Friday, 25 July 2008
Alchemy
The only way I am going to improve my writing is to complete a diary of what is happening so, boring as it may be, I will begin today.
Last week I went on a tour of the Jardin de l’Alchimiste near Eygalieres (reputed to be one of the prettiest villages in France and home to lots of celebrities, allegedly).
The garden was a bit of a surprise as it was very well kept and quite spiritual. I knew nothing of Alchemy other than mind pictures of medieval wizards and venerable old men trying to turn base metal into Gold.
Sabbatical friend and I coughed up six euros each and received two minutes instruction on the garden’s layout from a young girl who spoke to us in halting English she also provided a flyer with some explanation in French and English written by one Marie de Larouziere - Proprietaire du Jardin.
(I wonder what is it that defines us so obviously as English. I buy French clothes and have French haircuts, I even have French nails but nothing persuades the French that I am ‘one of them’ even when I don’t open my mouth!)
To get to the ‘magical garden’ we walk through a labyrinth which appears to spell out the word berechit (which is, I think, a Jewish word).
The first part of the garden is lusciously green, (remember this is Provence and very hot) it consists of ‘magical plants’ laid out in squares and is centred by a beautiful vine archway. The magic element comes from plants/herbs that are thought to have accompanied man throughout the ages, holly, willow, box, sage etc.
How these plants were used in a magical sense was not explained but as many were aromatic and culinary and others I know to have been used in healing an explanation was not really necessary.
Having walked up and down the formal pathways we were calmed cool and admiring and ready to move onto Alchemy which, the literature provided, says is nothing whatever to do with magic.
Alchemists were searching for something: chemical reactions that would change materials, the meaning of life - the philosopher’s stone. The word alchemy seems to stem from the earliest form of the word ‘chemist’ with links to the disciplines of mathematics, physics, medicine and astrology and as a body of men they were both feared and venerated throughout the ages particularly as their language was cryptic and symbolic.
The Alchemist’s search had a methodology of three stages:
the work in black, the work in white and finally the work in red.
These stages were also said to distinguish the three stages of man’s life. In this the twenty first century the Alchemist’s garden followed the above colour pattern through the structured and disciplined black oeuvre followed by a beautifully cared for white rose garden and finally a glorious red rose sequence of gardens. In the centre of the red roses was a water feature in the shape of a pentangle outlined with significant numbers formed as Roman numerals 1 to 33. I saw the words pierre philosophy and at that stage didn’t know that pierre is the French word for stone hence – the philosopher’s stone.
Regardless of whether you buy into this philosophy the place is very spiritual, very quiet, (except for the birds) and calming.
I was sorry that I knew so little of the meaning of the symbols but came away feeling pleased to have enjoyed a delightful secretive place but I was only too aware that I was missing something. I am also quite sure that this garden is important to the initiated.
Le Jardin de l’Alchimiste
Mas de la Brune
13810 Eygalieres en Provence
www.jardin-alchimiste.com
Last week I went on a tour of the Jardin de l’Alchimiste near Eygalieres (reputed to be one of the prettiest villages in France and home to lots of celebrities, allegedly).
The garden was a bit of a surprise as it was very well kept and quite spiritual. I knew nothing of Alchemy other than mind pictures of medieval wizards and venerable old men trying to turn base metal into Gold.
Sabbatical friend and I coughed up six euros each and received two minutes instruction on the garden’s layout from a young girl who spoke to us in halting English she also provided a flyer with some explanation in French and English written by one Marie de Larouziere - Proprietaire du Jardin.
(I wonder what is it that defines us so obviously as English. I buy French clothes and have French haircuts, I even have French nails but nothing persuades the French that I am ‘one of them’ even when I don’t open my mouth!)
To get to the ‘magical garden’ we walk through a labyrinth which appears to spell out the word berechit (which is, I think, a Jewish word).
The first part of the garden is lusciously green, (remember this is Provence and very hot) it consists of ‘magical plants’ laid out in squares and is centred by a beautiful vine archway. The magic element comes from plants/herbs that are thought to have accompanied man throughout the ages, holly, willow, box, sage etc.
How these plants were used in a magical sense was not explained but as many were aromatic and culinary and others I know to have been used in healing an explanation was not really necessary.
Having walked up and down the formal pathways we were calmed cool and admiring and ready to move onto Alchemy which, the literature provided, says is nothing whatever to do with magic.
Alchemists were searching for something: chemical reactions that would change materials, the meaning of life - the philosopher’s stone. The word alchemy seems to stem from the earliest form of the word ‘chemist’ with links to the disciplines of mathematics, physics, medicine and astrology and as a body of men they were both feared and venerated throughout the ages particularly as their language was cryptic and symbolic.
