Sailing from Palermo to Palma - 3

A computer generated chart with weather overlay for 0000 hours Sunday 12th September

As we came on deck to commence our watch at 0000 hours on Sunday 12th September the lume of the lighthouse set up on Isola Del Toro was still visible behind us. The sky had cleared as the Sardinian coastline, and illumination from that landmass had slowly vanished behind us. The moon had set early in the previous evening intensifying the darkness. Gazing into the dark firmament above, our star identification was somewhat lacking, given the multitude of stars to chose from; However, Venus shone brightly directly above our position, and the clearly visible milky way stretched forward towards the western horizon.

The lively chatter during the watches made the time pass very quickly and enjoyably. As Fenix was under mainsail, genoa, but principally powered by her engine, and steered by autopilot (the eight crew member always known as George), there was little to do apart from chat, do a token bit of sail trimming when required, and plan lunch and dinner for the day ahead.

The next watch from 8 a.m. to 12 midday was just as easy going because the wind continued to moderate. Once breakfast had been dispensed with, time was allocated for the raw recruits to partake in knot school. Before long all concerned were coping with the bowline, sheet bend (and variations thereof), clove hitch and reef knot. There was a clear blue sky above, but we were nicely shaded by the sails, and the line of the horizon was unbroken; nothing in the way of shipping was sighted. Approaching midday we saw a sea turtle paddling in the water. The turtle casually turned and looked at Fenix. It then wheeled itself around as if to give chase. There was an anxious moment, or two, as we thought it would get fouled in our fishing lines. Unfortunately it did so for a few seconds running out over 50 meters of line and thankfully got free. We continued to spot sea turtles along our route during the day and current reported sightings stand at five in an otherwise empty sea. One short of a dinner service!

While preparing lunch, I overheard Steve and Moritz discussing some distant cloud formation which had appeared on the horizon off the Starboard bow. Steve inquired what Moritz’s view was of this isolated strange cloud formation. It could only be one of two things; incoming weather, or land. On the basis that the cloud formation was too small for weather, Steve quickly concluded that it must be cloud associated with land. Minorca was the only potential candidate. Luckily enough, where there is land there is also a headland. Applying the headland rule, Steve suggested to Moritz he should select the wine for lunch to ward off all evil spirits, keep the gods happy, and ensure a safe arrival in Palma. The Sicilian chardonnay produced by Planeta was released from the fridge, and immediately deposited on the table.

Melanzane Pizza

Lunch was served in the main saloon and consisted of a platter of cold meats and salamis, cheese board and three pizzas. We had bought part cooked pizza bases in Palermo, and there was considerable debate what the formulation of the three pizzas would be. Normally I would not be a fan of a pre prepared dough or base but theses were very good. I adore anchovies, and there are few places better than Palermo to source them. However, I was not convinced everybody would share my opinion. The tomato sauce to be used was the left over of the tomato and vegetable sauce, which had matured overnight. To secure some consensus and allow a certain amount of token democracy enter the galley, I asked Moritz to nominate his skipper’s pizza of choice. I decided to keep everybody else happy with two renowned crowd pleasers. Moritz chose the unique prosciutto and pomodorini pizza. This pizza is cooked without mozzarella, and was finished with a mixture of grated pecorino sardi, parmesan, and garnished with three handfuls of rocket. The second was a melanzane with mozzarella, garnished with the same mixture of grated cheese and freshly chopped parsley. The third was a cinque fromaggi consisting of a mature goats cheese, mozzarella, and an Italian blue cheese (the name of which sadly escapes me now). Once removed from the oven this pizza was also garnished with the grated pecorino sardi, parmesan and freshly chopped parsley.

The "book club"

Following lunch the entire crew returned to their favoured pursuits for the day. The ladies opted for the book club reading and giggling at “A year in the merde” by Stephen Clarke and other good reads. Fishing was also actively pursued. Everybody employed their own favoured method or technique to land the catch of the day. Unfortunately, there was to be no giant fish landed, or any fish for that matter. Tuna fishing bans have been discussed for the last few years to be put in place in the Mediterranean because stocks were so low. Whether they were implemented properly, or observed, is unclear and a matter for ongoing debate. Such a ban could damage the economies of small communities, but the price to pay is clearly extinction of the blue fin tuna. Having spent Easter in Palermo this year, and admittedly it was a little early for the arrival of the tuna, the indications were that there would be very few tuna seen during the coming season. The days of the mattanza are long gone, and in this era of modernity large factory ships employ helicopters to spot the big schools of tuna. The consequences of this assault on the blue fin tuna mean the schools are taken in their entirety; nothing is allowed to escape. The swordfish or spada does not share the same value at the market place, but its destiny must also be in question.

