Drinking the blude red wine
I was delighted to pass by the Palais Gallien again, a misnomer, because it was never a palace, but wrongly identified as such centuries ago, and the name has stuck. Even what remains is a wondrous sight. Hidden away in the middle of a rather bon quartier, the equivalent of what my old Aussie mate George would call a leafy suburb, behind the stone houses sits in silence this magnificent ruin, once loud with the clash of armour, the roar of lions, and the cries of Christians. The whole structure remained until the 18th century, when most of it was demolished to make way for the expansion of the town.
For lunch, I bypassed the many bars and brasseries around the squares and found a humble little restaurant in an old stone building on the way out of town. I ordered le plat du jour, a couple of kebabs with salad and chips, and my usual quart de rouge. This aways comes in a little jug , but there is room for stinginess or generosity on the part of the establishment. One can fill it up to the neck or up to the lip of the jug. I pay great attention to this. When the wine arrived, I could tell I was in Bordeaux for the. wine was a deep red, and the level was closer to the lip than the neck. I was content. It was a very pleasant meal.
After that, it was an easy walk along a major road into Bradignan. I am staying at a gite in a former Hopital de Pelerins attached to a 12th century priory, which is in the process of being repaired. Tomorrow, I am back in the country.
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