The Alchemist’s search had a methodology of three stages:
the work in black, the work in white and finally the work in red.
These stages were also said to distinguish the three stages of man’s life. In this the twenty first century the Alchemist’s garden followed the above colour pattern through the structured and disciplined black oeuvre followed by a beautifully cared for white rose garden and finally a glorious red rose sequence of gardens. In the centre of the red roses was a water feature in the shape of a pentangle outlined with significant numbers formed as Roman numerals 1 to 33. I saw the words pierre philosophy and at that stage didn’t know that pierre is the French word for stone hence – the philosopher’s stone.
Regardless of whether you buy into this philosophy the place is very spiritual, very quiet, (except for the birds) and calming.
I was sorry that I knew so little of the meaning of the symbols but came away feeling pleased to have enjoyed a delightful secretive place but I was only too aware that I was missing something. I am also quite sure that this garden is important to the initiated.
Le Jardin de l’Alchimiste
Mas de la Brune
13810 Eygalieres en Provence
www.jardin-alchimiste.com
Monday, 21 July 2008
Bank of Mum & Dad - Birthday Review
Dear Mr Alex (I'm very busy) O'Connor
Ref Birthday (yours) we will discuss my birthday requirements at a later date but before the 19 Sept.
As discussed, guilt will restrict our ability to provide funds for an air jump. Your offer of a separate contract absolving us of any 'Guilt' we find unacceptable.
I did think that if you pay for it first, and you survive I then repay you would be acceptable (A win win situation for both parties) - If you did not survive then it would be a lose / win situation with me gaining monetarily, but after discussions with other members of the board this would also be unacceptable.
We must now look for an alternative.
What about a Glider lesson above the Alpilles Mountains during your yearly vacation to St Remy de Provence in the South of France?
This would provide a much greater possibility of a 'return' on our investment.
Please let me know your thoughts on the above.
PS - a driver and car will be waiting at the airport in anticipation of your arrival in early August.
Assuring you of our best attention
Martin O'Connor
Board Member
Bank of Mum and Dad
Ref Birthday (yours) we will discuss my birthday requirements at a later date but before the 19 Sept.
As discussed, guilt will restrict our ability to provide funds for an air jump. Your offer of a separate contract absolving us of any 'Guilt' we find unacceptable.
I did think that if you pay for it first, and you survive I then repay you would be acceptable (A win win situation for both parties) - If you did not survive then it would be a lose / win situation with me gaining monetarily, but after discussions with other members of the board this would also be unacceptable.
We must now look for an alternative.
What about a Glider lesson above the Alpilles Mountains during your yearly vacation to St Remy de Provence in the South of France?
This would provide a much greater possibility of a 'return' on our investment.
Please let me know your thoughts on the above.
PS - a driver and car will be waiting at the airport in anticipation of your arrival in early August.
Assuring you of our best attention
Martin O'Connor
Board Member
Bank of Mum and Dad
Saturday, 19 July 2008
Hidden St. Remy de Provence
St. Remy Nature Mid June 28.6.08
Many people visit St. Remy-de-Provence annually and when I see them checking their guide book, study the paintings for which the town is famous and swot up on the tourism map I want to take them by the hand and show them the Remy that I know. A Remy that is so delicate and subtle it is easily lost in the mix of shops, roman ruins, art, restaurants and café society.
Behind the St. Paul de Mausole Hospital is a field and beyond the tree line can be seen the Alpilles peaks that Van Gogh immortalised in his paintings. Take the well-worn track across the field towards the trees and stand there. The birds will welcome you with their song, a blackbird or a nightingale it doesn’t matter which. The olive grove beyond is overgrown and the trees are contorted with stunted growth. Between them you will see poppies, harebells, scabious, plants from the pea family, so numerous I can’t identify all of them. Probably nothing particularly rare but all growing in joyous profusion amongst the architectural grasses and the clinging vines that squabble for space against the black bark of ancient and bountiful trees. The sun is bright in the bleached sky as butterflies and moths run riot in the meadow flitting from one favoured spot to another. The field is a little gem of nature that is worth a pause in your itinary. You can say, “We did St. Remy-de-Provence” and know that you saw Nature at her best, chaotic, profuse and beautiful.
Many people visit St. Remy-de-Provence annually and when I see them checking their guide book, study the paintings for which the town is famous and swot up on the tourism map I want to take them by the hand and show them the Remy that I know. A Remy that is so delicate and subtle it is easily lost in the mix of shops, roman ruins, art, restaurants and café society.
