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11th March 2010
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The Quercy DiaryA year in the QuercyWelcome to our month by month walk-through of everyday life in the Lot and Quercy region covering the departments of the Lot, Lot et Garonne and Tarn et Garonne in the south of France.Lot and Quercy LifeArchiveJanuary 2006February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 Discussion ForumTopics:Classified AdsContacts What's On On the Road Food and Drink Building & Renovation Health & Wellbeing Animals & Pets Questions? |
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White Stone Black Wine by Amanda Lawrence Want to find out more about the undiscovered Quercy Blanc? White Stone Black Wine - "A relaxing and entertaining book about life in the Quercy region" Synopsis A light-hearted and whimsical romp through the lovely Quercy Blanc, one of the last undiscovered corners of southern France. White Stone Black Wine is generously slanted towards the regional specialities and famed local wines. It is as light as a soufflé, just as delicious and will fall very happily into a holiday suitcase..  What's the Weather Really Like? Everybody Wants to be a CatIt’s a cats life in the Quercy It's a cats life... |
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Early March and spring rushes in to relieve the chill of a long, hard winter. My almond trees are spreading their delicate petals to the seeping warmth and the Rosemaries have suddenly exploded into a riot of pale blues. The sun is hot now, despite the still-cool air, hot enough to eat lunch outside....
It’s a strange phenomenon, but as winter loosens its iron grip and the first spring bulbs begin to feel their way into the exhilarating air of a Quercy February, my mind takes a retrograde step. I start to think of truffles....
Welcome to the freezing Quercy in deep mid-winter. Today marks Epiphany, and the end of the festive season. It’s the end of puddings and pies and Buche de Noel, the end of Bing for another year, and the start of a new life for our Norwegian spruce in the little copse behind the old orchard....
Welcome to the beautiful Quercy in ankle-deep autumn.
Welcome to deep, deep autumn in the rain-washed Quercy.
We’re not quite as far south as the Sahara, but if you lived here you’d be forgiven for thinking you might be on the edge of it! We have just had a most welcome and hugely dramatic thunder storm, but the last significant rain was a two day downpour at the very beginning of July and the countryside is parched. I’m thinking of investing in a camel train....
The last of the season’s fêtes drew to a close at the weekend. The early morning light revealed a Coke can rolling casually down the street and tattered streamers flapping gently in the warm breeze. The tourists have gone and the lazy, hazy, crazy days are over, but the hot southern summer lingers on.....
The oleanders and hibiscus on my terrace provide the perfect backdrop for lazy afternoons and steamy nights. And last week we had a little visitor who was thoroughly taken in by the façade and looked as if he’d dropped straight out of an Attenborough documentary. We were lingering over a late breakfast, about to pour a little more coffee, when our visitor announced himself with a distinct plopping sound.....
July heralds the start of the tourist season here in southern France. Markets swell to five times their winter size, chefs sharpen their knives in eager anticipation and the rest of us try to remember where we found that tiny nook that was always available to park the car. But in congested Cahors, things have changed a little......
Out on the terraces a thousand thermometers boil, cicadas scream from the trees and the oleanders have shaken off their reticence and burst into a riot of bloom. It’s high summer and a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of windsurfing. This can be a fortunate circumstance for me, because the resident man’s favourite puddle for this sort of daredevil activity is the huge lake caused by the confluence of the rivers Tarn and Garonne. It’s just south of the historic city of Moissac, and that happens to be a very convenient spot for me to meet a friend from the Gers, it was time for a highly indulgent lunch......
Welcome to the Quercy in lovely May, where the first strains of summer can be heard drifting through the villages and across the fields.
Every month of the calendar year has its own special charm, but I have to admit, May has the edge. The verges foam with cow parsley, underplanted with the renowned orchids of the region. Meadows are knee deep in blond grasses studded with numerous wild flowers.....
Last week as I drove south down that most characteristic of holiday routes - the A20 - from Cahors to Montauban, I gazed out at an enchanting landscape. The chequered fields and woods were newly green and the fabulous orchards of the Quercy Bas appeared in a haze of white blossom, as if somebody had shaken a feather pillow over the land. Closer to home, the vines are breaking bud, violets spread their purple mantles beneath the oaks, delicate lemon cowslips throng the verges.....
