Wednesday, 18 April 2012

PROVENCE - ROUSSILLON TO DORDOGNE

14/4 ROUSSILLON!!
Morning run for both the old ones up into the village of Reillane, which perches on a hill, cute as a button & exploding with abundant gardens full of blossom but unfortunately looking down on it’s on sewerage treatment plant.
A clearing day!!  Sun starting to appear, blue sky to the west (where we are going), did an hour or so of school, 1st cuppa tea, then a coffee (why not?), then away from a great roadside stop, along tree lined picture perfect curvy avenues, thru the town of Apt which on this Saturday is holding a huge market and it’s standing room only, certainly none for a 7.5m long Eddie, and it seemed to be mostly bric-a-brac........
So on to Roussillon, another incredibly cute very small hill top village, unique for it’s nearby ochre quarries and subsequently most buildings are reddish.  Found a campsite down the hill run by a pair of very practical women with short hair and deep voices, ever so caring they guided us to a site of our choice, plugged us in and we sat in the sun and ate a lunch of pate, bread from the local boulengerie (=bakery, we love that word!), tomato/cheese/cucumber and strawberry jam slapped together in all sorts of combos, shared about with loud and vehement blessings of each other’s concoctions (ah the simple life!).
Patched Kel’s puncture, onto the bikes and back up the hill to explore the village in more detail.
Street signs in all towns direct to the local boulangerie
  Pulled over for the 2nd time today by the lovely little lady traffic cop who asks us to kindly get off the bikes in the village so we locked em up and hit the Ochre trail, 45 min wander through ochre formations with lots of info on it’s origin and uses, then via the crepery & ice cream shop into the town which is too cute, too pretty to describe.

  Lots of little galleries and touristy shops but still lots of genuine lived in French/Provence class, some pics to help.......


Munching on ice-cream & sight-seeing ( heaven)

There are some 151 “Les Plus Beaux Villages de Francais”, this being one  - but how one ever chooses!
gorgeous red stone & gorgeous blue boy



Rode the bikes back down the hill to Eddie, all enjoyed a warm shower and mum’s marvelous fish curry before a bit of Ace Ventura and bed.
Dice roll
Wil (best natural wonder) - the ochre, the colour and how some is very fine like powder, other quite grainy. My favourite colour is the deep red.
Kel (best natural wonder) - 4 cats cuddling in the sun

Jen (best taste) - the pate on fresh baked bread over a layer of bovril and steakhouse seasoning to garnish!
Jeff (best part) - my son saying his favourite song is Khe Sanh and bellowing out every word!!  
15/4 Gordes and Orange, and Happy Birthday Honey Dan!!
slept in till 9.  No worries, sunny out but cold wind, post school and run/cycle we headed off via the same Boulengerie in Roussillon to the next ‘plus beaux’ village on a hill - Gordes.  As we approached from below we judged it as inferior to Roussillon but as we got closer we were forced to revise that. Parked Ed &  cycled the rest of the way up the white cliffs to be welcomed by another spectacular busy central plaza watched over by a dramatically beautiful fortress with rounded ornate turrets. 


Wil starts a Beanie Kid story distracting all the uphill walking

The French really get out & comb their magnificent countryside on cycle,foot,”camper-cars” and most commonly, dinkie-car sized diesel voitures. This seems in strong contrast to the Spanish whom we rarely saw with towns frequently feeling deserted. The former seem to have continued living in slowly eroding enclosed courtyard arrangements whilst these folk seem always to be sensitively restoring & complementing the old with clever architecture that makes adjustments to open windows & turn living more to the outside. “Bonjour” is literally sung out with so many different melodies & syllables at every passing ( even if pounding up ridiculous gradients on bike or running ) - so much for the hostile or arrogant French!
A refreshingly beautiful church inside as it was light, airy & decorated with uplifting blues & oranges.



