The Trail's Our Thing

Sunset over Lacoste

Windy today and a bit cooler! Perhaps the Mistral, the famous wind of Provence? It’s supposed to come from the north, though I can never seem to tell the direction. Rosa Tomas (Henri's wife, from the boulangerie) says yes, it is the Mistral.

This morning we made a quick trip to the market at Gordes. The wind whipped noisily across the top of the village, jerking the umbrellas and threatening some of the merchandise. A wine glass blew off of a merchant’s stand and shattered. A large cardboard poster slapped across the main square. Bits of lavender flew out of their sacks. Charley picked up two small potted trees that had blown over at a restaurant.

The sellers played a strong defense, hanging onto their umbrellas and awnings and trying to make their sales to the many anxious tourists. I’m sure they deal with the wind several times a year; they know what to do.

The wind cleared the skies, and at the end of the day we were rewarded with a perfect clarity, accentuating every farmhouse, villages, hill, canyon, ridge, and mountaintop from here to Mont Ventoux.

And the best reward of all: a breathtaking sunset that began behind Bonnieux and spread across the entire valley... a riotous explosion of pink, red, orange, gold and grey… all across a midnight blue sky, perfectly illuminating Lacoste and its famous castle.

I ran down to the vineyard to enjoy the spectacle, the highlight of another summer's day in Provence.

The calanque at Port-Miou near Cassis

Today we drove south to the Mediterranean Sea. Our destination was Cassis, a beautiful fishing village about an hour and a half drive from Bonnieux. This is a trip we’ve been saving, and one that was truly a delight.

It was another lovely drive (but then they’re all lovely drives), just in another direction. We made the familiar trek to Aix, passed the limestone peaks of Mont St. Victoire (3297 feet) and Mont St. Baume (3763 feet), and then headed south to Aubagne and Toulon. I was interested to see the area around Aubagne, the home of Marcel Pagnol, the famous Provençal writer and filmmaker. In preparation for our trip this year we watched two films based on his boyhood years: La Gloire de Mon Père and La Château de Ma Mère. And yes, the landscape around Aubagne—bare and very dramatic limestone mountains—was the scenery we had enjoyed so much in the films. It’s a different Provence than our Luberon.

Bonnieux and the plain, from the Cafe de France in Lacoste

The wind is the Mistral. Local friends tell us that when the Mistral comes, it always stays an uneven number of days: one, three, five… Today is Day Three of the Mistral-- a much cooler day, though still beautifully sunny.

The wind blew even more fiercely last night. We closed the windows and fastened the metal shutters, but we could still hear the wind beating against the house. The cushions on the wicker furniture on the upstairs porch blew off the couch and chair, then lay huddled in a corner, waiting to be rescued. A potted plant blew off a second story windowsill, shattering on the ground below. We laid the pool umbrella under a chair after we noticed the large blow-up pool toys flat against the garden shed halfway across the yard.

This big stone house is built to withstand the wind—and it has for hundreds of years-- providing us shelter on the sunny back terrace as the Mistral whips past on either side. Most of the houses here are built with their main windows facing south, to provide shelter from the Mistral.

Charley recently had a day of his own too... visiting several of the local wineries. He and Kelly visited a few of these spots again this afternoon to take photos for this post.

Vineyards at Domaine de la Coquillade (photo by Kelly)

For one whose “hobby” for the last thirty-five years has been wine, the opportunity to actually live in a big wine producing area is a dream (fantasy) come true. I’ve collected wines, amassed a respectable library of books on wine, and even written a newspaper column for a couple of years. But never, until our stay in the south of France, have I actually lived among the vines.

I drive through the vineyards daily. I pass wineries on the way to the village, on the way to the grocery, and in just about any direction I can go from our old stone house. I can hear the tractors of the grape growers droning in the neighboring vineyards, mixing their bass notes with the chorus of cicadas. I can leave the house and in five minutes be at our local cooperative and watch the village residents getting their wine containers filled from something that looks remarkably like a gasoline hose. Decent, drinkable, everyday table wine at a euro per litre!

There’s box wines too: five litre and ten litre cardboard cubes with plastic liners. The delicious liquid inside is less expensive than soda, but oh, so much better. With the price and convenience of this package, wine becomes the everyday beverage of choice, and the most agreeable of health foods.

The rugged countryside near Buoux

This morning we hiked around two of the smallest, highest and most isolated villages in the Luberon: Buoux and Sivergues. This rocky and remote area has been inhabited since prehistoric times—perhaps for over 50,000 years.

Buoux—at 1542 feet—has a reported population of 117. It’s located just down from the Claparèdes Plateau, above the valley of the Aiguebrun, the only permanent stream in the Luberon mountains. It sits above the Combe de Lourmarin, which is the only break through the Luberon mountains.

Sivergues (the highest village in the Luberon at 1867 feet) has 25 or 41 people, depending on the information source. It’s located on the other side of the Aiguebrun Valley from Buoux, on the slopes of the Grand Luberon mountain. According to legend, the village was founded when a convent was established here in the 5th century—by six virgins… hence the name. Sivergues actually has its own website.

