We wake to rain which I am of no doubt the locals will be grateful for. It soon clears and doesn’t appear to dampen the temperature any just the dust. St Remy de Provence is the town we are staying in or at least just down the road. We now have a local supermarche and know how to navigate our way around town rather than through it. We have however not yet been to town unless we count our first day when we managed to drive through the pedestrian street and today was market day and our house book says today is the day to go.
St Remy de Provence
Its already hot and busy and I begin to wish the market stalls were not crowding the streets so I could see more definition of the village. The body has been delicately balanced over the past few days and is beginning to wobble so the wandering is slow and sloppy. We decide to call it quits and go back to our cottage and come back another day without the bustle and the wobble.
A quiet street in the bustle
Yet again I forgo the raspberry tart breakfast as hunger is not on the agenda. On the walk back to the car WH finds a supermarche to get more water and supplies and as luck would have it it has a patisserie next door so aunty V the quest continues. We buy one to take home for dessert.
The quest continues
We chill for the afternoon and I finish a book and drink lots of water.
Thats about it today but I do have to share these great sculptures I saw in a gallery today, made out of sort of stocking stuff and also my new favourite fruit Apricots (Raspberry tarts don’t count as fruit or here’s a thought maybe they can).
Yesterday we went in pursuit of Lavender and today we go in search of Flamingo. Evidently they are just down the road. The handmade house book in our cottage tells us we are an hour away from lakes, river and the sea and if we head down towards the Carmargue region we can visit the marshes and see horses and flamingo.
Its overcast today but by 9 am its still 26 degrees so our four bottles of water still get packed. We stop at the pharmacy because evidently the mosquitoes are ferocious because of the marshes and I use my translate app yet again (love that app). “Antimostique” of course.
We pass pretty fields of sunflowers with a promise to take some pics on another day. We arrive in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer , pay 5 euro for parking and begin to wander. Its not a quaint nor particularly pretty town but we find a bike shop and hire a couple of bikes to bike the seawall. I go electric and WH initially thinks he will just have an ordinary one but changes his mind and gets a two deal. He will thank me later.
I love my electric bike
We head along the sea wall on the hunt for the pink birds and the pink lakes. We seem to go a long way and the lighthouse that we are biking too (because that is where they said to go) is nowhere in sight, not even in a far distant horizon. there are also no pink lakes. Its an interesting landscape and when I see some Flamingos in the distance and I stop to take a pic the smell is not unlike Rotorua on a not too smelly day.
distant Flamingos
We keep biking along and also pushing along the seawall as the sand drifts have become too deep in parts to ride through. We stop and I take pics and we watch the sky darken. Still the lighthouse cannot be seen on the horizon.
the never-ending seawallsalt lakes
The salt lakes are interesting against the darkening sky as it looks like snow crusting at the edges. The famed lighthouse finally appears on the horizon and pulls us forward as the path turns to a bone jarring broken tar-seal. I am afraid the lighthouse does not live up to any expectation except that we have arrived and we can now turn around and go back.
The (disappointing) lighthouse
We wind the bikes up to top gear and with the wind at our backs zoom along the path (except of course when we are pushing through the sand drifts) back the way we came. This time some Flamingos have edged closer to the path and we stop to take a couple more shots.
Flamingo
I forgot to add that we had no raspberry tart (and bad coffee breakfast), as we didn’t see any tarts worthy of my quest when we were wandering earlier on in the township, so by now its well past noon and I am pretty hungry. We get back to town and find a cafe, but alas no Raspberry tart. The most interesting thing in the town is that tourists pay 3 euro to climb up onto the church roof and are wandering all around. You can’t see the pitch of the roof in the photo but it’s actually quite steep as they make there way right up to apex of the roof.
Tourists on the roof
We drop our bikes off and our butts enjoy the slow walk back to the car just as it starts to rain. On the way home I get WH to pull over despite the rain so I can snap a pic of the sun flowers. I remain hopeful I will get a shot of the rolling fields full of them but just in case I will catch this moment.
When you think of Provence in France do you think Lavender fields? I know I do and yet despite being here before we have never been in summer which means the lavender has not yet been or flower or has already been harvested.