Wil tells part 2 of the Beanie Kid story

Eddie headed on to the city of Orange through gorgeous crops of blossom trees, vineyards and waterways to see the grand UNESCO listed RomanTheatre Antique, one of only 3 in the world that boasts its well preserved stage wall. We parked up,braved the screaming wind  & cycled to the centre ( Kel asking why it seemed so hard to move given that we weren’t going uphill)  We were blown away by the immense size and elegant structure and how well preserved it is. Another example of French pride in so tastefully & aesthetically presenting & preserving all things historical and beautiful. 


 We’re getting a fine idea of some of the strategies that aided the success of the Roman Empire as we consider their enormous efforts to unite their community through spectacular arenas & theatres  entertaining and bringing people together of all class and religious background.

With an ice gale blowing,we packed back into Eddie and set Tom for a drive west, cupfuls of dried corn,almonds,peanuts+beans+cherry tomatoes+dried apricots for a snack towards the Dordogne region with it’s (even more?) beautiful villages.  Stopped in a free aire in the town of Bagnols-Sur-Ceze, cheek by jowls with 1/2 a dozen other camping cars, right on a busy roundabout.  But all is private,cozy and soothing in our Ed. 

16/4
screeching traffic ‘round-about music’ all night long. Poor Jeff feeling a bit ragged and planning a quieter,earlier one tonight. I tried a run but traffic thumping with no real lanes pour moi.
Maths and then a day of grocery shopping and into the office at McDonalds for interneting/business & research before setting Tom Tom for Gordes du Tarn .Still hoping for a warm enough sun to possibly canoe/kayak .Alas icy winds and grey skies. Nonetheless, a delightful drive meandering through green fields all the way accompanied by full waterways & canals.
another castle - name?

Through the escargot town,Ales, and up along the Cevennes corniche watching with anticipation as the gradients on the hugging rock walls increase and the water is pressed into serpiginous shapes. Tired, we pull off highway-side and river-side just beyond a small stone town and short of Ste Enimie, the watersports mecca. Sun has timidly come out for a last hooray. We pull out novels & the kids clamber down to the river for a last play.

17/4 Happy 9th birthday Harry! Wish we had internet to skype you - hope you got the email sent yesterday.
Jeff woke to brave the freezing winds on the bike but made the mistake of going downhill first. Unable to feel his toes and fingers, he spun about for an uphill grind and,passing us again, found the town we drove through unawares last night was of unimaginable beauty. Bursting with adjectives, he urged I don another layer, take the camera and go for an exercise of sorts. A hundred meters up the road carved into the rock walls high above us ,sat a grand,stone castle it’s size exaggerated even further by surrounding finger-shaped rock formations ! What!

 And then the most devine old stone bridge to an even tinier sleepy stone, riverside village cluttered with welcoming homes puffing smoke from their decorated chimneys, their coloured wooden shutters not fully open yet allowing one only a glimpse of their posies of fresh window flower arrangements. Sigh.


Back for coffee and breakfast on an orange & pink sandstone rock ( beneath the castle & overlooking the broad,shallow,pebbly bottomed pale blue river). The sun only starts gently warming us at ~1030. Usual school whilst little kids across the road skim stones in the river with their grandma.


A day of unparalleled beauty unfolds as we take about 2 hours to drive 40kms alongside the majestic gorge,gasping,sighing,stopping at look outs & taking a million photos. 

We are treated to sculptured roads, walls of white,red,black & green -some shear & grand and some with steps supporting majestic rock ‘carvings’ in all shapes ,stone tunnels through massive orange mountains ( having to stop,reach out and fold in our rear-vision mirror for the European mirror-kiss as Jeff calls it ) 


and a river,laced at the bottom,sparkling like a jewel, sometimes in delicate beaded threads,at times powerful and white, at times broad ,green and serene and at times in large, crystal clear azure blue-green still pools lazily reflecting the castle on it’s banks. 


