We allowed ourself a good sleep-in after our midnight bedtime last night. Drawing back the curtains revealed the pathway of the crystal clear stream past disorderly old village houses. Following its winding way past the church whose bells were proclaiming Sunday morning and another warm day. I could see in the background that the street straddling the river was full of marquee and that the markets were already in progress – they could wait as I had an important appointment with some house made breads and French cheese.
Breakfast was upmarket in quality but simple. Fresh breads and pastry – including melting chocolate in the pain chocolate they were so fresh, butter and some lovely spreads including house made caramel – scrummy. One bread the chef made was like a pulla or challah – sweet egg and butter yeast bread and that with some good butter and caramel was rather indulgent to being sinfully good. I do like the French jams or conserves – like lavender honey or caramel and golden stone fruit, fig and orange, peach and pineapple, to name just a few. The two cheeses today were lovely – a soft mellow goat and a type of Brie style but of course much better than the ones we get at home.
We headed out to the markets just a few steps from our hotel which filled the lanes and streets of old town. They were huge and there were wall to wall people as far as the eye could see. L’isle-sur-la-sorgue is known for its pretty little island like village surrounded by a Sorgue river and these Sunday markets which are considered one of the best in the province. The literally crystal clear water of the Sorgue comes from a spring at Fontaine de Vaucluse not far away. The town is pretty with lots of flower boxes and the shallow flowing river criss-crossed with bridges and punctuated with about 12 old water wheels remaining from a sheet making industry. Our accommodation is in a renovated 17th century old convent behind a church and has the river running underneath the middle of it. The chef, Jean-Marie who has a Michelin rated restaurant lives in the building with his family and did the conversion. He has before and after pictures near each room, and has done a fantastic job. He only has 4 rooms and runs a real boutique upmarket restaurant with ‘special’ accommodation. He is so friendly and obliging – quite amazing to see a chef being so involved in two quite distinct operations. Again, it would be nice to have more time here – its a lovely vibe – not too big, and lots to see around the place. I would also have liked more time to enjoy the beautiful appointed room, big bath, rain shower and L’Occitane toiletries.
The markets were fantastic – and full of wonderful colorful sights and smells at every angle. Provençal fruits and vegetables as you would expect – large bunches of purple garlic, white garlic, big spring onions, striped aubergine, round green courgetts, tomatoes from large red, green, and the fragrant yellow with red blush ‘pineapple’ variety. French herbs of basil and fresh bouquet garni bunches. Fruits of the season – melons, apricots, peaches, nectarines dominate and cheeses from the standard to gourmet to satisfy a discerning Frenchman. Olives stands that had me drooling, food stands with BBQ chickens, local rice dishes like Paella, and sausages. Cold meat stands with sausage-salami from deer, boar, donkey, goat, and goodness knows what else. We wandered around and through looking for famous antique stands but didn’t see any of note just some interesting house furnishings and decorating places which had reproductions of everything you would need. One shop we entered backed onto the river and had a table and chairs semi submerged for decoration, on which a mother duck decided it would make a nice platform to rest.
We bought some lunch, a rice dish, BBQ corn, pork and spinach sausage and a olive-meat stuffed tomato and headed back to the room to enjoy it in air conditioning as the days sun was clicking into the 30’s again. We also got a large water and juice from the supermarket for the days activities. Whilst in town I updated my trusty travel hat bought in the USA in 2012, and we got a new local scent from L’Occitane shop (their factory is based nearby and all the natural herbs and oils from local producers where possible) to help our sweaty carcasses smell better. I have been using a lovely oil my Indian work colleague got me, and its fast running out, so this one is a nice herbaceous citrusy unisex one for both of us – a necessity in this climate.
Our first destination was the hill town of Gordes – having received one of those many most beautiful town awards. We didn’t expect to go inside the town as it has limited accessibility, but still wanted to do a drive by as there are lavender fields inbetween Gordes and our other destination today, Rousillon. This area we are in is called the Luberon, which is kind of borders Provence – but is distinct. Gordes was more spectacular to see than we expected – perched on a high rocky hill it has majestic views of the plain below and other neighboring hill top villages. There was a fair bit of traffic, certainly more than we had encountered up till now and it was more hectic and impatient than the more laid back Camargue or Dordogne. That being said, amongst cars, cyclists (motorized and non) and tour buses Vern managed to duck off to a side road and find a rare and coveted spot to park. Awesome! Off I went down the hill, clicking away from the cliffs edge. It was a hot walk back up and Vern had come to find me so I met him along the way – as we came to the point to cross to the side street I notices a road sign that had “Saint Firmin Caves” – which was a bit of a giggle as he is one of my very distant ancestors (my maiden name is Firmin and it is believed we trace back to him for the root of our name at least). Again one of those things I would like to do one day to both sides of my genealogy is do a bit of an ancestor pilgrimage trip.
