Category: 2022 France and Italy

Fontaine de-Vauclause, Gordes, Roussillon

Today we decided to do a loop through three little villages on the “beautiful village” list and I may say they were all quite stunning. It was a great day out.

First Fontaine de-Vauclasue with its spring water and steep gorges. We have lunch here at a cute little cafe and the hours simply disappear.

Onto Gordes we go and I will say now that this is a village best viewed from a distance and that my photos do not do it any justice what so ever. It was stunning. We wander through the streets and building hanging onto the hills and we forget the voice of reason that how ever far you go down you must come back up.

With tired legs we head back to the car and hum and ha in regard to continuing on or heading home. We make the decision to continue onto Rousillion as its only 15 ks down the road. Its set up in the red ochre hills and the contrasts of colour make a lovely change of scenery.

Big day out so that’s it.

Handy tips:

Gordes is best viewed from a distance. Stop and enjoy the view.

Wen putting towns in your nav system put the town and then parking so you don’t end up driving through the middle.

All three villages definitely worth the visit.

Food is a fraction of the price if you buy it from a vendor and sit under a tree, but sometimes you need to sit in the ambience and be in the moment.

St Remy de Provence

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Just in case you would like to see a few more ………

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.