A quick bit of research tells me we are only 100ks away from Lavender paradise, let the journey begin. We pack our four bottles of water, two straight from the freezer. I may have mentioned previous that its very hot. We don’t need food because in the allowance that holidays afford I have decided that when in France breakfast is wasted calories when coffee and cake are a necessary thing around 10ish, (to be honest the coffee here I can definitely leave) but the cakes, tarts, pasties whatever you want to call them are divine. I tell myself I am on a quest for my aunty, who shares my liking for raspberry tarts, and I must find the perfect one so that I may text her and tell her of my triumph. I have come close but my quest remains.
The quest continues
I digress. We head to Valensole, evidently an instagrammers lavender dream and after travelling for an hour I begin to think that perhaps the magical fields will remain elusive and then there they are.
Lavender
The smell is delicious, the sound is actually quite intense as 1000’s of bees feast in what must be pollen paradise, and it is a travel moment that I shall recall with all my senses. We wind our way around the roads and past the fields and of course stop at a pretty little village for raspberry tarts and a cold sugary drink.
Valensole
We park along way from the town as we are still traumatised of arriving in places we are not supposed to be, so the first P sign we see, we are in, and make our way on foot. It’s another reason I can quiet my mind in regard to raspberry tarts for breakfast. The walk is always fascinating through the cobbled lanes and alleyways. Remembering that people live their lives here and it is not a labyrinth fairy tale for me to wander.
Labyrinth
By the time we make our way back to the car, uphill, the lanes lose some of their appeal as the sun beats relentless, and the cars air-conditioning is more than welcoming. We drive through picturesque countryside when I ask WH to stop (yet again) for another great photo op and I take my shot of the day. I am not sure if it is that great or if it is the fact that I had to walk all the way back up the hill and down the side road to take it which at least to me, makes it more special.
Shot of the day
Just in case you would like to see a few more ………
just in case you are tired of purpleShot of the day from another perspective Village life
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.
Flowers upon flowersMarket Paella, rotisserie poullett and roast tatiesVillage lifeMarket on the river bankFor BFF – art of the day
It feels like a long time since we left the promise of travel in April 2020. The planning and time and money and anticipation and excitement were just inconsequential in a pandemic world as travel quit simply disappeared.
There was a certain nervousness met with qa sera sera when planning this one. The few remaining credits from patient hosts, who over two years later had nearly lost their patience, had to be utilised. The only feeling I did not want was de ja Vue. We booked some the same and some different.
Different of course was that there would be no cruise to St Petersburg, no summer lights, no Moscow underground. We centred the trip around the cottage in Avignon which had had my mind begging for us to visit since I first saw it nearly three years ago. From the moment the patient host confirmed its availability I was going and I must admit that now I am a day out from getting there I am worried that I have built my expectations up to a point that it cannot possibly meet them. So I try hard to damper my enthusiasm. Aside from the cottage there is Paris and Ville-france Sur Mer with two of the kids and grandkids. There is Sorrento and Rome. Busy times ahead.
As I write this we have already landed. Touched down in Paris and transferred to Versailles. The drag of long haul flying is already behind us. I will not dwell on the trials of travel as I feel to grateful to simply be here so I will keep it short. I am not sure which feeling is worse , when you hop of the plane after an11 hours flight and know that you have to get back on to do another 13 , or when you finally fall asleep on the thirteen hour flight and wake a few hours later and realise you still have 8 to go. There is not a spare seat on either of our flights and whilst Auckland airport definitely had the residual of pandemic overhanging it, Singapore had it masked literally, and Paris it was no where to be seen.
So here we are in Versailles and we wander with our jet laggy minds and our unmasked mouths and we are amongst others who do the same. Today is my birthday and I am indeed a lucky girl to be here in this time and place. The privilege still sometimes makes me pinch my own skin.
The Orangerie at VersaillesOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
I walked around Mauao this morning and it never grows old. The sun was announcing its arrival, glowing on the horizon. Everything seemed bright and shiny. The red, red, red buoy signaling the ship into the Harbour entrance swayed to the rhythm of the sea and and the waves cascaded their beat onto the shore. It was quite simply a beautiful dawn and I was grateful for it as I felt my spirits lift.