Behind the St. Paul de Mausole Hospital is a field and beyond the tree line can be seen the Alpilles peaks that Van Gogh immortalised in his paintings. Take the well-worn track across the field towards the trees and stand there. The birds will welcome you with their song, a blackbird or a nightingale it doesn’t matter which. The olive grove beyond is overgrown and the trees are contorted with stunted growth. Between them you will see poppies, harebells, scabious, plants from the pea family, so numerous I can’t identify all of them. Probably nothing particularly rare but all growing in joyous profusion amongst the architectural grasses and the clinging vines that squabble for space against the black bark of ancient and bountiful trees. The sun is bright in the bleached sky as butterflies and moths run riot in the meadow flitting from one favoured spot to another. The field is a little gem of nature that is worth a pause in your itinary. You can say, “We did St. Remy-de-Provence” and know that you saw Nature at her best, chaotic, profuse and beautiful.
Walking on the wildside
anoI expected the heat, I anticipated the wind and in winter the bitter cold, sometimes a chilly minus 12 degrees. I allowed for the enveloping mists that cloak areas near the Tarn and Garonne rivers; all of these were accepted as part and parcel of South Western France but what floored me was the wildlife – the bitey things, the stingers, the picnic spoilers. You don’t see people picnicking on a blanket beneath the glorious skies of painter’s blue…. it’s too hazardous. I am wary of walking the dog in unknown places: I might put myself at risk of lumps, rashes, intolerable itches and snakebite but I can’t put my poor little mutt through that particular mill. Even the garden is downright dangerous without constant vigilance. You think I exaggerate?
In our garden we encountered caterpillars that dropped from candyfloss webs built high in the trees. During spring they fall to the ground and wend their way, nose-to-tail, across the lawn looking very much like a snake. These benign looking creatures can cause serious damage to anything foolish enough to interfere with their progress. Dog hazard number one - possible death. Adult hazard - painful. Child - doesn’t bear thinking about. Method of elimination: cut the candyfloss down before the nest erupts and burn it.
Eating outdoors is one of the best experiences of the French ideal and how we relished the prospect of eating sweet dessert grapes growing in the arbour above our heads as we sheltered from the baking sun. Forget it - the grapes are also loved by enormous ‘hornet type’ insects that look like wasps on steroids. These wretched pests gorge on the juices of the luscious green grapes and when another of the same variety tries to muscle in on a popular grape they fight to the death, dropping rapidly into my space, or what would have been my space if I hadn’t already run away.
Dog/human hazard number two - extreme. The local myth speaker said: “stung by one, treat yourself. Stung by two, go to the hospital. Stung by three or more, you’re dead.” We never put it to the test but the grapevine over the table was too scary so we moved the table and later the vine.
Our first holiday home in France had a garden of about an acre in size in an agricultural region and we were thrilled to see Sanglier (wild boar): a male of terrifying proportions, and at a later date a female with three young. We didn’t call the Chasse (the local hunt - lots of macho looking blokes in camouflage gear, all driving white vans and all carrying large guns) who exterminate as many creatures as they can find, frequently shooting each other in the process. A hare that was so large I thought it was a wallaby visited us regularly. Red Squirrels were a delight though I was quite surprised that they looked more black than red when they were bouncing through the long grass towards the nearest pine tree. We also had a lime green lizard that lived in the shrubbery near the pool. It was very large and had an upright stance, which reminded me of a baby dragon.
Swallows nested in the pool house and dive-bombed us whenever we had the cheek to take a swim. Regretfully they seemed unable to raise their young; we don’t know if it was because the pool house was too hot or if the salt-water pool (from which they drank) affected their breeding. However, a family of cranes were more successful nesting in the trees below our house giving us an aerial view. They were a pleasure to watch, as were the buzzards and the busy hoopoo who criss-crossed our garden relentlessly during the breeding season. My greatest joy however was watching the green woodpeckers that visited the patch of lawn right outside the kitchen windows.
One evening, when I was alone in a house near St. Remy de Provence and preparing for bed, I went into the bathroom to remove my makeup, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Fearfully, I turned my head and looked downward where a black scorpion sat between me and the door. My stomach reacted faster than I did with a distinct lurch. I was sweating and just standing there looking at it for an awfully long time before I reasoned that it was only three inches long and I was a lot bigger than it. Such reasoning had no effect whatsoever in calming me. Eventually, after what seemed hours I reached down and took my slipper off. I wasn’t going to step on it: too scary. I extended my arm as far from my body as I could reach and slapped the slipper down on it, once, twice for comfort and three times to be certain it was dead. I went to bed and lay for hours wondering if the scorpion had legions of relatives who would come and take revenge on me by dropping on my head in the night. I railed against my absent husband who always seemed to be away when things happened. I hardly slept a wink but had tortured dreams all night long. I later discovered that scorpions don’t climb so I no longer worry about that particular eventuality but never again will I drop my clothes on the floor or put on shoes without looking inside.