Welcome to spring in the Quercy where the last few days have been as warm and wonderful as May. My lemon trees have been hauled out of their winter quarters to waft their delicious scent over the sunlit terrace; they’re chock full of waxy blossom and in dire need of a few bees.....
Whilst England shivered under a blanket of snow, all last week the Quercy languished under sparkling blue skies. They lured me out for the day on Wednesday. It was market day in Cahors and by the time I rounded the chilly corner of the Rue Marechal Foch into the blazing sunshine opposite the cathedral the morning was well advanced.....
2009 dawned bright and clear in the lovely Quercy and we’re all set for a good year.
We were to arrive at 12.30 on a Sunday afternoon – which means at least half an hour later as naturally nobody ever arrives on time in France. We were looking forward to this encounter, but with some trepidation, as our neighbours speak absolutely no English. This is fair enough of course and on its own we would have been able to cope with it quite well, but they add to this minor hurdle by having extremely strong southwestern accents.....
Lunch in this café is a one-menu-for-all affair, and very good it is too. I began with a small plate of shiny, plump violet and black olives, a bowl of cornichons and a slice of nutty, air-dried ham from Bayonne. The bread came from the bakery on the other side of the church, a good chewy, yeasty flute, to be consumed with pace and care. I refused a glass of wine, to the frank amazement of my neighbouring diners....
Late September and the temperatures were still sizzling. We’d had no rain for weeks and the leaves on my pear trees were drooping disconsolately, like a guilty dog’s ears. In the vineyards the farmers frowned, growled and stroked the grapes contemplatively....
The last few weeks of summer are lazy. The mercury is boiling in a thousand thermometers and nobody feels inclined to move.
Glorious August in southwest France lures tourists as a buddleia in full bloom lures butterflies. The heat, the holiday atmosphere that pervades every little town and village, and the outstanding food and wine available at every turn, have all contributed to make this once neglected little rural backwater one of the holiday hotspots of Europe...
High summer in the Quercy and the skies are as blue as the wild cornflowers that line every field. Scarlet and pink geraniums foam from every windowsill, whilst on the limestone cliffs helichrysum and santolina bloom riotously on bone-dry outcrops of rock. Out in the immaculately groomed vineyards grapes are beginning to swell. Dogs lie panting in the shade; cats lie dozing in the sun and lizards scuttle hither and thither with newly minted energy...
A month in which the residents of the Quercy prepare for the long, hot summer season. All along the boulevard in Cahors the little cafes and boulangeries that fringe this wonderful street have laid tables and chairs on the wide pavements. The established restaurants and bistros billow out in all directions screened from the road by strategically placed oleanders and potted olive trees...
Welcome to lovely May in the Quercy, perhaps the most beautiful month of the year. It’s the month of flowers – and indeed fabulous flower festivals are being held in tiny stone villages all over the country. In my hillside garden the oleanders are in bud, the olives are putting out their new silvery leaves and chilly lizards are sunning themselves on numerous crumbling walls.....
The sweet smell of a thousand fragrant Gariguette strawberries lured me round Cahors market last Wednesday. The day was warm, the sky a cloudless blue and the stalwart stallholders were in carnival mood. Asparagus assailed me as I entered the fray at the southern end....
It is going to be an early Easter, and in the Quercy a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of food – the other matter being on his mind all year round. 
Spring has come early to the Quercy. An exceptionally mild winter followed by a week of brilliant sunshine, clear skies as blue as the virgin’s robe and warm southern breezes, have transformed both the landscape and the markets. The almond trees have suddenly exploded into riotous blossom and all my lemon trees are following suit, stiff, waxy white petals unfurling to release a delicious fragrance that pervades the whole terrace....
Living in the heartland of French gastronomy can be an exceptionally rewarding business. No more so than on a cold winter’s day when you blow into a warm, bustling café a few minutes before twelve-thirty, chilly, hungry and teased by the tantalising aromas wafting from the kitchens. It’s one of the great pleasures of life in France....
Christmas spirit has invaded the Quercy. Temperatures have plummeted, leaving the landscape shivering under a veil of frosty white. Geese are once more seen at the gates of scattered farmhouses and every shop from the Dordogne to the Garonne is liberally stocked with foie gras, oysters and Champagne...
