The original idea had been to continue our Van Gogh pilgrimage that had started in Amsterdam last February. Though it had started before that, with Vincent and Theo, Irving Stone and Lust for Life. After Arles we'd loop through the Nimes of Truffaut and the Romans, then further west to Uzes and Durrell. But the forecast showed temps over 40 degrees, every day. So rather than the hot south,
we'd climb into the hills a little north.
...at Ventabren, the double-tiered bridge begs to be called Roman, but instead is as young as 1849. Like paper dolls, hand-in-hand across the gorge. Stones interlaid into arches, rough hewn to inadvertently create steps, as if predicting the sport of rock climbing to come a few decades later...
..the trio of windmills, at Ventabren, Saint Saturnin-les-Apt, and that of Daudet at Fontvielle...
...the parched earth somehow giving life. Wheat fields stretch to farm house outside Éguilles, the lavender of Valensole (now fenced off the the selfie hordes), and the ever present grapes. A pair of vineyards built upon the soil of the Romans: the old chapel tucked behind Chateau Bas in Vernègues, an apt setting for this repurposed temple that honored older Bacchanalian rites; and the old agricultural settlement near La Roquebrussanne, where the ancient blood in the soil feeds the grapes of the Domaine du Loou...
...Les Baux and bauxite, the latter carved into crumbling citadels with steps slick with the feet or invaders and tourists, and quarries on whose walls shine Van Gogh. Arm of a trebuchet raised toward to hot sun. Catherine Wheel of roof lines when seen from above. Washi exhibited by an American woman from Arles. The nativity dolls in an old church converted to a gallery space, with marble floors and elaborately colored walls. The valley of Enfer stretches along the valley, complete now with new resorts with glistening pools. Scrambling through low brush across private land to get to the old church, and its ancient Roman Trémaïé...
...the ancient Roman aqueduct outside Fontveille, a long straight dusty line of stone spilling down hill into vineyards below...
...Tarascon and the tarasconcon. The town's idiot inhabitants, not quite plugged into the reality of common sense. (My greatest take away memory of the place, though Ford Madox Ford adored the place.) Denied lunch, a quick hungry ascent of the old castle, spiraling up from tower to tower as if in a video game. Gazing across the The Rhône at the parallel castle of Beaucaire, left for another time...
...quick peek at the old Frigolet monastery. A very old tour group rests in the shade, probably post-lunch. Interior of Gothic church almost velvet, with columns of purple and gold...
..Finding the Frédéric Mistral birth house closed, a modest boxy farm house in a garden of shade...
...Monastery Saint-Paul de Mausole filled with Americans. I get a few minutes along in Van Gogh's old room, spartan, nearly bare. The cloister below quiet, but for the occasional ringing out of the nasal twang of middle American. Thumbing through catalogs later to match the paintings with the real locations...
...scrambling around Glanum in the late afternoon, the heat still high. Moving from the lower Roman to the upper Greek sections of town, lingering among the latter's temples to the gods. Then a higher climb to the overlook, back to a more primitive time of the Celts...
...refreshing dip in the pool of Hôtel Le Saint-Rémy, simply bobbing awhile after a full day visiting hot ruins. (While we'd tried to escape the heat, the high for Europe was ten kilometers away, hitting 43 degrees C.) Long dinner in the shade of plane trees, served by an Italian waiter (and all the female staff Asian for some reason). Wandering the maze of little lanes at dawn, passing the birthplace of Nostradamus, and the Hotel de Sade. A cluster of Muslim women in the main square...
...The chapel of Saint-Sixte, in Eygalières, subject of a hundred tourist posters...
...the stunning wall of the Orange amphitheatre. Seeing a performance here is now on my To Do List. Wandering the adjacent lanes on market day, looking for lunch, then finding it at a small and hot bistro just across from the old theatre...
...a pair of walks around the ruins at Vaison-la-Romaine, at sunset, and again early dawn. The geometric perfection of the Cathédrale Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth de Vaison, and its stunning cloister. A pair of beers in the shaded square below our room. Late night dinner across the Roman bridge in the old town, at Bistro d'O, with its friendly chef and wrap around view, the patrons seemingly melting at their windowside tables. Strolling the old town in the fading light of the day, topping out at the old ruined chateau, the lights filling the valley below...
...looping through the valleys of the Drôme, in search of old villages and Roman bridges. Backtracking up and over the bald peak of Ventoux, passing the Tom Simpson Memorial, and its forest of water bottles left in tribute. Winding through the forests of the southern face back to the Vaucluse...
...rapid wandering of the lanes of Apt at midday, between ordering of lunch, and the usual lackadaisical arrival. Pop into Cinema Le Cesar, built into an old church. The Cathédrale Sainte-Anne, clock tower, arched entryways to the old town. Post lunch drive out to the 2000 year old Pont Julien, crossed by a bicyclist who comes out of nowhere. Then circle toward home...
On the turntable: Daniel Lanois, "Belladonna"
