From St.-Nazaire-de-Ladarez to St. Etienne Hermitage: A Hike Back In Time

"Apresato Eglise. La meson a été réparée par Vogonien de Riols - 1700." This inscription, carved on a stained marble stone, hangs above the door of the chapel of the St. Etienne Hermitage in Saint-Nazaire-de-Ladarez. It means that the chapel was repaired in 1700 by a man from Riols named Vogonien. The site is perched atop the mountain and the culminating point (literally) of a hike that starts in St. Nazaire-de-Ladarez.

St. Nazaire is a village in the Languedoc-Roussillon, between Cessenon-sur-Orb and Cabrerolles, in the south of France.

Minutes from the Orb river valley, beaches and white-water rafting, Saint-Nazaire-de-Ladarez was once a 12th century fiefdom with a fortified castle and powerful walls. Roman coins are still found on the mountains trails around. The area oozes buried ancient history but clearly, the economy is dormant at best. St. Nazaire's golden days vanished in the 1950s when the marble quarries - that once supplied the Chateau de Versailles - closed.

Today, 331 inhabitants live of tourism during the summer months. In late December, we drove there to hike from Saint-Nazaire-de-Ladarez to the St. Etienne hermitage 2 miles up the mountain. We followed curvy roads bordered by vineyards on a background of tall quartz cliffs (Falaises du Landeyran) before arriving on the stone and slate cemetery that marks the border of the village.

As in old villages, the center of town is the church plaza where most businesses are concentrated. The baker, the cafe, you name it. We parked there and headed up a side street. Within a few feet, the road gave way to a dirt and stone path climbing steeply through an oak forest. Following the blue markers of the hiking trail was easy and the moderate climb made us cross a fire road several times on our way to the ridge. As the trail was shaded until the very end, this would make for a great summer hike, sheltering hikers from the scorching local sun.

On the ground, we noticed several spots with empty bogs of chestnuts on the ground. Wild hogs, avid chestnut eaters, are active around there judging by the number of hunters we saw stationed in folding chairs by the road. Every now and then, chestnut trees were mixed with strawberry trees (arbousiers) whose spiky red berries covered the underbrush too.

Strawberry trees are so common around here that people (especially old timers and hippies - of which there are a few communities) harvest the fruit to make sweet jams and preserves of a lovely color and despeately bland. There are lots of strawberry trees on San Francisco streets and here is a recipe for arbous jam.

Another specificity of the the ground around St. Nazaire-de-Ladarez is the presence of slate shards all along the trail. We noticed their shiny black scaly cuts more and more as we got closer to the top.

After a Y fork we took a left and finished the final ascent to the top. The view was outstanding. At the bottom of the valley lay the village with its beige and ochre hues. Across from us, another mountain showed a straight white line.

"See that line?" my father said, "It's the wall of a Gallo-Roman villa." I was blown away. This was not a small wall by any means. At 1,350 feet below the Puech de la Suque, the dry stone wall is 300 feet long and 6 meters high and wide. It must have been quite a settlement. However closer to us, we turned to the St. Etienne Hermitage.

What a lovely lonely refuge from the world. A mixture of local stones and whitewashed mortar, the building is L-shaped and includes a small chapel as well as two square rooms. The chapel iron door wasn't locked and we pushed it open.

There used to be an hermit living here. He travelled from village to village, worshipping St. Etienne and receiving food in exchange for his prayers. What a weird life the guy must have had, trekking back up to his stone bare-bones chapel each night. Let's hope he had a donkey.

Some say that the first religious building here was Roman as Roman tiles were found in the adjacent quarry. However, the current structure is more recent and a 17th-century altar salvaged from excavations gives a hint as to the age of the hermitage. Historians even found an altar dating back to Carolus Magnus but it must be in a museum somewhere.

The two back rooms were closed and it's only by peeking through a side window that I was able to see them. Bare and empty with vaulted ceilings - slightly creepy too - there may have been a floor between the two openings. To store hay or wood in the winter? I wonder where the hermit got his water. A gust of wind blew on us, making us zip up or button up our tops. Soon the sun would come down.

We started our descent and were back at the car in less than an hour. Half way down, well-rounded "clonk-clonk" sounds came to our ears, followed by loud barks. The village's cows were being herded by the dogs. It complimented the picture nicely.

