We have reached the unavoidable void, the dreary deadlock, the seemingly ceaseless standstill, the tedious time out — otherwise known as mid-winter.
When the monotony mounts, I espouse escapism!
Memory is a handy mental device against boredom and dullness, which define the winter lull. In fact, winter is about the only time when — dare I say — I have the luxury to reminisce and revisit the past. My husband's departure for Europe this week had me thinking of a trip I took with him last summer, and one particularly alluring French garden.
He'd spoken of Eze as though it was a magical place, off the beaten track, hidden away on a French mountaintop overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, close to the Italian border. That alone qualified it as a must-see, but when I reached the summit, I found a garden of pure enchantment, quite unlike any I'd seen before.
It isn't your typical South of France landscape or, for that matter, a typical alpine retreat. Le Jardin d'Eze, as it is called, is totally different. It's like a Sonoran Desert scene on steroids, with towering cactus and succulents amid conventional flora suited to the arid Mediterranean climate. Set on the ruins of a castle, it seems out of place, at first. If it weren't for the red tiled roofs and the panoramic Cote-d'Azur backdrop, you might think you were at some futuristic interplanetary hothouse, a plant version of the classic Star Wars bar, where strange and weird are the norm.
The exotic plants combine with sculptures that stand out prominently against the lush cliffs and the sweep of the sea. The views from atop this eagle's perch are far-reaching, extending from Italy to Saint Tropez and, on the clearest days, you can see the island of Corsica. From where I stood, the nearby peninsula of Cap Ferrat was discernible, with ships miniaturized out on the horizon. The coastal road and towns etched along the cliffs are part of the marvelous topography, yet the overall impression from the top is that nature still rules.
The obvious question is, why set an exotic garden way up here? As with everything in Europe, there is a history that explains how and why. Markers situated along the former battlement explained how the medieval stronghold morphed into a botanic garden. In 1706, during the war of the Spanish succession, Louis XIV ordered the destruction of the castle, "having seen the strategic situation between Villefranche and Monaco "¦ in order to be able to preserve this communication." After World War II, a local mayor enlisted the help of Jean Gastaud, founder of the Monaco Exotic Garden, and voila! An extraordinary garden was born.
The site — being sheltered, well-drained, dry and warm — is ideally suited to exotics and, particularly, succulents. Thus grows a veritable forest of cactus and agaves and aloes through which one proceeds cautiously (spiky projections are a natural inhibitor of one's pace here). Other plants soften the picture, including the daintiest sprays of alpine flora, lush tropicals, the sturdiest cypresses and indigenous pines. There are walkways and places to relax amid the vegetation and many panoramic angles to photograph.
Sculptures of earth goddesses by Jean-Philippe Richard are scattered throughout the garden, complementing and contrasting the plants. Stark and silhouetted, they appear intentionally mysterious, each one possessing its own personality. I read with interest that the sculptures are representations descended from Isis, a patron of nature, whom the ancient Phoenicians venerated in such places.
Superimposed against the greenery to one side of the overlook is an ochre-colored church — a reminder of civilization — and the classic towers, roofs and walls that lead up to the mountain top. The garden is reached through the village of Eze, where narrow winding paths ascend past galleries, shops and cafes through archways and shady squares. It makes for an exhilarating jaunt, where medieval undertones are felt, even in the presence of tourists. The journey peaks with the exclamation points of monolithic cacti and the dramatic spread.
After touring the garden, we stopped for a lovely omelet lunch (with local wine) in a cave-turned-bistro. It was a great way to escape the summer heat back then. And, upon recollection, a certain way to escape the dreary winter we are currently experiencing!
"I learned that from the sun, when it goes down, it pours then in the sea, the gold of inexhaustible richnesses."
For more of Laura McLean's gardening stories and advice see www.southcoastgardens.com. E-mail her at lmclean@s-t.com or write c/o Home Editor, 25 Elm St., New Bedford, MA 02740.