Bittersweet: the last walking tour of the season for me, before a long winter hibernation behind the desks of Walk Inn (would anyone like to sign up for a winter tour, PLEASE!!??).
With the Mistral winds howling we set off from our hotel in Gigondas and into the Dentelles de Montmirail mountains, a landscape painted with terraced vineyards and jagged limestone cliffs. Renée, below, examines the scene with a "purposeful purse-full" of baguette...
On our first day of walking we stop at Château Redortier for a winetasting -- the harvest nearly complete, the last bins of grapes returning to the estate, and the air smelling of roasted pine needles and fermenting grapes:
One of the full-bodied reds we tried at the estate:
Back at our hotel les Florets, the late afternoon sun highlighting the terrace. We would stay here two nights, enjoying fabulous meals and a sumptuous setting:
The rooftops of the village of Gigondas, its homes squeezed tightly together within broken ramparts, the Roman tiles glistening in the sun:
One of the many disadvantages of the Mistral winds is losing belongings in the gusts, like my walking map below, fallen into the Carpentras Canal during the second day of walking. Allen and I chase down the map...
And dry it in the sun. Thanks Allen!
The Romanesque tower of Notre Dame d'Aubune chapel, just outside the town of Beaumes de Venise. It's more Italian than French in style, complete with intricate carvings and decor.
strange clouds in the afteroon, dancing in the Mistral winds:
Near the end of the second walk, overlooking the Auberge des Seguins, our place of stay for the next two nights, lost in the heart of the Luberon mountains:
The Auberge is a 17th century goat farm, converted in the 1950s into a hotel. Here we admire Renée's little house, nestled among the other stone buildings:
Near the end of our first walk from the Auberge des Seguins, at the Fort de Buoux, negotiating 3000 year-old steps, vertiginous but exhilirating:
Caught mid-air: Danielle shows off her pétanque skills back at the Auberge, her boule heading towards the cochonet (the jack). One of the techniques of better pétanque play, as seen to the right of the picture, is to counterbalance the weight of the boule with a glass of wine in the opposite hand:
The Auberge at night, taken from outside by room. Otherwordly: a backdrop of steep cliffs and night stars...
The morning of our fourth walk, leaving the Auberge, and an unusually early frost covering the ground. The Mistral swept skies offer wonderful lighting for pictures, breathtaking views, but a definite chill!
Up to the high ridges of the Luberon, the thyme-laden hills soft and rounded, with views of the high Alps and the Mediterranean Sea... (well, we saw them, not you!)
Some action on the ridge: when we reach the top we see a hunter chase down the boar and fire two shots. The season started a month ago, and this is the 20th boar (about 60kg here) this particular hunting group has killed:
A sprig of thyme in the mounth replacing the traditional apple:
I would become vegetarian for the evening, eating only a salad for dinner, but I'd come back to my senses 24 hours later...
Allen overlooks the Durance valley and the southern slope of the Luberon. Here we enjoy warmth and sunlight, pausing at length to soak in the rays and the views:
The nine of us: 4 Aussies, 4 Yanks, and a Franco-Canuck. I've rarely seen a group gel as well as we would this week, sharing days and evenings of laughter and friendship. As a guide, these wonderful weeks offer just a touch of sadness, knowing that after a week's time it comes to an abrupt end... (how about walking next year guys?)
Roman monuments in Saint Rémy de Provence, after our two days in the Luberon mountains:
A walk in the Alpilles Mountains above Saint Rémy (why did I do this one in black and white?)
Danielle overlooks the plains from the ridge of the Alpilles Mountains, stretching toward the Mediterranean:
Our last night is spent in Arles, and fortunately this time there's no bullfight (the hotels weren't sold out!). Allen's photos and videos provide the pre-dinner entertainment before a last meal shared in town...
to learn more about the day-by-day of the adventure:
Epilogue
After being dropped off in Avignon I head to the foot of Mont Ventoux, Provence's highest mountain, for a date with my ascension by bike. I did it last for my 30th birthday, and this marks exactly 5 years later. I start this time from below the village of Sault, 700m in altitude, offering the easiest of the three climbs to the top.
The clouds are dark and the weather crisp, the streets lined with maples and other deciduous trees not found in the plains. The first section -- about 19 km -- rises relatively gradually to the ski "resort" of Chalet Reynard at 1400m in altitude. I would see no other cyclists on this section, nor on this same section on the way back down.
From Chalet Reynard the road steepens, some sections above 10%. This is part of the traditional climb to the summit used in the Tour de France. The rains pick up and the winds drive them sideways, and visibility is zero. By the time I hit the steepest slopes my legs rotate in slowmotion, at some sections almost at a standstill (it doesn't help that my granny-gear won't slip into place).
About 2 hrs and 30 mins from Sault I reach the summit, my hands so cold I'm barely able to take my camera out for this shot. It's freezing at the summit with incessant rains and heavy winds. On the way down, having forgotten my gloves, my hands freeze and I can't brake properly. They start to sting with the cold and I can sense frostbite setting in.
6km below the summit, I rush into the Chalet and get a pair of yellow, rubber kitchen gloves from the staff for the rest of the descent, with my body shaking in the cold and in the rain.
This guide was poorly equipped, and was given a well-deserved talking-to by the staff at the chalet.
On this day 5 years ago, it was sunny and warm at the summit, the entire chain of the Alps stretching out in the backdrop.
So we'll see what Ventoux has in store for my 40th birthday...
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