All we needed now was a shepherd playing the flute at the edge of a well - so we would feel we were back in the 1900s. No shepherd in sight. The cafe was closed, we forgot our hope for a hot chocolate. We got in the car and bade farewell to St. Nazaire-de-Ladarez.

If you ever go there, there is a town pilgrimage to the hermitage every May (Pentecost holiday). It's probably your only chance to see the chapel alive.

Lamotte Beuvron, Home of the Tarte Tatin

Lamotte Beuvron is a small sleepytown sandwiched between Paris and the Loire Valley with a big claim to fame. This is where Stephanie and Caroline Tatin, two sisters who ran the Hotel Tatin, accidentally caramelized apples with butter, shoved them in the oven with the pie crust on top, flipped the cake and served it to a hunting party in 1898. The Tarte Tatin was born and cooks have been making upside-down caramelized cakes since then.

Since we were spending Christmas 20 miles away, we decided to visit Lamotte Beuvron, if only to check the culinary legacy of the Tatin sisters in their native town. Lamotte Beuvron is is surrounded by wooded forests that - sadly - very few hiking trails criss-cross. Forests in Sologne are mostly private and maintained for hunting game. However we found a level 2-mile loop on the outskirts of the town to spend the afternoon. The trail featured wide straight alleys cutting through groves of oak, birch and chestnut trees, some with their naked branches reaching high to thick balls of mistletoe.

After the hike, we drove to the city center to find the famous Tarte Tatin. Our first stop was at the gas station to refill the car.

"So where's the best Tarte Tatin?" my husband asked candidly to the local guy.

"Ah Monsieur, it sure is on the Champs-Elysees!" exclaimed the guy - meaning in Paris. What? So much for town loyalty. The guy wouldn't recommend any local pastry shops. Hmm, some bad blood there. Good thing for him he's the only gas station in town.

Without recommendations, we proceeded downtown. There were four patisseries (pastry shops) in sight. We checked the first one out. There was a nice bike parked next door. We entered. I had the firm intention to gather seldom-heard and vital info on the original tarte Tatin.

To make the questioning easier, I first asked to buy a tarte Tatin for 10.

"What a nice tarte Tatin you make. Do you get your apples around here?" I asked.

"Why yes. We buy them from an apple farmer in the region," answered the woman proudly.

"Interesting. What kind of apples are they?" I continued.

Silence. Frown.

"That I can't tell you. I'm not allowed," she replied earnestly. Dang. The apple variety is classified information in Lamotte Beuvron.

"Oh, I see. Would you be able to just show me the apples please?" I risk.

More frown. She's getting suspicious.

"No I can't do that either. I'm not allowed," says the woman shaking her head.

"It's for my blog. I would really like to see how things are done in Lamotte Beuvron," I try with a sheepish smile.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asks, already guessing the answer (or suggesting it).

Both my husband and I vigorously shake our heads. No no, we live very far, in America. Pause. Bright smile.

"Then of course you can!" she exclaims.

She goes out back, rummages and returns with three big apples. I'm impressed by their size. Sam, my Californian cousin and gardener extraordinaire, suggests they may be the Belle de Boskoop variety and after looking it, I think he's right.

"Wow!" I say. "These are so big. How many do you use per tart?"

Instantly, the woman's face returns to shadowland. Why don't I get it?

"I really can't tell you that Madame. I'm not allowed by the boss," she says.

Fine. I might as well ask for the ingredients of Coca Cola in Atlanta. After some more skillful chit-chat, I glean business bits and pieces. The patisserie sells 10 Tartes Tatin on regular days, 25 on big-selling days. That's a lot of apples to peel. There's a vacation resort nearby and  the tourists all come for Tarte Tatin. You bet they do. Hopefully they don't all ask the type of apple or how many per tart or the name of the farmer. Because if they do, it's classified info and we don't want any trouble with the townsfolk! In Lamotte Beuvron, Tartes Tatin are really the apple of the people's eyes.

That night we ate the Lamotte Beuvron Tarte Tatin for dessert. Was it good? Sure - on the super-sweet side with firm & slightly tart apples - but if you ask me, Laduree makes a better Tarte Tatin on the Champs Elysees in Paris.