We were among the first at L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue this morning. We parked on the road leading into the town, just four or five cars from the roundabout. Our plan was to come early, have breakfast, enjoy the market before it got too crowded, and then head home with the makings for a picnic lunch.

At 8:30 the sellers were still setting up, chatting with each other, arranging their stands, some sipping coffee in one of the cafes. We walked quickly to the inside of the town, settling on the Café de France for our coffee and croissants.

We wandered the market in the early morning… just a few things on our list today. I love just looking at the stands, seeing what’s for sale, soaking in the colors. Does it mean anything that the color that most caught my attention today was red??

The peaceful Sorgue (before the arrival of the Wood family)

The mistral has subsided and it’s a beautiful sunny afternoon. The three of us are standing next to the River Sorgue, but we’re not shopping at the market today. We’re at “Kayak Vert” in Fontaine de Vaucluse… wearing bathing suits and life jackets, holding paddles, and clutching a little map of the river. Our towels and some clothes are stored in a big waterproof canister the ticket woman called a “bidon.” A young man is waving a paddle and talking in rapid French, telling about ten of us how to paddle a canoe. The canoes are plastic and there are different sizes for one, two, three and four people. The first family hops into their canoe, and he pushes them down the bank and smack! into the water they go.

The launches are happening quickly. Soon it will be our turn. Kelly’s very excited—this was her idea of something fun to do. I’m starting to feel nervous. What if our canoe tips over when he pushes us down into the water? While all these other people are watching?

Our canoe is a bright lime green. We line up to hop in. The young man arranges us, differently than we had planned. I’m in the front—to Kelly’s disappointment. Charley is in the back, where the young man instructed us that the man usually rides. None of us are really happy with our places. The bidon is strapped into the back of the canoe behind Charley.

Les Dentelles de Montmirail from Suzette

We ventured today to yet another Provence, this time beyond the Luberon to the Haut Vaucluse. Our destination was the countryside west of Le Mont Ventoux and around another distinctive mountain chain called Les Dentelles de Montmirail in the northernmost area of the departément of the Vaucluse.

Our route took us past L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue to Carpentras (an interesting and very busy town of about 25,000 people), where we headed east toward the massive Mont Ventoux (6263 feet), viewed now from a different perspective than our normal view from the south. My plan was to pursue a somewhat-circular driving route, going counterclockwise around the Dentelles. Charley and I have visited this area just once before—a day trip to Vaison-la-Romaine—but it is much beloved by several of my Slow Travel friends. We thought we would try to stop and walk around in as many of the villages as possible, to gain an appreciation not always evident from the road. Our target for lunch—and a wine tasting and purchase—was Gigondas, known for its red Grenache wine.

A house worth sitting for! (from the back)

For the last month we have lived another family’s life.

We’ve slept in their beds, eaten off their dishes, read their books, collected their mail, cuddled their cats, mowed their grass, and watered their flowers. We are housesitters, taking care of a beautiful home. And the best part of all-- it hasn't cost us a thing.

During our long trip we rented 20 different houses and apartments, so we’ve lived in other people’s houses before. But most of these places were second homes or rental properties. With one awful exception, the owners really weren’t that visible. Their clothes and personal possesions were gone. The refrigerator was empty. Most of them weren’t even people we met personally. And we didn’t have any chores to do other than cleaning up after ourselves—after all, we were paying to stay there.

Our friends Rosa and Henri Tomas

One of the advantages of coming back to the Luberon and being able to spend some long periods of time here is that we’ve made some good friends—quite a few of them, actually. We seem to have as active a social life in Provence as we do at home in the USA.

Our friend, Janice lives on the plateau above the village with her two daughters. Janice is British (part Jamaican), went to school in the USA, and married a Frenchman from this area. She’s lived in Bonnieux for 21 years. We were invited to her house for “soupe au pistou,” a Provençal speciality that’s designed for large group meals in the summertime. (It’s a vegetable and bean soup that you top with the “pistou”—a mix of garlic, basil and olive oil.) From the discussion that evening, it seems every Provençal cook has his or her own recipe. There were 12 guests around the table, born in seven different countries!

On Wednesday of this week we had a small “Slow Travel Get-Together” at our house. Kevin and Elisabeth own a B&B—the Mas Perreal—in St. Saturnin. They’ve become very good friends over the past three years. Elisabeth was our French teacher, and we’ve enjoyed several hikes with Kevin. We were anxious to connect Kevin and Elisabeth with David and Marianne, who own the Mas Pomona in Cheval Blanc on the western end of the Luberon. We had lunch at David and Marianne’s place when we were here in the spring. We were interested in getting these two sets of B&B owners together, and we really enjoyed hearing their stories and getting a glimpse into their busy lives, where the line between home and work is very blurred.

But our most memorable dinner with friends was tonight…

Pumpkins near the house this morning (note the borie on the hill)

For us, another summer in Europe has come to an end.

We’ve watched the passing of summer in the land around us over the past five weeks. The sunflowers—vibrant and dancing when we arrived—are now dry and brown, bowing their heavy heads beneath the sun. The lavender that delighted in mid-July in masses of purple has been harvested. The grapes on the vines have turned from green to purple, awaiting their own harvesting time. And the pumpkins in the field down the road have grown daily, now filling the ground with their large orange globes.