Then there they were, a pod of dolphins leaping through the water towards us, we stopped to stare and your heart cannot but swell at this sight. I reached for my phone to take a picture to capture the moment, to share the moment, future proof that the moment existed. With the push of a button it would join the proof of thousands of other moments trapped inside my phone, but I had no phone on my morning walk. Instead I stood and breathed and watched and as I watched two dolphins leapt from the water and actually did a docie- doe and as they circled each other I literally clapped with joy. Dancing Dolphins what a privilege to witness and I capture it in my minds eye, filing it to memory, etching it my brain to be recalled when I need to remember what a privilege it is to be alive and share in this moment.
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The young couple next to us who have also pushed pause on there busy morning jog laugh with joy and he says we need to buy a lotto ticket. I know exactly what he means because today is definitely a lucky day and I am already a winner. Dancing Dolphins.
Shadow lands cut short. In the days before we left home, to come to this place, we felt it coming. Not like a eerie premonition but more like an approaching inevitability. We had been playing catch me if you can for a while now and it felt like it knew all of our hiding places, our luck felt thin. Once down in this spectacular part of the world it was so easy to forget about it, as it truly was a place to hide. No phone, no internet, no white noise, indeed at first we thought we might even be able to hang out to finish our cruise on Saturday and then head back to the real world. Silly people on a boat in Dusky Sound thinking they have escaped the real Covid world.
Farewell Tamatea
We woke to a beautiful dawn where the light was stunning. It was fitting for our finale as the skipper said eat your breakfast and hunker down. He suggested we ate only a piece of toast or some cereal as we were headed up the coast to Doubtful Sound and the helicopters were booked to take us out to Te Anau at 3.30. He also mentioned there was an nice 5-6 metre swell up the coast but it was a following sea and it would be fine. I rushed back to my cabin and grabbed a seasick patch and whacked it behind my ear, even though it said to put it on the night before.
Leaving Dusky
I was sad to leave this place that soothes the soul and cleanses the mind even more so as there was no soothing waters outside of the her embrace. We headed up the coast in the rolling sea and I lie on my bed watching the ocean pitch and roll out of my window. I decide that’s not a good idea to look out so I get my iPad and turn on a a downloaded Netflix and watch the time away whilst sucking ice cubes and breathing 4 in 4 out.
The skipper says we have twenty minutes for a quick fish and only those who have good sea legs are allowed forward. (I know seriously!!) Of course I stay where I am. I get up to take a photo to see if I can capture the swell as it feels enormous and I am envious of those who are able to stay upright, let alone fish. The following photo is taken out of my cabin window with the Molly Hawks and pelicans trailing the boat and I wish I could show perspective of this swell heading towards my window and the feel of the boat rolling over it to sink into the trough of the next one. I go back to lying down.
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The sea feels worse when bopping around and I wish we would get moving. The fish are caught quickly, and its go home stay home, so its time to move. I am pleased. We reach the calm waters of Doubtful Sound and I am very pleased.
We have time to make a quick photo op into Blanket Bay and Robb once again makes it come alive with its history and stories.
We keep moving and pass the commanding mountains and landscape which feels harsher than Tamatea and more domineering but still beautiful. The phones begin to ping as the world has chased us down and we begin the arduous journey of trying to get home.
Helicoptering out.
We are all packed and ready to leave as the first of the helicopters descend to chopper us out. They have had a busy day. I am not a fan of helicoptering though the sleet and fog and am grateful when we land in Te Anau. There are no flights to take us home they have long disappeared so we refresh, and book phantom flights that pretend they will take us home but the reality is we can only get home if we live in Auckland or Wellington. Bugger.
I shall finish there as getting home is a whole other story that I don’t know if I can be bothered to write. Perhaps I will write it so it stays in the travel journal for 2021 and can be printed out and read with nostalgia at some other point in time. Perhaps I can find a way to make it amusing and light. Perhaps. For now though its day 11 of lockdown and Atawhenua is still easy to conjure in my mind and when I need to refresh I can look at my photos. It’s magical.
We have spent three nights onboard already so its hump day and I feel slightly nervous that we will fit everything in as there is still so much to see. The good news is WH foot is looking much better and no Crayfish passed his lips. Its our grandsons birthday and it’s a reminder of how remote we are, as it’s the first time, from anywhere in the world, that I am unable to ring him and wish him a wonderful day. Its cold and you can’t see it in this pic but its snowing ever so slightly and of course it’s magical and I can feel it.
