Strolling through Provence...

We run a walking trip for a company called Country Walkers, one of our partners, based in the US. While I was typing away at my computer in the office (arrrgh!), two of my guiding colleagues, Mariska & Pierre, led the Country Walkers through the magnificent Provençal countryside...
Below, the vines in all their splendour:

Walking up to the timeless hamlet of Sivergues, lost in the Luberon mountains. "Sivergues" comes from "six vierges", or six virgins. As the story goes, the hamlet was first settled by six virgins and a monk. Lucky guy...

The group in front of the village of Lacoste, with the ruins of Sade's castle looming at the summit. Mariska, the guide, is at the bottom-left of the picture.

Enjoying a wonderful meal together...

One of our guests' comments:
"It was a fantastic trip, and we would like to give full credit to Mariska and Pierre. They were both really nice people and tried very hard to please the group. And the group consisted of all great travellers, and we all had an amazing time together."
Jane

Defeated by Ventoux

It all started with a phone call. We had forgotten to equip bikes with computers for a group of Australians who began a self-guided tour of Provence today. And so after a day at the office I set off to the foot of Mont Ventoux, an hour's drive from Avignon, where the group had arrived after their first day's ride. Our famed and unbeatable Road Book led them easily to their destination, despite missing their computers...

Feeling quite masochistic today, I decided to bring my bike along, and test my legs on the dreaded climb up Ventoux. Too far above my fighting weight, and not having trained for years, I still managed 50 minutes, at a whopping average of about 8km/h (yes, you can easily run faster than that -- or even power walk), and encouraged by the spray-painted encouragements of last year's Tour de France: "Last Chance Lance", or perhaps the giant spray-painted phallus, all before throwing in the towel -- and my entire body -- disgracefully upon a tuft of savoury (an herbe de Provence) on the side of the road.


With the evening sun hidden behind the clouds, the vines extend into the horizon...


Hey kids: don't try this at home...

Scandinavians in Provence

I'll be perfectly honest: this past week wasn't one of my favourite guiding expeditions; but then again, I wasn't really guiding: I was driving the support vehicle for 16 Swedes and Norwegians who descended upon Provence to cycle for the week. They arrived with their own guide -- the very cultured Magnus -- who's guided for many years (no Magnus, I won't disclose your age) and in many different countries for the Swedish comapany TEMA.

And so where does Walk Inn fit in?: we supplied the bikes, the vehicle, and the "mechanic" (moi), and prepared picnics for the group along their cycling route (moi aussi!). I have to admit that while driving at 15km/h behind the Scandinavian peloton and listening to French pop music, I couldn't help but want to hop on a bike myself (though I did find my opportunities during the week). But I faithfully performed my duties: fixing flat tires, adjusting brakes, putting bike chains back into place, handing out water, and cheering on the Scandinavians as they battled a ferocious Mistral wind that blew every day but the last.


In the olive tree that provided the shade for the group's picnic lunch, I await their arrival with some fresh baguettes, several kinds of cheeses, pâté, and all sorts of other goodies, including the rosé...


Speaking of rosé, it was so popular with the Scandinavian cyclists that -- at least in this case -- it replaced the water bottle...