am a new woman. It could be from lack of genetically modified foods or cell phone microwaves shooting in my ear.
We leave Chaumont, FR in our trusty VW Tourant 6 speed. We ease down the skinny little cobblestone one-way rue, and I’m driving…WAHOO!! “Get offa my sidewalk!” All eyes closed and nails dug in the back of the seats. Just kidding. I’m an excellent driver…
In less than 5 minutes we’re driving past the viaduct and into the French countryside. We are surrounded by rolling grassy hills that soon turn into miles and miles of fields of dying and drying sunflowers. I can only imagine if we had been here just a few weeks earlier to witness the spectacle of miles and miles of yellow and black heads all turned toward the sun.
Not knowing how often there may be gas stations, we stop for gazol before we get too far down the road. It takes all 4 of us about 5 minutes to find the gas door lever, which, as it turns out, the Germans cleverly hid inside the door. Now which pump is Diesel? I ask the girl on the next pump, who turns out to be German or Belgian. She doesn’t know – maybe all of them? We finally figure out it’s the yellow pump. But do we have to pay first? Of course not. Why should we? They trust we will pay, because it’s the respectful thing to do. I love this place. I pump the gazol. I go in to shop and pay. There are probably 10 different pre-packaged sandwiches are actually fresh and delicious, unlike the American counterparts which generally look and taste like week old lunchbox growth. I opt for Jambon et fromage – ham and cheese and Mustard flavored potato chips – awesome! I love all the different flavored chips in this country!
We finally make our way down south to the Ardeche region where we will be staying with our gracious host and hostess from the Liane Edwards band. They live in a tiny village of 12 people called La Planche. It’s 10 miles or so past Privas. We drive down a mountain then down long and winding roads that seems more fitting for a horse than a 6 speed VW. Down, down, down we go until the trees clear, and the pebbled road weaves into a village of about 10 ancient houses with matching red terracotta tile roofs surrounded by gardens, grass, and sheep. I’ve only seen places like this in WWII movies where the tired and lost soldier is fed and housed by the local farmer. It’s picturesque, it’s romantic, it’s simple and small and absolutely unbelievably beautiful. We park and get settled at our friends 2 story farmhouse. I can’t wait to walk around and explore. It’s completely utterly peaceful. All I can hear is the wind through the trees and the bells on the sheep.
We spend the evening settling in, eating goat cheese salad and drinking local wine, which, of course, is delicious, after all, we are in France! We sit outside in the chilly night air and pick guitars until we cant feel our fingers anymore. The next morning, I take the walk of walks up the road (there is only one) winding above the sheep and away from the village. I can hear bees on the breeze.
Our gracious hostess, Liane, drives us into the next town, Aubenas, for a little shop. It was worthwhile and leisurely. On the way, we stop at a frickin castle from the 12th century on the side of the mountain. REALLY?! The 12th century castle?! I want a horse. I want a shining suit of armor. I think I see the three Musketeers riding off in the distance. I am an ant on the face of this earth. That castle will still be here long after I am gone and forgotten.
After a few days at chez Liane and Jean Pierre, we are off to the French Alps to perform at the Blues Rock Cafe in St Paul en Chablais. Above the venue they another bar with a have a glow-in-the-dark bowling alley upstairs – It is on! The show was fun, once we got comfortable in the dinner-crowd environment on the borrowed gear. We ended with big Black Bag and a version of Gloria that brought down the house! yea, yea, yea. The real story is that I kicked serious bowling butt – I scored 164, possibly my personal best! We were put up in an abandoned dorm of sorts with foam mattress beds. Whatever. I’m a bowling champ!
The next day we’re off to the Swiss Alps high above Lake Geneva for our final show in Eplianges near Lausanne. The lake is much bigger than I thought it would be and the richest azure blue much like the water in Florida’s panhandle region. We stop in Montreux for, yup, shopping! There’s a nice little outdoor market where Trish finds the cutest handmade flower rings, now available in Decatur, AL exclusively at Trish Land 
There was a statue of Freddie Mercury here by the water…why here, I don’t know, but it was fun to people watch.
Our Promoter, Jean, a.k.a. Juno named after a rabbit from a children’s book, is kind and adorable with a sweet sense of humor and a gift for spot-on impressions of American icons like Woody Woodpecker! He takes us to dinner at a friend’s farm about a 20-minute drive deep into the Swiss countryside. We walk into the bottom of a farmhouse. The room was small with low ceilings. There was a fire roaring in a stone fireplace in one corner. In the other corner was a player piano going through the Beatles Greatest hits. We are treated to a farm to table meal. Everything is grown and made on the farm including the cheese, the salad and other vegetables, the pate, the meat, and the wine. I’ve never tasted a meal this fresh in my life. There were 2 chicken feeder shaped troughs on the long skinny farm table filled with broth and mushrooms (not oil or cheese) in which we cooked the meat on skewers a la fondue style. ATTENTION -VEGETARIANS LEAVE THE ROOM -There was pork, beef, and, um, well, apparently horse is a popular meat in these parts and is on the menu is many French and Swiss restaurants…and their pet horse had just passed…and they don’t waste anything over there. Out of curiosity, I had the tiniest taste. It was surprisingly tender and more flavorful than beef. OK, YOU CAN COME BACK NOW. At the end of the meal, after the homemade ice cream with rum raisin syrup drizzle and a heart shaped cookie, guitars appeared and we sang for our supper! Liane sang Me and Bobby McGee… Jason and I sang My Sweet Carolina by Ryan Adams and some Little Feat. Katie even sang and played some guitar! When Trish pulled out her tambourine, it was officially a party! More wine, and more wine. It was a movie come to life.
Saturday arrived. The day of our final show. Liane’s band provided the PA and the gear. How generous and gracious are they?! They are a French American country band whose show includes Boot Scootin’ Boogie and lots of boot kickin’ – they put on an energetic show! Liane is from Charlotte but has lived in France for 15 years, so she is fluent and communicates well with the folks. I, on the other hand, had barely jarred my 2 years of high school French out of my brain. So I just spoke and played from my heart, and occasionally sat on the edge of the stage to greet them with guitar riffing and smiles – we communicated just fine! They seemed to love Preachers Daughter the most, even though they didn’t know what the heck I was saying! Music truly is a universal language – thank god! Sold out of CD’s and T’s and had a big end of tour celebration with Liane and her band. Why do I never get hung over here? Could it be that even the alcohol is more pure and natural?! Whatever the reason, I am grateful.
We drove back to Paris Sunday through several villages that I’m pretty sure I saw on the Tour de France coverage with Bob Roll. We passed at least 5 castles off the side of the road. We saw the Eiffel Tower from the highway and drove by the Louvre and Notre Dame Cathedral on the way to our hotel. It’s as close as we got to that kind of site seeing, although I don’t feel like I missed a thing. We had a quiet dinner at a corner restaurant next door to our hotel, and went to bed early, cuz Family Guy just aint that funny in French. The flight home was long and uneventful. I arrived home and crawled into my fluffy, wonderfully plush American bed at midnight CST, which was 7am Paris time.
That was 36 hours ago. I am jet-lagged and dream walking. As I write, I am riding in the van speeding down i-40 en route to Asheville, NC to play a show with Indigo Girls. It is pouring down rain, but our trusty new friend and rhodie, Hodgie, has steady control of the wheel. Katie is slumped over asleep in the seat next to me much like she was on the plane. Jason is laughing at Squid Billies on his ipod. I am full of a wonderfully American Crack Bar dinner. Back to normal.