A deadline of had been set for 1800 hours, before a fine cut of roast beef was placed in the oven. Between 1800 hours and 2000 hours the deck entertainment continued. It was our last evening at sea. The sun set was quite spectacular as we sailed westward. Slowly the sun descended to the unusually clear and crisp line of the horizon, leaving graduated layers of orange, red, pink and blue above it, and the growing crescent of the bright moon with Jupiter close by. To our great amazement, not long after sunset Steve had sighted the island of Mallorca. The gods of the headland had to be appeased, traditional obligations invoked, and once again Moritz was called upon to select a bottle of wine. A Beronia Crianza 2005, an excellent Rioja, appeared to accompany dinner.

Being Sunday, some attempt was made to produce a traditional English repast. With the ingredients selected from the markets in Palermo certain departures from the traditional menu were made. Served up with the roast beef were roast red and while onions, roast potatoes, griddled courgettes, and boiled fagiolini and borlotti beans lightly pan fried in butter with garlic and parsley. We only ran out of gas once!

A computer generated chart with weather overlay for 0130 hours Monday 13th September

The deities of the headlands had seen to favour our passage after our initial beating on Friday. Our final forecast prediction had 20 to 25 knot winds descending from the Gulf du Lyon, which threatened to upset the final hours of passage. The expected time of arrival of the wind coincided with our landfall at Punta Salinas. As the afternoon had worn on, high altitude cloud resembling horses’ tails had appeared and we believed it was only a matter of time before the wind would arrive. This was not to be the case. We continued unmolested on a calm sea to Punta Salinas, and the short distance to Cabo Blanco. The bright constellation of Orion slowly rose sideways over the dark cavernous eastern horizon behind us. Our progress was only momentarily impeded when we thought we saw emerging before us in the dark water a net and floats stretching out across our path, but Fenix was not to be snagged so close to her final destination.

The cathedral, a distinctive landmark on the skyline of Palma da Mallorca

We entered the Bay of Palma as the sun rose and docked a little after 7.30 a.m. Despite their size and weight the sails were quickly folded and bagged before we disappeared into the town of Palma for further exploration, and a gin and tonic. Corinne just about managed to control her patience as I brought her on a personal tour of my favourite patisseries and art deco buildings around the town.

The past few days were a fantastic experience and adventure, sailing with great friends. The trip commenced with a dinner with Alexej Paladino and the crew in Arenello, near Palermo, at Casa Tonnara Vincenzo Florio, where we ate a magnificent array of dishes including ricci, caponata, and spada tagliata. We ended the adventure with a meal in Cellar sa Premsa, in Palma da Mallorca, feasting on their local dishes of frito mariniera, sobrasada, calamarines frigit, caracoles and merluza, accompanied by their unlabeled and unpretentious house red wine. We are off now to gather walnuts in Franche Comte!

A detail from the Art Deco inspired dental Clinic building in Palma da Mallorca

The Good Life - St George's mushroom

A small panier of St George's Mushrooms

“Les Champignons dans la Nature” by J. Jaccottet [Neuchatel, 1925] opens with the following line: “L’Homme a eté creé pour la marche….” which simply translated means “Man was created for walking”. The improvements in transport noted then in 1925, which he lists as including electric trams and bicycles, reduced ones desire for walking and therefore ability to access the countryside and forests. For one who enjoyed nature as much as Mr Jaccottet, the day was always too short, the sun rose too late and set too early.

Anybody who has done some mushroom hunting will appreciate the fact that there is rarely enough time in the day to find what you are looking for. A combination of patience, luck and a good eye may bring good results but there is no replacement for experience in this pursuit. Finally, when you find the particular variety you have been looking for it is important to never reveal the location of your discovery. People have been known to go to their graves without parting with such closely held secret.

The are a small number of mushrooms which work their way through the earthy ground at this time of year, but among them the St George’s mushroom, which is also known as Tricholome de la St George, Thricholome Georgii L’Écluse and Mousseron du Printemps, is the most highly prized. While they are said to grow in meadows and grassland, they are most likely to be found on the edges of woods. The season described by most writers is from April to June and they traditionally emerge on or about St George’s day and continue in season for a few brief weeks.

