We are staying in Northern Provence, in the Vaucluse area (which means 'closed valley'), and the term describes accurately where we are situated, nestled amongst large foothills and various lush vineyards, with a small mountain overlooking our farmhouse complete with Roman castle ruins, and the larger Mont Ventoux in the distance. Mont Ventoux gets its name from the french word for wind which is 'vent' as apparently it is very windy at the top. During mistral season the wind is massively strong at the top of the limescale mountain. This was also where the sport of mountain climbing was born. The writer Petrarch went up with his brother in 1336, and according to historians, this was the first recorded experience of anyone climbing a mountain simply for pleasure. It takes around 5 hours to walk to the summit of Mont Ventoux, but not so energetic travellers will be relieved to know a road has been built to the top as well. According to Eyewitness Travel Guides, until 1973 there was a motor race on the south side of Ventoux, to the top. These windy and steep mountain roads are often included as a challenging stage of the Tour de France as well. Not sure if we will make it up there even by car with our carsick prone family.
We are staying in a remote restored farmhouse near the hamlet Merindol-des-Oliviers, a place where there really doesn't seem to be much happening. The sound of 'les cygales' (crickets) is overwhelmingly loud when we arrive, but you soon get used to them. Then, sometime in the early evening, they all of a sudden just stop, and it's a relief when you can once again hear yourself think. The view from our outdoor terasse is exceptional, short green trees in perfect sandy rows paint the landscape in soft mounds, with the larger white topped summit of Ventoux in the distance. We are virtually hovering on a cliff, and have warned the children not to venture too far. We go on a few adventures which basically lead us from vineyard to vineyard, and Noah becomes obsessed with taking pictures of grapes, and some very good ones too. Gail and I are determined to find our way up to the ruined castle on the hilltop overlooking us. We start our incline hoping to be in the right direction and half an hour and a bit of luck later make it there, to the 'Vieux Ville'. It is slightly eerie, with a miniscule graveyard across from the ruined castle, covered in scaffolding and quite unwelcoming with it's 'Interdit' signs on the door. Strangely there is a lone motorhome parked on a ledge alongside the castle, and a mailbox at the start of the path leading to the ruin. As we walk along we see there is work underway here as well, with signs of 'private property' and 'danger'. From what I could read of the French historical signpost in front of the castle, 7 strong men performed its demolition in 1700 something, for a reason unknown at this time. We did not dwell there long however, as soon as I mentioned that it felt like we could be in one of those weird horror movies, with this lone camper van luring us in from our naive curiousity, surely hosting some crazed serial killer waiting for stupid tourists like us to wander slowly uphill to a demolished and relatively unimpressive castle..... we were outta there!
The whole area of the Vaucluse is embedded with Roman influence. From the great theatre in Orange and the ruins of Vaison-La-Romaine to Carpentras there is evidence of Roman history and culture. Vaison-La-Romaine is our nearest town, and we feel very lucky to be so close to such a beautiful, historical place. The Roman remains here have been virtually left untouched, it is an archaeologist's playground. The town's origins go back 2400 years alongside the river Ouveze which burst it's banks in 1992 in the worst flood France has ever seen. They have recuperated since then, but remember the tragic day with a plaque engraved on the stone wall above the bridge stating 'Souvenions nous' (Remember Us).
We all make our way uphill in the scorching heat to the medieval quarter of the town. The narrow lanes and alleys provide a labyrinth of lovely terrace houses combined with art galeries, creperies, and ice cream shops. We finally make it to the top (even Ruby who has a burst of energy and nearly runs up the stairs!) and enjoy another stupendous view. The ruins of the castle atop this hill was built in the 12th century by the Counts of Toulouse, and partly reconstructed in the 15th century. Unable to walk around the ruins, we were more taken in by the estates attached to vineyards with pools scattered in the landscape, imagining a house of our own there one day...
The town itself hosts many souvenir shops as you would expect, and the pottery is too colorful to resist. We buy some, along with pretty packets of lavender and herbs de Provence of course, and I am tempted by an expensive Moonstone ring. We attend the weekly market and it is one of the best I've seen in France. With only a few bits of food intended to buy, we end up getting most of the souvenir requirements for home in this bustling place which sells everything from tablecloths to wooden salad tongs made from olive wood to pots of fresh paella. We eventually end up at the poissonerie to get the sought after sea bass I was determined to barbeque and end up paying a huge amount for two very fat fish. The fishmonger however provided us with a bit of a show gutting and scaling the fish, which made it almost worth it. Almost....as the kids and Gail did not eat a bite and I should have just bought one of the fat flippers and saved 25 euros.
Next we visit Avignon, the walled city. I sing the french song 'Sur le Pont....Avignon' the whole way and drive the kids crazy, but I've heard Ruby singing it at school, though she doesn't seem to appreciate it now. The town is bursting with the festive fever of theatre shows, with performers everywhere providing glimpses of their productions and handing out leaflets, the most interesting being 'Les Monologues de Penis', an offshoot of the women's version apparently, but what made it interesting was the naked actor covered barely by a cardboard box handing out the brochures. At least it kept the kids entertained whilst we had lunch.
As ever, entranced by the souvenir shops selling the same ceramic crickets in each one making the same bloody annoying noise (who would ever buy those??), we tear the children away and convince them to have a tour of Le Palais des Papes (the Pope's Palace), for a little bit of culture, forced though it may be. This is a 14th century fortress built by the Popes of Avignon who lived there for 100 years from 1309. Each of us had our own audio guide, even the children, and amazingly the kids lasted more than an hour.
Though it was almost impossible to sleep comfortably and the kids were eaten alive by all sorts of strange bugs, we were sort of sad to leave Les Rouviers. Our regular Boules and Uno games in the evening with the odd disco to Greenday, some strange rapper singing about handlebars, with some country thrown in, made for amusing entertainment. But the Welch's European holiday had almost come to an end and it was time for us to move on....
