goodrichard.com

A long car ride today to Gorges de la Nesque, which, as the name implies, is a gorge cut through the countryside near Mount Ventoux, cut by the river Nesque. Probably the furthest we’ll go all week, the countryside is spectacular, with the mountain roads rising through switchback bends and rock tunnels until the peak is reached.

The Belvédère viewpoint (above) has a platform which gives uninterrupted to the fauna-covered mountains that stretch in front of you, and the valleys that fall equally far below you. There’s a lot of view to take in, too; the Cire rock rises majestically to your left, the highest point of the gorges, all 872m of it. Even the viewpoint can’t promise that sort of height; Belvédère only rises to 734m.

With Mont Ventoux appearing through the mist in the far distance (and hopefully not the destination of the mostly eager cyclists we passed on the way up) we made our last car get-out, and jumped back in again, heading for the lavender growing capital of Sault. Built in a semi-circle 765m above the Vaucluse valley floor, the town is also known for its nougat and honey.

Quite literally the high point of the day, we rested in the little square, while staff from the hotel next to our bar swept past us, taking drinks and food to their patrons who were under umbrellas at tables in shade from the sun. Mildly refreshed, Banon was to be the next and last stop of the day, although as the sky turned purple-grey, we knew we would be chancing it.

But, we pressed on and arrived in good time, making a beeline for the decorative but small-looking bookshop, just off the main road junction. Looks can be deceiving, though, and the shop was stacked to the rafters with all sorts of titles, catering for all sorts of interests. A place for real bookworms, there were few subjects that weren’t covered. With narrow alleys and stairs weaving their way around three floors or more, one room opened up to another, giving a seemingly endless literary walk.

But, we’d had enough walking for one day, and after leaving empty-handed, headed home. A wrong turn meant that we ended up diverting around some villages (pretty as they were) that we didn’t need to go through. In all, we were in the car over 90 minutes, which given the still hot heat, meant that we wished the rain storm had followed us home, so that we could stand in it to cool ourselves off.

We enjoyed supper on the terrace last night, with the cicadas singing, the frogs croaking, and the bats flying around us. We’re in Provence for a week, arriving last night, the high-speed TGV spitting us out at Avignon, ready for the short drive to St-Rémy-de-Provence, where we’re staying with Geoff. Before that, we were ferried by equally fast and luxurious Eurostar from London to Paris; fuss-free, on-time, and comfortable thanks to our inexpensive first class tickets.

It’s very hot.

Which is just as well that we went to the beach today, although there was scant breeze there. Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer is on the Mediterranean, and has white sands, blue skies, and crystal clear waters making it perfect for the sun worshippers who flecked the beaches there today.

The little town is also home to a fortified church, where gypsy pilgrims come to worship Saint Sarah, one of the biblical Maries from which Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer takes its name. Drawing large crowds, her statue is paraded through the town and taken down to the sea every year, passing the local fisherman landing their catches in the harbour.

The only people parading through the town today, though, were persistent local lavender sellers, so we headed back to old bull ring arena and retrieved the car. Next stop, Aigues-Mortes.

Like so many places in Provence, it’s a fortified town, and was where King Louis IX launched the Crusades. Walking past the narrow shopping streets, we sat under the shade of one of the many bars in the square, overlooked by a statue of Louis in his later life, after he was bestowed a Sainthood.

Driving back through the Camargue, we saw few bulls, flamingoes or white horses that the area is famous for. A few dotted the preserved natural flat salt marshes in the distance, but it was a disappointing number for a place that been designated a botanical and zoological reserve twice, once in 1927, and then again in 1970. It’s also the rice capital of the region, too.

Traditional Camargue houses have all their windows clustered around the thatched roofs and are designed to withstand the intense heat, something that I’m not. A dip in the pool back at the house was not so much a luxury, but altogether essential.