In Ireland and England their caps are primarily white, but they can be found elsewhere coloured yellow ochre, and rare varieties are known to be brown or chamois. The caps, which have a dry appearance, vary in size but they can grow to be 15 cms in diameter. By the time they grow to any great size they are more than likely going to be providing refuge and nourishment to a small worm colony, so it is best to pick the small ones when they are found, and check the larger mushrooms for infestation. Beneath the caps the gills are white and fragile. This mushroom has a large foot and grows in tight groups, so you generally will find more than one in any one location. When cut in half the flesh is firm and white. One of the most distinctive characteristics of this mushroom is its smell; the odour is quite strong and pleasant, and has been described as resembling freshly milled flour.

Ignoring Mr Jaccottet's esprit de vivre, we steamed around the hillsides and meadows in an old Peugot 405, which cut down some of the vast wandering required to locate these mushrooms. With the small basket of mushrooms we had collected I decided to make an omelette. After cleaning them, they were cooked on a pan over a low flame in mountain butter with a little salt and pepper. We had earlier liberated some eggs from chickens nearby, and these were whisked and poured over the lightly cooked mushrooms. After two or three minutes I put some grated Comte cheese from Frasne on the runny surface of the uncooked egg and mushroom mixture and finished the omelette under a hot grill. It looked great and tasted really good, but I was scolded for not slicing the mushrooms finer and for overcooking the omelette. I accepted these criticisms graciously while drinking a glass of undated, but assuredly ancient, white wine from the Jura.

In preparation for the meal I found a book entitled “60 Champignons 190 Recettes” by Suzanne Fonteneau and Philippe Joly published in 1978. These authors rate their mushrooms with a star system; four stars being the best, and so on. I will not query why they did not chose a system of marks out of 10 or 5 for example, being nice round figures allowing for a wider variety for distinction, however in their opinion both the Truffe du Perigourd and Tricholome de la St George achieve the lofty and distinguished score of a perfect 4. Among the recipes they offer for the Tricholome de la St George is `Tricholome á la paysanne`. For this recipe you shall require 400 grams Tricholomes de la St Georges; 50 grams of butter; 2 spoons of vinegar; 1 spoon of flour; 1 egg; half a glass of dry white wine;2 spoons of bouillon; salt and pepper.

The method given is as follows: After cleaning the mushrooms, cut them into slivers (remember not coarsely or in chunks!). Gently cook them with half the butter and the vinegar. At the same time make a roux with the remainder of the butter and the flour and mix in the suggested half glass of white wine and the bouillon. All this time, you should keep the juice of the mushrooms moving on the pan seasoning with salt and pepper. The recipe is completed by turning the mushrooms onto the sauce, mixing together, and just before serving stir in the egg yolk into the ensemble to bind it together.

The recipe as given does make sense however; you may wish to experiment with another variety of mushroom and the suggested quantities a few times to gain some confidence in it and to satisfy yourself in advance of cooking these highly prized mushrooms. I would also suggest using white wine vinegar in preference to any other, and it appears that the tablespoon measurement is the weapon choice for this recipe.

A traffic jam or "bouchon" in the Haut Doubs, Franche Comté

French Christmas Adventure

A variety of roots at the Marché in Besancon including beetroots, cerfeuil tubereux, parsley, Oca du Perou, crosne and topinambourg

The difficulty with uploading photographs and then not being able to move them is that I must compose a story around them or just ignore them completely.

Early on Saturday morning we had a phone call from Corinne`s mother explaining that the weather conditions were very bad, and that we might not make it to Besancon. A few minutes later there was another call, from my mother, who explained that the weather situation in Ireland was severe and that our flight may be delayed. I had already taken out the rubbish and wondered where this bad Irish weather was, or if it turned up since! It was not an auspicious start to our little trek but we stepped off the train in Besancon 14 hours later in good order. It was -14 Celsius and there was snow everywhere, but not too deep.

In describing poor driving conditions the French say "les rues sont delicates". This was the first of many double meanings which I might experience over the next few days! As the temperatures began to increase the weather changed and it also began to rain. It was still freezing and the roads. In France snow is either all good or all bad and the rain altered matters considerably making the roads deadly.

Butchers preparing meat at the marché in Besancon

The marché at Besancon is building up to the biggest family feast of the year; le Rèveillon. This is effectively a feast of gourmandies and as midnight approaches the children are put to bed just before Pere Noel (a.k.a. Santa Claus) arrives at midnight. This character, typically clad in red with a white beard, indulges in disappointent and never appears to wait around for the good childen of the land to open their presents. Obviously the disappointment of the children is short lived for the most part as they tear the wrapping from their presents.