Beautiful day- Happy Birthday Toby
We start making our way to the spot where Captain Cook made his first landing in 1773 but more on that later. We get our history lesson and head towards a the 9 fathoms waterfall. We stand on the bow and Robb our skipper has decided that we should actually feel the waterfall rather than just see and hear it. It’s noisier than what you think and the combination of the noise and water is exhilarating as it tumbles down oozing through the bush and fanning out over the rocks.
We once again head towards the landing and are joined by a pod of dolphins. They dart from one side of the boat to the other and have a think about riding the bow but then just move away. They have young ones in tow and are feeding so Robb turns the boat away and we leave them be having been privileged that they spent some time with us. I wish I could of captured them and my joy of photography dissipates into frustration as I seem to click the shutter each time they submerge rather than emerge.
the privilege of dolphins
As we head down the sound everything feels like a privilege as I try and capture the mountains, the shadow, the lines, the foreground and background all at once in the blink of shutter. Its tricky and I remember to drop the lens and drink it in with my minds eye, etching it into my brain and trust that my recall keeps me well into my rocking chair.
misty lines
Its snowing lightly and you can see it dusting the mountains like icing sugar edging its way down to the sea.
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As we make our way up the passage we now have the privilege of being investigated by a Mollyhawk. It is inquisitive and obviously thinks that food should be forthcoming. It does graceful loops around the boat which I am unable to capture through my lens but then it lands just aft of the boat as if to say “go on then amateur capture me” and I do.
I put the camera down and watch he/she swoop and dive and invite some friends to join the show as they grace us with their presence. We arrive at the landing spot of the HMS Resolution in 1773 and tender in to where the tree they used as a gangway still exists. Strange.
HMS Resolution landing 1773
I take a photo of our boat anchored in the bay and try and transport myself back to 1773. I can’t, but I can only think that it actually probably didn’t look that different than what it looks today which is perhaps the beauty of this place although of course there are a lot more zips.
The blue sky actually begins to join the dolphins and Mollyhawks and greet us with its presence. It is interesting to see Tamatea unfold in colour as the grey mist that has shrouded us retreats. We head to a bay of which I am already sad that I can’t remember its name and we practice fishing. Robb says we need the practice ready for the big event tomorrow. My line barely hits the bottom before I pull it up and have the mandatory Blue cod hooked. Unfortunately it is too small and it is thrown back. We put the lines up and down amongst us all and once we have enough for the cook to make cerviche for tonights entree we call it quits.
Fishing
It’s nearly time for dinner as we make our way to our anchorage for the night and as we settle in with our pre-dinner drink and our tasty cerviche our skipper Robb tells us that we have once again entered into Lockdown level 4. Bugger.
Yet again we sleep well which still surprises me. Perhaps it’s the longer nights this far South where daylight doesn’t come calling until after 7. As I am now an intrepid photographer I have to be up at dawn to catch the “blue” light but it still feels like a sleep in.
Morning – blue light
I don’t need to say “I told you so” to WH, re the Crayfish, as his foot is doing it for me so I make no comment as he reaches for the gout pills. I simply ask if ice would make his swollen, red foot feel any better?
We head upstairs and after breakfast get another history lesson from our skipper Robb. Its a fascinating history and I aim to go home and get a book and read all about it. The wind is ferocious and I try to take pictures of the squalls as they rise from the sea and into the air.
Wind on the water
We leave Sportmans’ bay and head back to back to Luncheon Cove where we have the option to watch the rugby test which was recorded on Saturday and with no cellphone or internet coverage nobody yet knows the score or the other alternative is to take the tender to Anchorage island and walk up to the lakes. I opt to walk to the lake and WH decides he will do the same (I know right, surprised me too).
We head back to our cabin to put our tramping gear. I am feeling a certain smugness as prior to our departure I had to get some new sports shoes for the trip as my old ones had holes in the toes. I purchased some gortex waterproof ones for no other reason than they had my size. Unfortunately for WH his are not waterproof. We pull on elastic waisted waterproof pants and for me a Japan rugby world cup waterproof poncho which I note to WH, with added smugness “told you I would use it again”. WH has a good waterproof jacket purchased in Sweden so he can be smug in his jacket and I in my shoes. We do have our warm woolly socks and layers of merino underneath so we are like boy scouts or girl guides or whoever says “be prepared”. As we make our way to the rear of the boat to get in the tender I am yet again reminded of what an amateur I am. Only one camera body. Two lenses and no zips.
