I do, and I was recently reminded of that while visiting Saumur.

It happened when I was exploring Saumur and the surrounding area, Le Saumurois, with friends, enjoying for several July days the calm and sweetness of the Loire Valley, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The fruit was young on the vine. The white tuffeau limestone shone bright in the sun.

And it shone bright in the lamp light.

We were staying in Montsoreau, 8 miles upstream from Saumur.

We lodged in a pleasing little rustically chic hotel named La Marine de la Loire, where an explosion of purple hydrangeas galore greeted us in the lobby.

The sunsets over the river were lovely.

One evening, on the way to the local creperie, a hot-air balloon passed overhead.

One afternoon we visited the former Abbey of Fontevraud, where the recumbent statue of Eleanor of Aquitaine, lying beside her second husband, Henry II, reminded us to cut back on social media time and pick up a good book.

We had a glass of local sparkling wine and some regional cheese at the bar in one of the abbey’s former chapels, where we were the only clients.

Before leaving the abbey I bought a refrigerator magnet.

Just outside the abbey, we had a fine dinner at Le Plantagenêt, restaurant of the village’s appealing hostellerie La Croix Blanche.

In the morning we drove past fields of sunflowers, wheat, scallions and roses to Rochemenier, where the bell tower was missing one eye.

We enjoyed lunch in the shade at Les Délices des Roches before stepping down to explore Rochemenier’s troglodyte abodes and farmyards.

After several days we began our drive back to Paris, crossing to the right bank of the Loire, where we stopped for one last view of Saumur.

Returning to the car we noticed that someone had posted a note on a tree.

It read like poetry.

Blond Girl, (that’s my only information)

I suppose you’re an English girl and
I’m sure you speak English…
I think you cleary see who I am.
I would like to see you again and
if my desire is yours too, my number
is written in the spot where I was
sitting when our eyes met for the
second time.

See you soon, I hope…

© 2014, photos, videos and text by Gary Lee Kraut, except for the text of the letter, author unknown.

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We continue on to Valence. This small city that isn’t quite Provence but even on a mid-winter’s night when the temperature falls below freezing and the café chairs are stacked tall against the wall, there’s no mistaking the affinity of the pastel buildings and gnarly plane trees of its old town square with central squares further south.

Spring and summer travelers are still at home planning sunny vacations as we drive further south to the village of Grignan, whose castle stands cold and silent above the village.

It’s snowing as we venture out onto the terrace of the castle to look out over the dormant lavender fields. If it’s lavender then it must be Provence, n’est ce pas? Indeed, we are in the southern portion of the department called Drôme, a zone known as Drôme Provençale.

Nothing says Provence more than an image of flowering lavender fields in July, certainly not this field of white and green oaks in winter (below). Still, this landscape is a thing of beauty for he who farms and hunts for truffles here, for while the lavender fields await sun and warmth, the soil is still alive enough to give birth to truffles, pungent fungi known as black diamonds or black gold.

From mid-November to mid-March, truffles develop unseen and seemingly haphazardly, and when ripe their odor can be detected by specially trained dogs.

The week’s hunt, whether in the wild or on one’s own plantation, can be sold at the Saturday morning (mostly) wholesale market in Richerenches, five miles south, in what is unmistakably Provence (Vaucluse). This winter’s crop of the prestigious tuber melanosporum, known here as the black truffle of Tricastin, has been selling for $500-550 per pound (800-900€/kg), depending on the week, with a pre-Christmas peak of $730 per pound (1200€/kg). The lesser tuber brumale has been goes for about $245-290 per pound (400-500€/kg). Prices are naturally higher at the retail market held on Sunday mornings in Saint-Paul-Trois-Chateau.

Fifteen miles east of Grignan, the old vines of this Côtes-du-Rhone vineyard take a well-deserved rest, as do the even older olive trees—producing appellation Nyons olives—on the hill in the background.

We go inside for the tasting. No need to wait for warm weather for a taste of Provence in Drome Provencale.

© 2012, Gary Lee Kraut (photos and text)

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The above series of photos was taken by David Kashoff in Congénies, a village between Nimes and Montpellier in the Languedoc region of France, while he and his wife and travel companion were staying at the Quaker House (Maison Quaker). See the accompanying article Quakers in France: Finding Friends in Languedoc by Judy Kashoff.

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