The food is always the centre of attention during his time and the build up to Rèveillon is everywhere to be seen. The year end fixation for figures and statistics is bound up into this expectation and excitement. The chiffres (figures) reveal that there was 20,400 tonnes of foie gras produced in France in 2007. One newspaper article centered upon a producer from Alsace who had created an academy for foie gras. He elaborated on the characteristcs and qualities of the various foie gras; the vigeur (vigor) of the foie gras de canard and the douceur (sweetness) of the foie gras du oie. However, he also brought it one stage futher announcing "canoie"; a combination of foigras de canard and foie gras du oie (duck and goose livers). Foie gras forms an important part of the meal of the Rèveillon and its subtle flavours have gone through many fads and styles of preparation through the years; it is available smoked, salted or sweetened with figs and other fruits and now as canoie.

Corinne's mother has prepared her foie gras by placing it in milk for two days with salt, pepper and a little spice. After that it was wrapped in plastic and mascerated in a little port hile rolled into a cling film and bound in your best dish cloth! It tasted stunning this morning and no doubt will acquire a little more flavour from the port over the next day or so. In this part of France it is normally served with pain d'épices; a tradtional dence golden brown loaf made from honey and spices.

Chocolate snowmen or bonomme de neige at Hirsinger, Arbois

Chocolate shops do a roaring trade in France over Christmas. There are sweets everywhere from the humble papillottes to the more elaborate pieces produced by master choclatiers. The papillotte is the equivalent of our crackers at the table. They are typically a chocolate covered praline sweet and are covered in bright eye catching wrappers. While our crackers have jokes the papillottes contain questions to be posed to your fellow diners. For example "How heavy is a big male chimpanzee? a. 70 kgs; b. 90 kgs; c. 110 kgs". The answer of course, as everybody knows, is 70 kgs and more impotantly we are informed that he is three times stronger than a human male of the same weight! In contrast Corinne and myself pulled a cracker together before we left, and I was left explaing the following joke contained therein; "The local police station was burgled recently. The police had nothing to go on".

Le Morillon - a cheese stuffed with morelles

There was almost 50,000 tonnes of Comté cheese produced in Franche Comté this year, a fact based upon the offical chiffres or statistics. Cheese mongers are far from left out in this season of feasting; cheese is an essential course and every region celebrates its own produce. The fromageries or fruiteries in Franche Comté are stunning emporia and often produce their own cheese on the premises, some only selling what they produce such as bleu de gex, Comté, or Mont D'or. One shop in Champagnole sold a number of locally produced buches de chèvre or goat's cheese which I had never seen or heard of. They included Truffe ventidor, Tanpiniere and Bicaillon which were all stunning looking and quite individual in their appearance.

The scenery of the Haut Doubs of Franche Comté is dominated by pastures, forests, large farm houses and cow sheds that often resemble large farm houses. When the snow arrives it becomes a winter wonderland and the Montbeliard cattle are nowhere to be seen as they have retreated to the safe havens and sheds where the chill of the wind and snow will not be felt.

Winter in the Haut Doubs

A weekend trip to France

Figs and Mirabelles

The last post was complicated by issues with my Irish fraudband but thankfully I have been upgraded to intermittent poor service and can now type and save without too much difficulty. Last weekend I went to France to be with Corrine to help her out. Having arrived in Paris, I had a few hours to occupy before catching the TGV to Frasne not far from the Swiss border. I normally try to visit a small street market called the Marche de Ternes situated close to the Rue de Ternes and Porte Maillot. A good breeze coming up the Seine meant that the temperature would never be too stifling and I could walk around in comfort. The market is quite compact and occupies a portion of two small streets that radiate from a "v" shaped intersection. Street traders operate from stalls in front of an array of specialist shops and stores selling an assortment of produce including fish, meat, cheese, green grocers and fruit merchants.

Girolles

Turning the corner and arriving at the market with damp cobbles under foot I was confronted with a scene of busy preparation as the last additions were being placed on elegantly prepared displays of seasonal shellfish and fruit. Large tables of cool yellow girolles required little immediately caught my eye before it quickly travelled to the vast quantities of diminutive blushing golden mirabelles, adjacent to plums and gages and ripe figs. Bunches of opalescent pale chasselas grapes signalled the early season harvesting of grapes. In Dublin we are still picking artichokes and I thought the European crops had come ot an end by the early summer but I spotted an enormous variety of artichokes with large fleshy leaves dwarfing bunches of suedes and cauliflowers.

Artichokes and suedes

August is also one of the best months of the year for shellfish and despite the annual evacuation of the Parisians at this time of year to the South of France and Guadeloupe a great variety of shellfish was set out in well crafted icy displays grouping together vast mounds of langoustines, amandes and cooked shore crab.