For real photographers there are zips everywhere and no elastic to be seen. There are zips up trouser legs, there are zips upon zips on jackets, there are zips up over shoe boot things, there are zips across pockets both horizontally and vertically for all manner of much needed tramping things. I hunt for a zip but alas I am yet again an imposter.
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Tender to Anchorage Island
Its really, really, wet and to say the track is muddy is an understatement its more like a creek. Each step takes concentration as the foot is placed gingerly to ensure there is some sort of solid ground beneath. In many places the sure ground is below the top of the shoe and the wet muddy water rolls in over the top. It is surprisingly warm and squishy and I am sure that despite my lack of zips I have the best tramping socks of all happy bush walkers (can’t have zips in socks). I also have the piece se resistance as I have Bev’s home knitted beanie on so added to my elastic pants and rugby poncho apart from the feet I am dry and warm.
We shimmy over fallen trees, walk across logs bridging the creeks, limbo under branches and I love the feeling of being in the bush but wish I could stop and smell the roses. The return trip we take slower and whilst the roses aren’t there it is good to stop and smell the bush. We have a wonderful lady with us who knows the bush well and she points out native winter flowers and how to tell the difference between a male and female Rimu, the males are way pricklier and you can definitely feel it. (I didn’t say a word).
It felt good to be off the boat and walking further than the 20 metres to our cabin. When we get back to the meeting point we have to wait for the tender to get back so we talk to Ellie the crew member extraordinaire. Ellie hails from Sweden and is enjoying her time in NZ and in the small world that is our beautiful globe WH spent 3 weeks in her home town in Sweden a few years ago. So we all tell stories and hardly notice the sandflies nibbling at any exposed skin. I hope she gets to stay here like she wants to and that the uncertainty many working visa people have finally gets some resolution. Along with all this chatter we of course we watch the seals.
We have to select two photos to show this evening in the review and I am nervous in my amateurism but I am also happy with what I have taken. They will forever remind me of this place and time and I hope whoever views them feels a little bit of what I did when a clicked the shutter. We are told not to over process them but as I don’t have any software to process them with mine will be purely be as the button clicked.
We sleep surprisingly well for our first night in a new environment at least until 5 am when WH is rumbling round looking for his gout pills. There is a moment of panic when they cannot be found but luckily for him I hold my halo high as he retrieves them from the bottom of the toilet bag. The lesson is though, no more crayfish for him.
Its raining, its grey, its cold, and its beautiful.
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It is decided that more crayfish is required and a couple of crew don there wetsuits and get in the icy water. The. Wind is howling and I am in awe of the boat handling and retrieval of the boys and their cray fish.
Crayfish catch
Robb our Captain has amazing knowledge and history. We learn about the area and its evolution through Maori tribal clashes to the captain Cook landing. We cannot sail around to Preservation inlet and Chalky sound as the sea is still red. I swallow my glee whilst others swallow there disappointment and we sail to Luncheon Cove where we are sheltered from the wind and the water is calm.
The rain stops and starts and after lunch you can either Kayak or take the tender around the many islands in the cove. WH takes a kayak and I opt for the tender I tell myself its because I can take my photographs, but probably its because I am worried of tipping out.
Seal Nursery
The water is magical. There is a line where the bush comes down to meet the sea and to call it a tide line is such an understatement . Its like a frame buts its in the centre of the picture and it blends them together at the same time as holding them apart.
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No matter what the beauty is around the moment lies with all the baby seals. Evidently its a seal nursery and they are everywhere. They are curious and playful and I can only describe it as being in some sort of idyllic field full of cute puppies. We spend many minutes watching and filming and I remember to take the camera away from my face and capture the moment in my minds eye as well as the cameras.
We cruise around and head more towards the entrance of Tamatea out towards the Tasman sea, to see if we can photo the Five fingers. I choose to go for a lie down and as the boat pitches and rolls and I hear things falling of tables and shelves I am glad I am where I am. I therefore miss the brilliant light of the five fingers and the dramatic swell but I did get to see it through someone else’s lens later that night who captured it fantastically and the sea I could still feel in my blood so all is well with the world.
We dine upon cray fish legs for an entree and fresh blue cod for dinner. I tell WH “step away from the Crayfish”. But does he listen?
