The cottage: I shall not keep you in suspense and just say it did not disappoint. I like its outside better than its in. Its mis match floors and walls are either quirky or quaint but I would not like to tackle any of it after a few too many wines. The collection of art books in particular photography would take me weeks to browse but I cannot get to like the giant stuffed bull head ( horns included) that stares at me from the hall. I have called him Fred which makes him seem a bit friendlier so we shall see. Outside though the lavender mingles with the white ramble roses and the pool lounges are shaded under the olive trees so it makes it easy to ignore the giant ants and multitude of wasps and jump in the pool. Life is good
The getting there was of course part of the journey. We call a uber for the 1.2 km journey to the station, yes it is only a 20 minute walk but dragging suitcases across the cobbles is wearing on the back and body and charring on the soul. We don’t connect with a driver and decide we better get dragging or miss the train. We catch the train, bags and backs in tact and chill for the 4 hour journey. Meanwhile Uber sends me a receipt for a cancellation fee which I then spend the next 30 mins trying to find how to get my 8 euro back. Which I did.
We get off the train at Avignon and pick up our rental. A Renault hybrid. It’s been a while since WH has driven on the right side (which is of course the wrong side) of the road. The temperature is in the mid thirties and by the time we get the navigation to speak English and start moving in the right direction (we hope) we are hot and flustered. Then of course we somehow, with no blame apportioned but squarely implied or at least that is my story and I am sticking to it, we end up on a one way street in the centre of a village, teaming with pedestrians, and glaring onlookers. We come back around and because life is interesting we end up in a wedding procession that goes on forever. Dozens and dozens of cars with their hazard lights on, tooting horns and yelling. Young ones sitting on the car window sills waving ribbons and playing music all whilst driving down the road. The procession goes on forever and its hard to imagine how large the venue must be to hold them all and also who is paying. We untangle ourselves from the procession and a few dirt roads and sharp turns later we arrive at what will be our home for the next 6 nights.
We swim, eat French bread for dinner, and sleep another restless sleep hoping that our circadian rhythm will get the lay of the land by tomorrow yet at 5 we decide that maybe tonight is the night of sleep.
We decide to head to a village market and find one 30 minutes away called Isle sur la Sorgue which sits on multiple canals and rivers and is famous for its antiques. Today we manage to dodge the centre-ville and find a space in the parking area. We head off to get a coffee, which I do not enjoy but it is coffee and the place more than makes up for it. I love the feeling of walking the streets, hearing the language that I don’t understand, smelling the smells and drinking in the sights. We buy enough food for dinner careful not to over stock as previous visits have taught us. We wander for hours. through the bustling streets which have quickly become packed. in and out of antique shops and down quiet village lanes. We eat an amazing raspberry tart and drink a sugary drink to keep up the pace and by lunchtime the heat is once again in the mid 30’s and that’s in the shade. We head back to the pool.