Quite close by is one of my favourite places in Paris; Maison Pou on Rue du Ternes is not Fauchon, and never will be, but it essentially does the same thing cooking and preparing classic meals, dishes, meats and pates causing the havoc with the decision making skills of the hungry Parisian. The shop's style shirks the modernity and the crisp neat shapes and abstract forms that one might expect from Fauchon. The cooking and presentation of the food is easily recognisable as what I would consider to be classically French.

Delicacies of Maison Fou

I purchased my tickets in Gare de Lyon and wandered about for a while trying to find somewhere to eat. Eventually, I happened upn a neighbourhood restaurant of Reu Didertot and was put through my paces with the chef's foie gras to start, Lapin au moutard for main course and mirabelle clafoutis to finish. By this time the warmth of the sunshine needed to be suppressed and I allowed myself a refreshing glass or two of rose from the Pays du Gard.

I awoke the next morning in the small village of Couvieres. With warm sunlight flooding in through an open window that also allowed a comforting breeze circulate the room I breakfasted on coffee, toast with a reine claude plum jam and peaches fresh from the tree. Courvieres is immediately surrounded by pastures where the Monbelliard cattle graze and horses roam. The pastures are bounded all around by vast forests of tall straight powerful pine trees.

Horses near Couvieres

On Sunday morning we went for a short walk in the forests to hunt down a few mushrooms. There had not been much rainfall in the past few weeks in Courvieres, and we did not expect to find much. However, through one stretch of forest we doscovered a proliferation of Phallus Hadrian or stinkhorns; some spent and fallen down on the ground from where they literally hatched, others still proudly standing to attention freshly emerged from their embryonic sack with pitted and ribbed caps at the tip. If and when the rains arrive there may by a mycological explosion but it will not last long because the frosts will begin to become quite severe at 850 meters above sea level by the middle of September.

Phallus Hadriani emergging from the forest floor

Reading the newspapers it is difficult to escape the difference in the news reporting; the Irish media dwells upon one crisis followed by another where we have apparently been the author of our own misfortune (in reality a series of disasters created by a select few). In contrast the L'Est Republican carried a front page story on the announcements of various wine producers that they were in the last throws of preparing for the start of the vendage, or the picking of the grapes for their annual wine production. Elsewhere in the paper, my eye was caught by this full page add heralding the arrival of the Mont D'Or cheese. This cheese available during the Autumn and Winter months is one of my personal highlights of the year and launches me into new world of goumandises and a few weekends of gluttony.

The arrival of the iconicly seasonal Mont D'Or cheese

Sailing to Byzantium - 11

A box of small fish from the Mercato della Ballaro

We are still in Palermo and will remain here until various parts of the engine finally come together. While the new engine has the same bolting pattern as the old engine, the block size is a little different and as a result some parts must be fabricated locally to accommodate these differences in dimensions. I am making a fiber glass box to house the main control panel, which needs to fit into a space where the main electrical boards are located. With the temperatures in the 20s centigrade the epoxy resins should cure quickly and the box can be completely quite quickly.

The old coffee mill

We also have time for other small projects on board. I am cleaning and restoring an old coffee mill which I bought while in France. It has been knocked about a bit and incredibly dirty, but was in working order. The coffee is excellent here as the beans are not over roasted resulting in a beautiful mellow but strong coffee flavour. We currently buy our coffee from the coffee shop close to the Mercato della Vucciria. The shopkeeper has a stylish old black and white portrait of himself at the Victor Emanuel monument in Rome hanging on the wall. He has five jars containingg different varieties of coffee beans and grinds the beans in a grand old electric mill which pushes waves of everchanging pungent aromas into the shop's still air.

The milled coffee beans heat up during the milling process and the wonderfully rich intoxicating scent is the result of the natural oils being released from the beans during this process. The hand mill does not generate heat as it crushes and grinds the coffees beans with the result that the fine grounds it produces should be far superior in quality retaining the esential oils of the bean, which normally evaporate off and are lost when an electric mill is used. This is the theory and in any event I am looking forward to milling my own coffee!

Saturdays always involve a shopping adventure to the markets and in particular the Mercato della Ballaro. I had been hoping to try the ricotta cheese made here and Palermo, which is very different to the feeble excuse for the chalky and dry ricotta sold in Ireland. In Palermo each ricotta cheese is individually stored in its own basket which in turn sits in a big bath of whey. The consistency of the cheese is dense and damp; very much like a mozerella but less elastic, and it has a rich and almost sweet taste.