Around every bend, another stone village, some ash coloured, some richer reds always with castle or church perched, ancient and handsome.

Too much breathtaking beauty to photograph - will have to store it in our retinas and keep it alive in our collective memories. Must return to canoe,walk in the forests and mountain bike ride along the old moss-covered curved stone ‘highways’ etched closely into the folds of the gorge walls. 

Canoe season has not started yet - way too cold but by the looks of the infrastructure, thousands must crawl around these parts come July. We enviously pass numerous fit, kitted out,muscled cyclists on fancy carbon bikes plowing up endless mountain passes , & are often surprised by their older age. Roadside signs frequently describe the cyclists gradient and remind the already very considerate & aware motorists to be mindful when passing them  - cartoon pic of cyclist & phrase“ pense moi”(think of me). Love this place! 

Steadily, Ed climbs 1000m out of the gorge, through further crops & vivid green fields, past tractors and more creative round-abouts to a 
French lunch roadside beneath another castle whilst motorists whizz past honking in greeting.



Kids read,listen to music,make paper dolls & contentedly chew on a treat of ‘gum-gum’. 

Mr Max calls !!( RPM mate from Toowong) and we plan to rendezvous at the Sarlat markets tomorrow! Fancy that!!
Some 5 hours later after one of our biggest driving days yet, we pull into Gramat at a community aire. 
Wil does his literature review on chapters 3&4 of “All Quiet on the Western Front “ in preparation for ANZAC day at the Somme. Raining again..to sleep.

Vence and the Gorge Du Verdon

12/4
Wil not too bad - simple cold. Large,very picturesque quiet campsite tucked into a mountainous valley & sympathetically set amongst pine forest - good opportunity to exercise up mountainous roads,do a few loads of washing,clean out Ed & The Shed, oil bikes,and smash some school with vigorous breaks whizzing about weaving campsite tracks on bikes. Kel finds a wee French friend who follows her about on her smaller bike, the pair sharing the language of giggles. Beautifully punctuated with reads in the sun,cups of tea,lyrical chats about cycling in the South of France,hanging out washing, kids playfully doing dishes and singing in warm showers. Uplifted by the delightful characters in the rest of Toy Story 3 and contentedly fell asleep smelling washing powder and apple freshener. Jeff & I still remembering the enchanting treasure-laden cobbled streets of St Paul de Vence....


13/4 Vence eastward through the Gorge du Verdon
Morning run for Jen, maths for the kids, poo out, drinking water in, grey water out, bikes on, table and chairs in, mat (soggy) in, and a slow getaway on this drizzly morning through the village of Vence and up via Tourettes, 

Tourettes
(no-one swearing that we saw) winding steeper and skinnier into the mountains, the views unfortunately a bit greyed out, but into the canyon, deepest in Europe, able to appreciate it’s sheer magnitude and splendour despite the rain getting heavier, many of the peaks shrouded in cloud, the aqua green torrent gushing and gouging deeper below us, through a few cute perched villages of agriculture, churches sitting aloft the most precipitous of bloomphs (must be devoted just to get up there!)

Church on a hill
Best part was approaching the narrowest, tiny dark tunnel through rock that required we turn off the radio,wind down the windows, honk the horn and turn lights up full in case we might meet someone else head on!? 
Point Sublime

Stopped at the aptly named “Point Sublime” where we wandered about taking in the 360 deg of sheer splendour, wishing for a splash of sunlight to enhance it further, then on above a huge lake and out of the gorge into Lavender country, not amped up purple yet but soon will be, eventually decided to pull over into a disused road not far from the village of Reillane where we watched the school bus pull up, about 30 primary school kids leapt off laughing, dropped their strides (boys and girls) in everyone’s full view, peed, then zipped up and jumped back in for the rest of the trip home. The French are lassez-faire about ablutions  - quite liberating really. Often, one walks through the men’s urinals to the closed toilet cubicles as loos and showers are unisex. Feels like home-we can all shower and pee together! We did some more school, had a  Spanish salad, and piled into bed for a read with the rain pattering on the roof.
Eddie night stop

French Riviera

8/4 French Riviera

readied for short drive into outer edge Marseilles where we plan to bike about the Old Port BUT....... the howling’Mistral’ rocking all 3 tonnes of Eddie and whipping the ocean over his windscreen had us reconsider the collective enjoyment of the family in such conditions.

