I met my parents in Lyon's St. Exupery Airport, and we began day one of our trip exploring Lyon on foot. Not in us to take any form of public transportation, save the funicular to the hill of Notre Dame de la Fourviere, our feet were swollen and sore by the end of that day and the next. My parents seemed to be simply excited that spring had arrived in France since it hadn't yet in Chicago. The blossoming redbuds, glowing tulips, and green grass illuminated the Parc de la Tete d'Or, even as grey rainclouds floated overhead. The park was almost entirely ours as Lyon's population was still at work or in school. I probably learned the names of more plants and flowers than I ever have in my life thanks to my mom pointing out each colorful burst we passed.
Salads and Côte du Rhône in LyonWe walked through markets, ate at a bouchon lyonnais (my parents have already tried to replicate la salade lyonnaise at home!) and strolled through Vieux Lyon. The weather was perfect and I could tell that my parents were experiencing sensory overload, taking in the people, cars, dogs (who are apparently better behaved in Europe than the U.S.) buildings, streets, and sounds of France. It was nice to show them the city that has become my second home and to see it again through appreciative eyes.
Banks of the Rhône, LyonFrom Lyon, we picked up our rental car and intended to head south tout de suite. Unfortunately, not used to the abundance of one way streets, we drove around Lyon in circles, sometimes skittering on the edges of its banlieues. Behind the wheel, I felt as if we were in one of those hedge mazes trying to find the right avenue out of the city and onto the A7 going to Marseille. I had to admit, even though I probably broke a handful of traffic laws, it was kinda cool to drive through the city I normally walk through.
Tension lifted when we finally escaped the gridlock of Lyon and I excitedly pointed out Chasse's church from the highway. Vineyards and hilltop castle/fortress ruins dotted the landscape into Provence. My mom and I had read up on our Peter Mayle literature and were ready for our own version of the region.
L'Isle sur la Sorgue, the Venice of Provence
We arrived in L'Isle sur la Sorgue, our base for the trip, before sundown. The busy Sunday antique market was in its last hour of flurry, lit in the sunset. Shoppers were adorned in shorts, skirts, and t-shirts. It was already warmer in Provence. After getting settled in our hotel room, we headed to L'Isle sur la Sorgue's claim to fame antique market and browsed ourselves. There were petanque (a Provencal style of bocce ball) sets, silverware, frightening looking dolls, and as much antique furniture as anyone could want. This market was slightly classier than the midnight one in Chambery this past weekend, where people brought all their junk (old magazines, underwear, and heaps of Barbie dolls with tangled hair) to the street in an attempt to make a little change, while people with miner's lights and flashlights searched for treasures.
L'Isle sur la Sorgue, the Venice of ProvenceWe arrived in L'Isle sur la Sorgue, our base for the trip, before sundown. The busy Sunday antique market was in its last hour of flurry, lit in the sunset. Shoppers were adorned in shorts, skirts, and t-shirts. It was already warmer in Provence. After getting settled in our hotel room, we headed to L'Isle sur la Sorgue's claim to fame antique market and browsed ourselves. There were petanque (a Provencal style of bocce ball) sets, silverware, frightening looking dolls, and as much antique furniture as anyone could want. This market was slightly classier than the midnight one in Chambery this past weekend, where people brought all their junk (old magazines, underwear, and heaps of Barbie dolls with tangled hair) to the street in an attempt to make a little change, while people with miner's lights and flashlights searched for treasures.
View of the sunset from our balcony in L'IsleThe next day, our first stop was Fontaine de Vaucluse, a tiny village that pleasantly surprised all three of us. A fifteen minute drive from L'Isle sur la Sorgue, Fontaine is set in a mountain valley, the Sorgue river cutting through its small center. A path leads from the village's sole roundabout up to the the Sorgue's source.
The unknown source of the Sorgue RiverApparently, no one has been able to figure out where the water comes from, such is the geological make-up of the canyon. Instead, there exists a pagan legend of a nymph who presented herself to three villagers of L'Isle sur la Sorgue, hoping to escape the provencal summer heat in the river. Supposedly, the river sprung from one of several diamonds that the nymph produced in her hands to help the bewildered heat-exhausted villagers. Part of me doesn't understand how no one can figure out the source even to this day, but the other part of me likes that Fontaine holds this mystery. Then again, maybe it's just the leisurely Provencal attitude to getting around to doing things...
Fontaine de VaucluseThe sound of the river and water rushing is ubiquitous. The slowly turning waterwheels and towering mountain faces make for a peaceful morning. My parents and I found an 11th century church near the river that was so simple that it must have done wonders for clearing the mind. These are my favorite type of churches. The ones with stained glass windows made from unconnected shards of glass, no more than one cross, and modest benches. There's nothing to distract and it radiates calm. Apparently this church used to be a pagan temple sometime before the 6th century dedicated to the Source of the Sorgue, but later it was torn down and turned into L'Église Saint Veran.
Statue in courtyard of L'Eglise Saint VeranWe had crepes and pizza for lunch at a cafe on the river and had a view of the silohuette of castle ruins on a hill, the sun shining brightly from behind it. Fontaine was our first village visit and remained one of our favorites at the end of the trip.
Mom and Dad exploring GordesFrom Fontaine, we drove to Gordes, a spectacular village spilling over a hillside, and holiday home locale for wealthy Parisians. My dad drove us around a corner and all of a sudden, an otherworldly view of Gordes smacked us in the face. We explored its steep cobblestone streets, and although there weren't many sights to see, it was Gordes itself that was the sight. From the village were panoramic views of the provencal countryside, rolling hills and snowcapped peaks in the distance. We would be returning to Gordes later in the week, to start a hike from its center and to visit a nearby borie village. More on that later.
Gordes During our surveillance of the landscape around Gordes, we spotted the ochre cliffs of Roussillon just several minutes drive away. The reddish orange soil stood out in patchy spots among the forests surrounding it. The night before, we had flipped through a guidebook that my mom had purchased. I'd seen the ochre cliffs and told my parents that we couldn't miss it.
Red walls and vase in RoussillonSo off we went, the afternoon was in full swing and a hike on Mars was still ahead of us. When we reached Roussillon, we had to walk through its streets to reach the cliff park or Sentier des Ocres. The buildings were all the warm colors of a painter's palette, reddish pink, yellows, and oranges. We were walking through the walls of a sunset as the sun was setting. It appeared to be the most perfect provencal setting and helped to stave off our approaching exhaustion.
In the Sentier des Ocres in RoussillonThe pictures I had seen in my mom's book couldn't do justice for what we were about to set foot in. I felt like I was eight years old again with my parents walking into a natural playground. The Ochre Footpath is essentially a trail that leads the visitor through a coniferous forest sprouting out of the unique soil found on the colorful cliffs that were formed under the sea a long time ago. The plant life found here is not usual to Provence because of the minerals in the soil. We saw French families walking barefoot covered in red. Thankfully, my trusty Goretex shoes kept my white socks pristine. Obviously I had not retained all of my eight year old enthusiasm and had refrained from rolling around in the red soil.
Pinks and yellows of RoussillonThe village of Roussillon itself is an artist's haven, seeing as the park is the source of many earthy colored pigments. As we walked its streets, we saw an artist at work through the window of a sandy pink wall and many paintings of the natural wonder on display.
We left Roussillon late afternoon to head back to L'Isle sur la Sorgue for dinner on our balcony and an early night. When I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I saw ancient churches, the sunlight on a clear Sorgue river, and bright orange cliffs.