Next stop was to take a photo of and see lavender fields at Senanque Abbey. This was a short 10 minute windy narrow road down the side of the ridge we were on. It was a bit of a fight amongs lots of other tourists which takes away any romantic notion of lavender fields in Provence but I got the obligatory photo, sweated about 250ml and gratefully resumed my airconditioned sports bucket seat in “Megan’ car for the 20 minute drive to Rousillon on the other side of the valley. Because we programmed the GPS to avoid toll roads, she does take some interesting back roads – which are a little hair raising. Vern is doing a magnificent job of driving on the opposite side of the road but some drivers seem to think that when you are on a narrow road which is two way traffic it is quite acceptable to drive in the middle of the road and only go over to the right at the last minute. Nerves have been on charge a bit today.
Rousillon is known for its unique rose colour which is gained from the worlds biggest known ochre deposit that runs in a couple of hills around and underneath it. All the houses must be of a certain colour to keep in line with its history, and they mix the natural minerals to get the colour. Again this was an exciting quivering camera shutter button moment approaching this uber picturesque rosy terracotta coloured hilltop village amongst dark green wooded hills and patchwork golden and green valleys. We parked as close as they allowed non resident traffic and walked up the hill through touristy lanes to the highest view point, formerly where a castle was. The view was impressive and the sticky air still over 30 degrees at 6pm led us to find a place to sit and have dinner before heading back home to organize the early start of tomorrow. The town is pretty steep and we felt unenthusiastic to explore it too much – the thought and feeling of the heat inbetween the stone lanes superseded any visual temptation. Whilst the main square was very pretty (and small) most of the other streets were plain – pretty colour but plain. We found a cafe and had a very reasonable dinner under some shade and managed to put away another litre of water in a blink.
Vern had a charolais steak and pototoes with Provençal herbs. The steak like the one I bought in Sarlat is no where the texture of NZ beef – a little tough, and nowhere the flavour but it was nice to have a steak and it was cooked well. The potatoes were in a class of their own – small oval golden variety in their jackets with herbs and olive oil and so sweet and tasty I wondered if sugar was added in the pre boil? Maybe not – but as sweet as a Kumara and delicious. I had a special salad plate that included rabbit terrine, green olive tapenade, gherkins, lovely soft rind cheese, mixed green salad, fresh sliced red tomatoes with balsamic reduction, a herb biscuit (like crunch scone) and a jar with a ‘tomato tiramisu’. This tiramisu was really delicious – layers of cool delicately seasoned tomato compote and a creme fraise or marscapone whip seasoned ever so finely with herbs. That would be one to research and repeat. It almost tasted like a smooth non acidic creamy gazpacho. I couldn’t quite finish my meal – it was so generous (22 euro).
As we were waddling out back to the car we queried whether to turn and peak where some activity was to the right, or just go. Vern opted for go, I opted for small detour – glad we did as I got a lovely golden hour photography opportunity of the ochre cliff face close up. It was probably the highlight of our visit!
On that note my thoughts on this area of Provence are of being slightly underwhelmed. Vern has quite liked it and would come back, I would only if I had loads of time and money and had ticked off some other things. I have enjoyed my time here; it has some very scenic places, incredible historic sights, and I am very pleased to have come and sampled and experienced them. However, did I find that romantic summer in Provence with fields of sunflowers, lavender, grapes, wine flowing and an ambience that encouraged lovers, writers, poets and artists? No – perhaps it was the incessant heat, the dryness, the lack of water or proximity to the sea? Perhaps the people – whilst we experienced some awesome ones, there were equally indifferent one, or worse. Both Vern and I feel that Italy has just something else in its character that is warmer in experience – although if you rated beauty and artifact both are equal.
So, we arrived home safely, topped the car up with petrol and found a car park a tiny bit closer to our room – which was also free. We did our sort, polishing off our apple cider bought in Sarlat to give more room in our suitcase 😉
Travels with Valrock 