Languedoc literally means the tongue of Oc – the ancient romance language of the region which is listed today as endangered. An article I read in a Smithsonian Magazine said: “During the second century BC the region was a no-man’s-land of warring tribes – a vast stretch of untamed territory lying between Rome and its colony of Hispania comprising Spain and Portugal.”
The Romans of course could not tolerate that on their doorstep and brought order to chaos by their well proven technique of building roads. In 118 BC the Emperor Diocletian drove a route inland of the great marshes and lagoons forming this stretch of the Mediterranean coast – some of it still remaining as the Camargue famous for its gypsies and wild horses – across the Rhone River to the west of Tarascon.
You can walk a section of this road where the mile posts still stand to mark the route. When I took friends there to explore, the roadsides were bright with wild flowers and many butterflies – skippers, fritillaries and whites. By 62 BC the area was pacified sufficiently for Caesar to create settlements for the veterans of his campaigns in Asia Minor and Egypt one at Arles and another at Nimes.
You can’t avoid history in the Languedoc. You breathe it in the air. The physical evidence of it is everywhere: in the monuments and layout of the city of Nimes, often called the “French Rome”; in the engineering triumph of the Pont du Gard; and the grandeur of the amphitheatre at Orange. These Roman monuments are as impressive today as they were when they were constructed two thousand years ago. They simply belong in the fabric of the landscape and surprise not by their existence but by their perfection.
The Pont du Gard – a three story aqueduct bridge standing over 160ft high – is located just a few miles from the house we owned in Saint-Pons-la-Calm and it is truly stunning. Planned by Agrippa, son-in-law of Augustus, it was completed by Claudius 40-60 AD. Forgive some statistics for they are truly astonishing: 6 base arches 72 ft tall are surmounted by 11 arches 66 ft tall topped by 35 arches 7ft tall, all made of local limestone cut so accurately they were assembled without mortar by a labor force estimated at 800-1000. It is believed to have delivered 40,000 cubic meters of water per day.
The distance from its spring source to Nimes is 12 miles ‘as the crow flies’ – incidentally whoever saw a crow fly straight, in my observation they flap all over the place using air currents as they go? – but because of the land formations the aqueduct runs 31 miles overall. And here’s the most amazing fact: in all that distance, through tunnels and over other bridges, the water falls purely by gravity only 56 feet in the entire run. It represents a feat of surveyance of an accuracy remarkable without modern instruments.
Not only is the Pont du Gard a masterpiece of Roman architecture and engineering, it is also an artistic marvel which inspires wonderment in a million visitors a year. No longer used as an aqueduct, you can walk across it inside the water channel and in places where the capping stones are missing you can climb out and sit on the flat roof, or at least you could do so when we were there.
The amphitheatre in Orange, the best preserved Roman theatre in Europe, is equally arresting. Built early in the 1st Century AD and capable of seating 10,000 people, the theatre was not only a way to spread Roman culture to the colonies, it was also a way of distracting an unruly population from all political activities.
It is now a spectacular venue for a summer Opera festival and the local restaurants offer special dinners on performance nights, setting out extra seating on the streets and pavements of the town. If you are sensible you will hire a cushion for the performance to ease the discomfort of sitting on one of the original steeply terraced stone benches.
As darkness begins to fall a flock of swifts chatter loudly together as they hunt the sky above as they have for thousands of years, but fall silent before the orchestra tunes up. The whistle of the high-speed TGV train as it hurtles through the town strikes a rather discordant note, but it may bring to reflective minds thoughts on the constancy and inconstancy of time.
Sometimes it was too hot to sleep. A neighbor called such nights “Nuits blanches” – white nights of wakefulness. Vicki would go for a swim in the pool and talk to the frogs, and I would load Valentine’s Dinorider trap – built with tremendous care in an old chicken coup in the garden – with another toy figure to join in the prehistoric battle between the heroic Valorians and the evil Rulon Alliance, which he believed was still being fought on Earth.
When I wrote about our life in the Languedoc in Bloggety Blog 18 I described ‘our’ village of Saint-Pons-la-Calm as somnolent. We have not been back since 1990 so I have no idea how much it may have changed. The web tells me it now boasts a B&B Hotel but still has fewer than 500 residents. Of course our golden days there will never tarnish. It is good for soul and body to remember happy times. I do so with the greatest pleasure and hope I do it without over-inspiring envy.
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Especially loved the history and photos of Pont du Gard, and the photo of Beautiful Catherine!
So glad you enjoyed this post. Thanks for message!
Dear Cyril,
I have walked over that remarkable bridge & have been into the Camargue.
My daughter has lived in the North Luberon for the last 10 years, quite bit further East. She is 55 kms East of Avignon and 5 kms from Apt, a market town. I lived there a year myself.
Australia, where I live in Queensland, is a big contrast. Just as the West coast of the USA must be.
I stayed many times with Rupert and Diana in Derbyshire and in Merimbula. In fact I stayed with Diana before Ruperts funeral and accompanied her to the church. My grandson ducked under the arms of closer relatives and threw soil on the coffin.
All best wishes.
I’m so glad we have met electronically, Esme. Wish it could gave been in person but it didn’t happen. R & D should have sent you on to the Isle of Wight before I left it! I visited them in Merimbula once but Rupert was far from well by then and could not do much beyond introducing me to a few of the family. He did take me up to the fire look-out station in the forest. There was no-one, there. I have wondered what the scene was like after then fires. Very best wishes. Cyril.