The Palermo ricotta cheese with egg yolks and egg whites

Purchasing this wonderful ricotta seemed to be the perfect opportunity to try a recipe I found for gateau du fromage blanc from a book entitled "Bonne Cuisine d'Aujourhui", edition du Club du France Loisirs, 1989. It could be a possible sposa bene (good marriage) of Italian and French cooking. The published recipe is not perfect as it does not describe what to do with half the sugar allocated, but I think I have solved this mystery. Also some of the ingredients were not readily accessible here in Palermo and I have substituted the coarsely ground almonds for whole hazelnuts (I have no idea how the latter could have worked).

The whisked egg whites, blended egg yokes and bowl containing the remainder of the ingredients

The basic ingredients I used were as follows; 150 grams butter, 150 grams caster sugar, 150 grams ricotta cheese, 150 grams coarsely ground almonds, 6 eggs, zest of one lemon and a pinch of salt.

Egg whites being folded into the mixture

Firstly, cream (blend) the butter with hallf the sugar. After seperating the yolks from the egg whites, whisk the yolks with the remaining sugar until they are twice their original volume. In another bowl whisk the egg whites till they form stiff peaks. Mix together the ricotta, coarsely ground almonds, lemon zest, salt, creamed butter and sugar mix and the blended egg yolks. Then gradually and carefully fold in the whisked egg whites. Once entirely combined, the mixture can be spooned into a greased sprinform tin, and then placed into a moderate oven at approximately 150 degrees centigrade. The published recipe recommended cooking the cake for about 35 minutes. However, my cake took just over an hour. The tip here is to check it after 40 minutes and treat it like a sponge using a clean knife to test if tthe mixture is completely cooked.

Cooling on deck!

Once the cake has cooled it can be released from the tin and placed on a plate. Just prior to serving, I sprinkled two spoons of icing sugar on the top of the cake which seemed appropriate and it looked the part! The book, full of recommendations, suggested serving a rose Anjou with the cake. However, we chose the Italian option once again and served it with a chilled sparkling Lambrusco rose which was a fitting end to our comfortable afternoon meal. The cake was just moist and rich, yet remained light with gentle flavours coming from the combination of ricotta, almonds and lemon zest. We have not been too greedy over lunch, and despite a few approving comments from Italian visitors on board, a good portion has been kept to one side to be served with a chillled sweet Marsala wine [Malvasia Sicilia, Duca Di Castelmonte] to take the final heat from this hot day at sunset. The harbour is still and calm, and the lights have just illuminated the roads that lead up to the mountain villages and passes that hang over this great city. Ciao!

Sailing to Byzantium - 10

A giant tuna at a pescheria in the Mercato della Ballaro

Yeats published ‘Sailing to Byzantium’ in 1928, and it is for me one of the most memorable poems from my school days. I may not be able to recite the poem in its entirety but some lines and clauses remain permanently etched on my mind and have never left me. Sitting in an antiquated and dull classroom with well worn wooden floors which were approaching a century of constant use, and gazing out through tall windows across an impoverished Dublin city, it was not difficult to cast your thoughts further afield to the bright waters and exotic life of an ancient Mediterranean city.

Byzantine history would not have been widely researched and appreciated by the 1920s, as it has resurrected itself in the last two decades. I always thought that the poem was based on some genuine experience of the East and in particular a possible visit to Istanbul. However, it came as a bit of shock when I read recently that Yeats never actually sailed to Byzantium, or visited Istanbul. Instead, the poem was inspired by a trip to Ravenna where he witnessed the golden Byzantine mosaics in the churches of Sant’ Apollinare Nuovo and San Vitale.

Many of the images I have of the route ahead to Istanbul are somewhat preconditioned by this powerfully descriptive poem. Visiting the remarkable 12th century mosaics in Palermo and at Cefalu, direct descendants of those at Ravenna, has introduced me to an enlightened medieval world which celebrated the arts, humanities and encouraged the sciences while aspiring to be the equal of Byzantium.

Unlike Yeats my journey will continue; our delay in Palermo should not be too long and we can expect to have the new engine fitted and working by the end of next week. In the meantime, explorations have continued with a view to provisioning once again with fresh food. People cram streets of the city markets where the air is filled with pungent aromas of fennel and an abundant crop of strawberries imported from Treviso. There is colour everywhere from the radiant yellows and oranges of the citrus fruit, the fragile shimmering skins of the sardines, to deepest purple red of a cow’s liver. The giant tuna fish are starting to appear in the market, dwarfing the experienced men who carefully carve them in the pescherias. For the next summer months the majestic swordfish will be temporarily relegated as the giant tuna takes centre stage.