Winter is knocking on the door in Southern France. Here in the Quercy, mornings are sharp and frosty, afternoons blue and brilliant and temperatures have dropped like a stone. The markets are now less than half their summer size...
Mellow October is upon us. Mornings are characterised by swirling valley mists that mask little villages and swallow the vineyards. From my balcony, high above the floor of the glorious river Lot, I look down on meringue confections as elaborate as any you would see in the patisserie...
It is early September and all the children are back at school. The fête tables have been packed away for another year and according to the calendar summer is over - but not here. Fortunately for those of us who have the luck to live and work in this enchanting little corner of France September is usually hot...
Welcome to the steaming Quercy in high summer. And steaming it certainly has been, the weather still can’t make up its mind and switches from scorching sunshine to refreshing showers with little warning. Good for the vines, say the old-timers, good for the peaches and plums too, not so good for the cereal crops...
Lazy high summer is upon us and here in the lovely Quercy that means the season. Not only the tourist season but also the glorious season of the fêtes. Every turreted village, sprawling town and elegant city in France has at least one - often more – but if there’s only one it’ll be in July or August...
Our village markets have now spread to their exuberant summer size, a mass of miscellaneous stalls winding their way round ancient churches and through cobbled alleyways. In one of my local haunts the lavender lady has reappeared after her winter hibernation. She sells dried bunches, tiny bottles of essence, fabulous soaps and handmade sachets. Her stall just emanates the fragrant south...
Welcome to lovely May in southern France, it must be the prettiest time of year. Café tables spread optimistically across cobbled pavements; oleanders, palms and potted olive trees screen clients from the traffic. They sit there with their ice-cold beer or delicately tinted kirs, pale arms tentatively exposed...
April is sailing by and here in the beautiful Quercy glorious summer is already on the horizon; the weather is delightfully warm, our summer migrants have arrived – both birds and humans – and the stage is set for six months of outdoor living...
With a breathtaking suddenness, spring has arrived in the lovely Quercy. Willows drip slender green leaves, almonds turn their pale pink faces to the new sunlight and the hedgerows are lit with blackthorn. In the valleys all the rivers and streams are swollen with rain and melt-water, the Lot is in flood, lakes and ponds are brimming and we’re braced and ready for the droughts of summer...
As I pick my way carefully down our little lane, avoiding rocky outcrops and sharp stones, I notice a few pale green shoots and swelling buds, hopeful harbingers of spring.
What a breathtakingly beautiful Christmas we enjoyed here in the Quercy. It wasn’t strictly white because it didn’t actually snow, but I’m sure if I hadn’t just allowed the secret to slip, you’d never have known. It was five degrees below zero...
It is the first week of winter and the vast oak forests of the Quercy are scarlet, golden and green, almost too beautiful to bear. In sharp contrast the vines are now completely naked and shivering in the cold winds, they’ve been severely pruned and appear as no more than dark shadows of their sexy summer selves...
The last few days of October were as hot and balmy as August, the markets were thronged with visitors and full of flowers. Great clumps of chrysanthemums in purple, white, crimson and gold jostled against rank upon rank of pierrot-faced violas and armfuls of more exotic blooms, a wonderful sight which brought out a rash of resident artists...
It’s supposed to be the season of mellow fruitfulness, but there’s nothing mellow about September in Southern France, the weather is frequently hotter than August. This year, it seems, will be no exception as August was the chilliest since records began, according to our disgusted neighbours!
We’ve finally shaken off the last of the winter clouds and spirits are soaring. All along the grassy banks little darns of lemon yellow have suddenly spread to become huge patches of glorious cowslips. The willows are a delicious lime green, the almonds and wild cherries laden with delicate white blossom...
It’s still a tad chilly here, cold nights and warm afternoons. There are few short-sleeved-shirts, with the strange exception of café waiters who seem to have an internal central heating system! There are fewer still bared shoulders, but there is an almost tangible air of expectancy, because when the warm weather comes to this land, it comes in a rush.
Welcome to the late winter treats of the glorious Quercy.
Foremost among winter indulgences in this famously gastronomic region must naturally be the truffle. Now is the time for it...
The festive season has arrived! And here in sunny southern France the Quercy has been frozen into a Narnian landscape, enchanting and exceptionally beautiful but wickedly cold. A wardrobe full of fur coats would be a definite asset. The markets are winding up for Christmas, the geese are already fat...