The Lavender Trail

One Bad Abbaye

After our jaunt to Cassis the next few days in Aix were quiet – trips to the playground, lots of visits to the market, exploring Old Town, working out, etc.  Then we decided it was time to head out for another day trip to see what we could of the Lavender Trail and the hill towns of Provence.

I’m sure you’ve probably seen some pictures of the lavender in Provence, possibly without even knowing that it was Provence.  The area is famous for its rolling hills covered in lush purple, broken only by the occasional twisted olive tree or ancient stone barn.

We arrived in Provence a few weeks after peak Lavender Season but nevertheless we hoped to see some of the glorious fields in full bloom.

The three of us tucked comfortably into our rental car and headed north towards Gordes and the famous Abbaye Notre Dame de Senanque.  The countryside was beautiful:  rolling hills sprawling over an arid landscape that occasionally thrust upwards into stark stone peaks, shimmering in the heat.

However, we saw no purple on our way to the Abbaye, our first stop, but we held out hope as we made our way over steeper and steeper terrain.  At one point, about a thousand feet above the valley floor, the town of Gordes came into view briefly as the trees opened on one of the switchbacks we were navigating.   I could only spare a momentary glance before I had to turn back to the road but it was enough to take my breath away.

Minutes later we pulled into the parking lot just outside the Abbaye, and as we climbed out of the car we saw with disappointment that the fields that surrounded the millenium-old building were not swathed in purple, but gold with dashes of light pink.  We had sadly missed the harvest.

Undaunted, we headed towards the abbaye and started exploring the grounds in the midmorning heat.  Braeden was a bit salty after an hour in the car with no snacks but he lightened up a bit when the bells started ringing.  He was also delighted that the building had flying buttresses like the other Notre Dames we’d seen.

Once we’d had our fill we headed back to the car, turned around, and headed towards Gordes, where we planned to spend some quality time exploring the little town.

Gordes – Words Fail

The drive to Gordes was brief and within minutes we were rolling through the narrow, steep streets surrounded by centuries-old stone buildings that defied gravity, clinging stubbornly to the hillside.  We found easy parking and were soon walking the hot, lofty, cobblestoned town.

Gordes is gorgeous, both when viewed on the approach and from within.  The buildings are crammed together, the streets are so small it seems impossible for vehicles to get through, and every once in awhile you’ll peer down an alley and be treated to a view of Provence a thousand feet below.  It’s amazing.

Braeden was already very hungry so we didn’t spend much time meandering before we started looking for a restaurant.  We managed to find something promising in a cool corner of a tiny square and selected a table in the shade.  Juliann ordered a bacon and goat cheese salad, B had a burger, and I chose a “Formule” lunch, which was a three-course special:  eggplant bruschetta, entrecote (an excellent cut of steak), and a dessert.

It was the best meal we’ve had in a restaurant since landing in France over 2 months ago.  Juliann’s salad was absolutely incredible, the bruschetta was something I would not normally order but was fantastic, and the entrecote, which I’d tried elsewhere but found fatty and chewy, was outstanding.

Oh, and I selected the creme bruleé for dessert.  I don’t often have creme bruleé, but of the 20-or-so times I’ve eaten it in my 45 years it was far and away the best.  Braeden even tried a little, even though he wasn’t fond of its appearance, and he lit up like a Christmas Tree.

Sated and happy, we paid our check and left the restaurant to wander the streets for a bit.  Juliann had seen a little smoothie stand not far away, so we promised Braeden a treat after we finished doing some exploring.

It was hot that day – most of our memories of the weather in Provence were that it was hot, but delightfully cool in the shade – but we felt comfortable as we hiked the steep and ancient streets.

It’s an amazing place.  We would turn down a side street without a clue to where it led, investigate a few interesting shops, and follow the street as it got narrower and narrower and the buildings leaned so far over us that the sky threatened to disappear.  The street might detour down some steep stone steps with the occasional huge and ornate wooden door embedded in an ancient stone house on one side, then eventually open up on a street so narrow that it seemed almost a parapet, hemmed in by a wall that dropped a thousand feet to the valley floor.

And the views.  The views were dazzling.

It was nearly time to leave and head to our next destination, the hill town of Rousillion, but before leaving we wanted to get Braeden his promised smoothie.  We found the stand, run by a delightful little woman who clearly thought Braeden was adorable, and he placed his order and waited patiently for his drink.

Cold drink in hand, we made our way back to the car, cranked the air conditioning, and plotted our path to the next stop, the Red Village of Roussillion.

Next time:  An impromptu stop, Roussillion, and Coq au Vin.

A, bientôt!