Market vegetables

I have taken a little break from the boat this week and I am visiting Corinne in Besancon. The Franche Comte countryside is very green at this time of year. The wild garlic is in flower creating a wall of heady scent as you pass it on the country roads and lane ways. The apple blossom is likewise much to be admired. We have been travelling around visiting friends but decided to go on a little adventure to Vesoul where we were told an agricultural show was taking place. I might be become renowned for my spontaneous agricultural adventures in the future; my previous announcement to Corinne (with Mo and Christina) resulted in us departing for Virginia, in County Cavan, to visit the Pumpkin Festival.

Flowering wild garlic or Allium Ursinum

These spontaneous adventures always tend to turn up more than you would expect. We arrived at the show, le Festival de L’Elevage, and entered the main tent for the presentation and parade of the three finalists in la vache des vaches. This contest, possibly a beauty pageant, was to establish the best of the Montbeliard breed of cow in Haut Saone. After a long speech by the ring master, who had an infinite and in depth knowledge of the breed including the annual milk production figures (noted in kilos) of each cow present, the contest came to a grand crescendo and the 1500 people present were on their feet with anticipation as the chief judge ran across the ring indicating the winner of the contest by slapping the docile Montbeliard on the rear end. The ceremony was concluded with some fitting music, from the movie Gladiator (the arena scene), and the proud owner leaped into the air in excitement before leading his charge up onto the winners podium. By this stage, the poor animals thought they were on the way to the abattoir, and with a predictable loss of bodily function, they were looking anxiously around for a suitable exit. In any event, the contest passed off peacefully; the cows were returned to their straw bedded pens, where detailed notices were hung above where they lay announcing their details, including number of days of milk production per year and yield in kilos. It is a cow’s life in Franche Comte.

A traditional basket maker

Among the stands advertising, milk, cheese and meat producers were a number of stalls which allowed local craftsmen to put on show for sale their produce. There were a number of small potters, model makers and painters, but also some traditional crafts present such as farmhouse cheese makers, sunflower oil producers and a basket maker who occupied himself by making baskets.

A typical colourful "cloche" campanile on a church in Franche Comte

We returned home to a wonderful meal. Corinne announced it as her favourite which caught my attention immediately. I was brought to the table and served up some fried portions of meat. I was given some instruction, “do not to place the entire morsel into my mouth”, which of course I ignored and quickly discovered a large number of bones in my mouth. I was eating frogs’ legs, which were served with a fine Riesling from Alsace. By the end of the meal I had collected a neat pile of bones on my plate, some very tasty fingers to lick, and a satisfied smile on my face. The legs tasted very much like the meat from a chicken wing, but are a little different as they take the seasoning of flour, salt and lemon very well. There is a saying in the Haut Doubs to the effect that it is a great shame if you do not have frogs’ legs at least once during springtime. This is no exaggeration. The legs were followed by the usual cheese plate from the Haut Doubs with Comte and Cancoillotte with a munster for a little variety. This in turn was followed by some strawberries and a clear, and moderately harmless eau de vie de prune appeared not long after.

As I type Corinne is searching through my camera looking for the photograph I said I had taken if her. This is accompanied by several remarks of disapproval concerning the disproportionate number of photographs of milk producing livestock, although she must have missed the photograph I took of her with a wonderful looking Holstein and another with some piglets. We are quite close to the river Doubs and the croaking of the remaining frogs can be heard along the river bank in the darkness of the night.

The eventual winner of the Festival d'Elevage at Vesoul

Besancon

View looking South over the rooftops of Besancon from Fort Griffon towards the Citadelle

I first arrived in Besancon in March of this year and have been back a number of times with Corinne (my better half). The East of France and the Franche Comte region had eluded me up to this time, and admittedly I knew few details of its history, culture and folklore; I was in general terms aware of the expansion of the Roman provinces in Gaul and a little more recent general history of the area but was totally unprepared for the uniqueness of the region incorporating the Doubs, Haut Doubs and Jura.

Upon leaving the train station at Besancon, I was driven away by Corinne's father on a circuitous route, which navigated its way through old fortifications, redoubts and ramparts in the north of the town and then eventually eastwards along the Doubs. This city is not big but impressive and located on a significant strategic site, on a vast sweeping bend in the river Doubs. It has been settled for many thousands of years, but came to prominence as Vesontio over two thousand years ago, when it was the first city of the Sequani tribe. They in turn came were subjugate by and came under the influence of the Romans, under the command of Julius Caesar, and despite a number of revolts during the early empire the site was further developed and romanised with an aquaduct, lavishly decorated buildings, an amphitheatre and triumphal arch known locally as "la porte noire".