A few days after that incident I was sitting on the terrace reading when a snake fell out of the sky and landed at my feet. Six inches to the left and it would have dropped in my lap. Hysterical shrieking was my response to that one and as it was a small and skinny snake just about the size of a viper I ran away grabbing the dog as I went. And don’t get me started on spiders, or half inch ants and things that look like a collection of twigs that move! Dog and human hazard number three, four, five and six – extreme.
In our garden we encountered caterpillars that dropped from candyfloss webs built high in the trees. During spring they fall to the ground and wend their way, nose-to-tail, across the lawn looking very much like a snake. These benign looking creatures can cause serious damage to anything foolish enough to interfere with their progress. Dog hazard number one - possible death. Adult hazard - painful. Child - doesn’t bear thinking about. Method of elimination: cut the candyfloss down before the nest erupts and burn it.
Eating outdoors is one of the best experiences of the French ideal and how we relished the prospect of eating sweet dessert grapes growing in the arbour above our heads as we sheltered from the baking sun. Forget it - the grapes are also loved by enormous ‘hornet type’ insects that look like wasps on steroids. These wretched pests gorge on the juices of the luscious green grapes and when another of the same variety tries to muscle in on a popular grape they fight to the death, dropping rapidly into my space, or what would have been my space if I hadn’t already run away.
Dog/human hazard number two - extreme. The local myth speaker said: “stung by one, treat yourself. Stung by two, go to the hospital. Stung by three or more, you’re dead.” We never put it to the test but the grapevine over the table was too scary so we moved the table and later the vine.
Our first holiday home in France had a garden of about an acre in size in an agricultural region and we were thrilled to see Sanglier (wild boar): a male of terrifying proportions, and at a later date a female with three young. We didn’t call the Chasse (the local hunt - lots of macho looking blokes in camouflage gear, all driving white vans and all carrying large guns) who exterminate as many creatures as they can find, frequently shooting each other in the process. A hare that was so large I thought it was a wallaby visited us regularly. Red Squirrels were a delight though I was quite surprised that they looked more black than red when they were bouncing through the long grass towards the nearest pine tree. We also had a lime green lizard that lived in the shrubbery near the pool. It was very large and had an upright stance, which reminded me of a baby dragon.
Swallows nested in the pool house and dive-bombed us whenever we had the cheek to take a swim. Regretfully they seemed unable to raise their young; we don’t know if it was because the pool house was too hot or if the salt-water pool (from which they drank) affected their breeding. However, a family of cranes were more successful nesting in the trees below our house giving us an aerial view. They were a pleasure to watch, as were the buzzards and the busy hoopoo who criss-crossed our garden relentlessly during the breeding season. My greatest joy however was watching the green woodpeckers that visited the patch of lawn right outside the kitchen windows.
One evening, when I was alone in a house near St. Remy de Provence and preparing for bed, I went into the bathroom to remove my makeup, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Fearfully, I turned my head and looked downward where a black scorpion sat between me and the door. My stomach reacted faster than I did with a distinct lurch. I was sweating and just standing there looking at it for an awfully long time before I reasoned that it was only three inches long and I was a lot bigger than it. Such reasoning had no effect whatsoever in calming me. Eventually, after what seemed hours I reached down and took my slipper off. I wasn’t going to step on it: too scary. I extended my arm as far from my body as I could reach and slapped the slipper down on it, once, twice for comfort and three times to be certain it was dead. I went to bed and lay for hours wondering if the scorpion had legions of relatives who would come and take revenge on me by dropping on my head in the night. I railed against my absent husband who always seemed to be away when things happened. I hardly slept a wink but had tortured dreams all night long. I later discovered that scorpions don’t climb so I no longer worry about that particular eventuality but never again will I drop my clothes on the floor or put on shoes without looking inside.
A few days after that incident I was sitting on the terrace reading when a snake fell out of the sky and landed at my feet. Six inches to the left and it would have dropped in my lap. Hysterical shrieking was my response to that one and as it was a small and skinny snake just about the size of a viper I ran away grabbing the dog as I went. And don’t get me started on spiders, or half inch ants and things that look like a collection of twigs that move! Dog and human hazard number three, four, five and six – extreme.
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