More comfortable from Ed’s cozy interior, joggers outside sheltering their eyes from the sand/dust & pressing with futility against the wind. No Eddie parks, cycling paths being worked on - decision made! Through Marseilles, onto a beautiful but congested stroll along the Med French Riviera toward Cogolin for the night. This coast not really our scene though - crowded, restaurants, shops, fancy pants folk. 
Cogolin a nice small town several kms from St Tropez, well equipped campsite, the kids elated to find a pack of eager Frenchies wanting to incorporate them into their scooter & bike games. The pack followed the van in through the boom gates and hovered around whilst we set up.

Later the crowds swelled fourfold with the arrival of a large group of older (& softer) Harley bikers from Bourdeaux, Kel still struggling & bobbing back for a lie down between plays. Wil zipping about, a gaggle of French pretties in tow, who followed him to the shower, his worried father washing the dishes nearby acting the secret chaperone, ready to pounce should 1 little Charlotte get any ideas.  Innocently they just stand outside his shower and sing to him, he back to them, song frequently broken by a cacophony of giggles.  Ah this is the life hey son! 
9/4
Happy Anniversary to us! Thanks for your message Mom darling.
17 years continuing to gather power,magic,mystery,admiration and commitment every year as well as making plans for our active, adventure travelling future sans kids (given the blessing of good health and good fortune!)
Back to near normal morning exercise whilst kids school (punctuated with regular ‘plays’ with  Frenchie ‘best friends ever’...especially classy 12 year old Menot) before nesting/cleaning in Ed. European lunch of breads,cheese,pates,tomatoes & greens.
Bike ride into town to try and locate marina and instead found farms (with hairy pigs!), bored noisy youths on scooters,vineyards and more interesting street art.


Home to sundowner whilst kids make us an anniversary pasta salad. Adult selection of movie ( Toy Story 3). 
Wil showing some wobblies missing mateship & peer group.
10/4  Cogolin to St Tropez to Canne to Nice - and lots of rain
kids woken this am ( they tell me with indignation “for the 6th time this year!”) so we can school & then park up at large shopping centre (Geant Casino) and bike into St Tropez.

It’s proving bloody frustrating trying to manoeuvre about the Med coast amongst the phenomenal congestion of the cruising glitzy set especially in Eddie. Roads are packed with porsches & maseratis and culture vultures that just sneak past all the road works. The “glamour” coastal traffic continues 24 hours - thank goodness for our velos! St Tropez was is not the terracotta coastal fishing village that swells & distorts with the sun, I suspect it is distorted all year round. Mansions, stink boats, botox, fake tan an d blonde hair, eateries, shopping clutters every inch & all in a strip like the Gold Coast - Ugggh. Always keen to see markets, we soldiered on through the cold wind,grey skies and drizzle to see bric-a-brac crap. 
Out of the markets and down to the port for a dunny stop and an ice cream and found ourselves sitting next to a big royal blue stink boat - The “Blue Florentin” which was preparing to depart, it’s obese German 70 something owner with his 20 something (or 50 + surgery/needles) chick sitting out the back while the 5 staff buzz about untying, retracting, furling and heaving, a crowd of 100+ gather to gawk, but we wander off when the ice cream is done.


