Fronton

My trip to San Sebastian was cancelled due to ill health. On Friday, fed up with lying in bed and missing out on the burgeoning spring weather, I did a little online research on the interaction of ibuprofen and alcohol (rumours of increased incidence of stomach-bleeding are greatly exaggerated, apparently) then set off with a couple of Russians to do some wine-tasting in Fronton. Most of the 2 hour bike ride is next to a canal on a decent bike track, so it was very pleasant, although I did not envy Sergei on his €150 racing bike with its cast iron seat, which he claims is "perfectly comfortable, provided you don't sit on it."
A couple of kilometers shy of the township of Fronton we spotted our first vinyard: there was a long tree-lined dirt driveway that went up over a small hill so you couldn't see exactly where it led. On the right was a sign that offered wine sales direct from the cellars, on the left a sign saying "Private Property, no entry." We decided to believe the sign on the right, and followed the driveway to the back of a small château, then back on to the road again, seeing no sign of life, not even vicious dogs. It was just after 12, so I guess the inhabitants must have been too occupied with lunch to either sell us wine or chase us away.
All the wine-shops were closed by the time we arrived in Fronton, so we stopped for a long lunch at a restaurant.
After lunch we left Fronton via the road to Grisolles, where I knew there was at least one château open with free tastings. We followed the first sign we saw advertising wine sales, and found an old crone mowing a lawn with a motor-mower. She stared at us, scowling, until we felt it was probably time to leave, but then she switched off the mower and asked us what we wanted:
"What do you want?"
Pause.
"Is it possible to buy some wine now?" we politely enquire.
"Yes."
Long pause, then she walks into a large garage, scowling, and points out four large steel vats: red wine, rosé, dry white and muscat, ranging in price between €1 and €1.50 per litre.
"Can we taste some first?"
"Why? It's good."
At this point I decide that if this woman can be so horrible and still be in business, then her wine must be pretty good, so we get three 1.5 litre plastic water bottles filled, everything but the dry white, then flee before she puts a curse on us.
Just down the road is the Château Joliet, which is much more along the lines of what I was expecting: a charming lady guides us through their complete range and we buy a few decent bottles. Fronton is quite a special region, as it is one of the only places where the Negrette grape is grown. It was brought back from Cyprus during the crusades, and has a very distinctive plummy flavour.
Château Joliet seemed to be quite a small, family run affair, but the next place was much larger and more commercial feeling, but still very friendly: Château Bellevue la Forêt. We were the only people in the shop, and the lady there wanted to do some paperwork, so she told us a little about the vinyard then set up all the wines on a bar and said we could help ourselves. So we worked our way through the range and back again, bought a few more bottles then headed home.
The ride back to Toulouse was a little more challenging, with pannier bags full of wine. It got dark half way, but there was enough light from nearby roads to see the rodents of unusual size swimming in the canal.