Roman Amphitheatre remains at Besanson

Neptune Mosaic found on the site of the Abbey of St. Paul in 1973, Musee des Beaux-Arts et d'Archeologie de Besancon.

Reading the ancient historian's and source's descriptions of places, and routes taken, it is easy to be misled by dry narratives evoking generic landscapes, mountains, rivers and passes, however Julius Caesar in his De Bello Gallico describes this settlement with extraordinary clarity, care and conciseness. Roman preparations for war left little to chance and Julius Caesar identified a base that could sustain his armies in Winter and through the Summer, with the unsettled and enemy frontiers not too distant.

Book 1:38 recounts as follows:

"When he had proceeded three days' journey, word was brought to him that Ariovistus was hastening with all his forces to seize on Vesontio, which is the largest town of the Sequani, and had advanced three days' journey from its territories. Caesar thought that he ought to take the greatest precautions lest this should happen, for there was in that town a most ample supply of every thing which was serviceable for war; and so fortified was it by the nature of the ground, as to afford a great facility for protracting the war, inasmuch as the river Doubs almost surrounds the whole town, as though it were traced round it with a pair of compasses. A mountain of great height shuts in the remaining space, which is not more than 600 feet, where the river leaves a gap, in such a manner that the roots of that mountain extend to the river's bank on either side. A wall thrown around it makes a citadel of this [mountain], and connects it with the town. Hither Caesar hastens by forced marches by night and day, and, after having seized the town, stations a garrison there."

An early incription refering to Vesontio possibly dating to the period of the Emperor Trajan

Following the demise of the provinces of Roman Gaul, Besancon was eventually incorporated into the Holy Roman Empire until it came under the influence of the Dukes of Burgundy, and thence following a strategic marriage, the Habsburgs. In 1674 Besancon became a French town and a few years later the city was in effect transformed by the arrival of the military architect Sebastien le Prestre de Vauban. He was commissioned by Louis XIV primarily to redesign and reconstruct the Citadelle, a grand task which took 30 years, being completed in 1711.

Other fortifications, on hilltops around the city received attention including Fort Griffon, and these forts, ramparts redoubts and defences still dominate and characterise the city today. These new strategic defences were planned in great detail and utilised the local contours, terrain and features of the land upon which they were constructed, a particular feature of Vauban's planning and engineering; the Roman amphitheatre was incorporated and utilised in the establishment of some of the outer defences and ramparts at Fort Griffon.

View of the inner entrance gate of the Vauban Citadelle

Palais Granvelle 16th Century

Buildings on the banks of the Doubs in Besancon

One of my primary interests when arriving in a town is to discover the food and local produce, and local markets are key to this experience. In Besancon, as with most French cities and towns, there is a covered market selling produce daily and an open air market in front of the Musee des Beaux-Arts et Archeologie selling fresh fruit and vegetables.

Before I ever thought of visiting Besancon I was aware of the two most famous cheeses produced in the area; Mont D'Or and Comte. The local breed of cow is the Montbeliard, and these cute docile beauvines are primarily used for dairy production. Smoked hams and sausages called saucise de morteau are full of flavour and are traditionally boiled and served with boiled cabbage and potatoes. However, more modern recipes combine the saucise with reductions of local wines, such as a Poulsard. Artisanal charcuteries such as the one operated by Pierrette and Daniel Buchiex [www.lafermettecomtoise.com] produce a wonderful selection of cured meats and charcuterie; not always shaped in the familiar manner of a sausage, a small square not dissimilar to a pont leveque make these cured meats very tempting indeed. While some features and characteristics of Besancon are thoroughly French, there is an undeniable connection and suggestion of a German or Swiss tradition and the proximity of the Swiss border and the mountains is inescapable.


One surprise for me was the fact that the Theatre in Besancon was built to the designs of Claude Nicolas Ledoux. Ledoux, a unique architect for his time, was favoured by royal commissions for a period prior to the revolution and was commissioned to design and build the Royal Saltworks at Arc-et-Senans, not far from Besancon. He has since gained notoriety for his futuristic designs and projects proposed in the area of the Loue valley, but sadly many of these were not undertaken. The designs produced by Ledoux for the theatre were ground breaking for the time, and incorporated a sunken orchestra and sound box behind it, to project and enhance the acoustics of the theatre. Unfortunately, due to a fire all that remains today of the original theatre is the exterior facade.

In my recent adventures, I have also visited the Royal Saltworks, Haut doubs, Loue river valley and other places of interest in the region and hope you will visit this webpage again in the coming weeks to catch up, or take some time out during your day to see these places and read my comments.