Underwhelmed with St Tropez, we cycled home (Kel now doing a great job on the bike, gathering confidence) to our warm Ed, do a huge grocery shop (much more expensive than Spain but still less than home) and made for Canne where we planned to stay overnight in an “aire” we found in a chat forum on the net and then see the film festival stuff.  Raining when we get there, the “aire” is a carpark at a supermarket on a very busy road, so we drive on past the “Bunker” where the stars strut their stuff and the awards are given out .



Outta town to the Massif L’Esterel. 

Utterly magnificent wild coast of red mountains, blue sea, red rock beaches and tasty homes taking the curve of the cliffs, all unfortunately under a very heavy sky.  Somehow human pollution / development has not littered this stupendous bit of coast (as much). What is built here undulates with the topography and being made of the local red earth quietly & respectfully sits beneath the massifs in awe of the surrounding ocean. Unfortunately, the wind & rain and prediction of more to come tomorrow had the family out-vote mum in her overwhelming urge to stomp the hills and lose a few days here.
So....onward Nice-ward, getting dark, rain teeming down, negotiating the freeway and then back alleys to a little street side stop for a snooze after a quick mum dinner of bread, pate, metwurst, nuts and divine cheese.
11/4 Nice to Monaco, thence to St Paul de Vence
Another day of waking the kids - slave drivers - it’s 7:30!  It rained all night but the sky is blue! Gotta get close to Nice early for any chance of a park within bike riding distance.  Blessed with a great boulevard stop, we fed the meter & set off for a thoroughly enchanting day in the bright light of Nice. 

First along the Boulevard Anglais, where glitz and brawn in line skate for kilometers alongside the impossibly azure ocean all the way into centre ville. 

Off left is the colourful markets exploding with dense bunches of heavenly scented delicate roses, lavender & poppies.




Beautiful old Nice with painted facades, bright green or blue window shutters & terracota balcony pots spilling over with soft blooms watch over the slow moving market-goers. 

Round the corner sits the magical port with all time represented from old wooden boats coloured like rainbows, Jeff’s dream sleek invariably white “cats” and silver & black stink boats of gargantuan proportions.....hey!  There amongst them the Blue Florentin, looking quite forlorn and insignficant, deck bereft of it’s fat master.


We made a quick stop at the museum palace and walked out impressed but not touched. Home to Eddie, prepared lunch on the boulevard, ate on the promenade watching the planes come in to land, the a’letes sproinking by in lycra and the chics sunning their bra strap lines and smoking on the rocky “beach”, and we’re off to gawk at Monaco.

Nice Lunch at the beach
Sweeping corniches offer spectacular views on the 15 minute trip to Monaco. Can’t drive in, fancy ‘Gendarme says “no”. Streams of Bentleys, Porches, BMWs, Mercedes, Maseratis heading in. Several polished Jaguar taxis (!).  Gawk from French side of border at this pocket sized debauched state. Leave for St Paul de Vence in land toward Provence.



Met with meandering hills, vineyards, babbling brooks, nags grazing, snow capped peaks of the French Alps one layer back but still densely peopled with rich folk in convertibles, following TomTom directions to St Paul de Vence, gorgeous little hilltop village where we park up and walk, under the arches through the stone walls and into a cobbled alley with a dozen of the finest art shops we have ever seen - spectacular sculptures (especially beautiful female forms, and kids) and amazing paintings. 


The prices are on the back of the labels and ranged from as little as 8000 euro (A$10000) for a small painting to 65000 euro for the brass sculpture of the dancing lady - that’s when we stopped checking the prices - next time!  Yes, it impressed us so much that we would conceive of spending this sort of money at a future life stage.


Wil now struggling with hot/cold and aches and sore throat (agh!) so skipped out of there and up the hill a few kms to a nice paid campsite where Kel cycled, parents had a 1/2 bottle of red in the sun, had a gnosh-up Jen dinner, laughed a lot renaming each other (Wil=Susan, Jeff=Marg, Kel=Kevin and Jen=Bovril!), Wil seeming a bit better and lights out - another great day in the south of France - beginning to understand what the fuss is all about.