Lavender fields and Gorges L'Ardeche

Simiane La Rotonde

At the other end of the Gorges du Verdon, is Moustiers Sainte Marie. For centuries it has perched on the top of a hill wearing a church as its crown.  The cobbled stairs leading up to the church have been worn to a treacherous polish by millions of tourist tootsies. The inside of the church so gloomy it was hard to see anything except a glowing gold leaf altar.

I wasn’t wearing grippy shoes and clung onto the handy metal rail as I made the downward trek. I felt for the woman in front who was creeping in a similar fashion but carrying a baby in a sling.

Meanwhile, crouched below the hill, is the aire du camping cars. All the big white boxes are arranged in a circle – facing an empty centre eyeballing each other. A popular place – the latecomers were pointed to the overflow area for “Norman-no-mates”.
We were on a lavender hunt. It was a bit early in the season but ever hopeful we set off across the Valensole plateau. A most fabulous drive, the sun had warmed the flowers and the wind blew lavender fragrance in the cab windows. The colours, the colours, great blocks of purple and mauve, red pools of poppies and sunshine fields of rape.  

Sometimes our travels are a bit serendipitous, we drove through Reillanne then turned around, with some difficulty, and headed back to spend the night. It is a truly delightful village. We were peering into the tourist office through the glass door, deciding that once again it was probably the day that it closed, when the door opened and we almost fell on top of the lovely lady in charge of the office. Claire was ex-pat English who plied us with many maps and instructions to visit a nearby village. 

Reillanne

Reillanne had a large square that was being used as a venue for a dance class. The houses were painted in all sorts of Karen Walker washed out pastels with contrasting shutters and flowers cascading out of pots and gardens. There were cafes with music and the village looked like a place with real people, young people, living there, not just a clutch of holiday houses. I could move to this lovely place in the Hautes Alpes region!

The next morning we set off and followed Claire’s instructions but stopped – the road indicated was no better than a farm track, and there was a ‘chausses deforme’ sign which meant the road was even worse than usual so we gave that opportunity a miss and carried on to a couple more hilltop villages for a quick toot. 

Reillanne

Return to Roussillon. It is a town built of reddish stone. There were ochre formations in sunset stripes along the wind and rain sculpted cliffs. The pigment from the clay has been used for centuries and was once the source of the town’s economy but don’t touch it – or it will stain your clothes forever. Tourists are now the towns fortune - twangy American accents rang out across the tangle of quaint lanes and shops are selling what our friend Tim calls ‘fluff’.

Rousillon

Rousillon

Sadly we left the Hautes Alpes of Provence and entered the wide open spaces on our way to Vallon Pont D’Arc at the end of the Gorges L’Ardeche (Ardeche Gorge). Pont D’Arc is a stunning natural stone bridge formed over the eons by water and spans the Ardeche river. Eagles soar on the thermals above it and swallows are swooping into their nests underneath it.

Gorges d'Ardeche

The Ardeche a serpentine spirulina-smoothie slithers between towering cliffs. From a vantage point high above the river we can see parties of kayakers moving quite quickly around bends, looking like tiny toy boats.

Did I mention ‘kayak’? Did I hear the word ‘kayak’ on many occasions? I wasn’t a happy camper or sailor at the thought of kayaking and then the kayak rental man talked about all the rapids. Zut alors! Sacre bleu!

Again – long story short, I packed our baguette, camembert and bottle of water into the white screw-top barrel and Stuart firmly strapped it on the craft. ‘Keep a little bottle of water out so we can drink it while we travel’. ‘OK’.

Jane with plastic fantastic

The first set of rapids looked fine as we approached but then we were in a maelstrom – it was more than ‘zut alors’. Water crashed over the bow soaking me through, and where was that little bottle? I didn’t think the man in the stern was paying enough attention – how could he see what I was seeing? I didn’t want to join those poor unfortunates who walked along the riverbank looking for their piece of plastic fantastic. Anyhow, we made it through the 24km unscathed and a bus took us and a trailer full of yellow plastic craft back to our motor camp on the way. 

Pont D'Arc 

The washing was getting more than pressing and the camp man let me use his washing machine to do the biggies while we washed the smalls by hand. Stuart’s handy washing line was strung between the trees and cleanliness was restored.

After a random consultation of our very detailed map of France I settled on Vogue as our destination, its name had a nice ring to it. Luckily it more than met our expectations, and a few others as well – it was Sunday after all.

Dining out was on the cards, and I had a very strange starter, an éclair stuffed with a slice of terrine and garnished inside with swirls of lavender coloured (blueberry) cream. Sprinkled around were pieces of bright green sponge cake (pistachio) and small strips of bacon. I had read the menu correctly but was surprised all the same to see that nothing was lost in translation. I had the ‘house aperitif’ and Stuart declined my suggestion of biere pression (draft beer) and chose instead ‘biere Monaco’ from the list of beverages. Was he surprised to get a bright red beer with pink froth on top! It is made from lager, red cordial, lemonade …. and tasted a lot like the house aperitif.

We are going to follow the Rhone northward and see what it brings. Au revoir.