On our way to our hotel in little Monteux, we passed through many tiny and picturesque villages. When we arrived, our host suggested that we might enjoy a little village that wasn’t too far away, so off we dashed immediately to L’isle sur la Sorgue. The town center was located on a small island on the River Sorgue with sweet little bridges crossing and ducks floating beneath. We walked around town, had a gelato (orange sartine this time—yum) and found a cute restaurant on the river for dinner. It was only about 10 miles, so we drove back easily through another little village and on farm roads to our hotel.
The next morning we set out to drive through the mountains. We stopped at nearby Pernes des Fontaines, bought pastry, and drove on to postage stamp St. Didier for coffee (pastry shops don’t serve coffee, so it’s ok to buy pastry at one shop and take it to a coffee shop to eat it--at least this is what we were told). We sat on the street at a miniscule table for 2 and watched the traffic try to pass one another on their little one lane road, residents getting their daily fresh vegetables and meats, and students going to school. The morning had turned chilly and it was the first day of dew on the car, so we had to wear jackets.
The mountain road was, itself, barely wide enough to pass two cars and very curvy. It climbed to the tops of the high hills and back down to valleys again, all the while giving us views of lush green forests with little clumps of houses, red tile roofs and stone fences looking like a giant Christmas tree with ornaments hanging off the branches. One of our favorites was Venasque which was a walled hilltop town that we could see from afar and kept getting closer, all the while hoping that the road would take us there but not knowing if it would veer off in another direction or not. Like several others, the road passed through a stone arch (very small passage) and opened up to a beautiful square with a large fountain surrounded by hanging flowers. We hadn’t planned to park and explore this particular town, but we found ourselves looking for somewhere to stash the car so we could just walk around it and take it in the history, beauty, and ambiance.
After a time, we continued up and down again along hillsides planted with olive groves, truck farms of vegetables, cherry trees, lavender that had already been cut but still fragrant, Italian cypress trees that lined little lanes, and great big sycamores or plane trees with their spotted bark and gnarly trunks. We passed through Gordes, St. Remy, Robion, and stopped at Village des Bories, a much different village than the others. It was from ancient Ligurian times and contained dry stone huts; it looked much more primitive than all the other areas, and I shuddered to think of the difficult living conditions and short lives these inhabitants endured. But it was getting late and we needed to be in Carcassonne that night at the hotel we reserved; we had one more site to visit before we made the serious and direct drive there.
I had read about the Pont du Gard in my high school Latin class, had seen pictures in books, but I wasn’t prepared for the enormity of the Roman built aquaduct and bridge. It was huge, massive really, and so beautifully and perfectly built, I could only stand there and wonder how in the world people during that age could possibly do such a work with the tools at hand.
But we had reservations in Carcassonne, so we had to enjoy the Pont du Gard for a couple of hours and then move on. We hurried along A8 past villages and larger towns, and at about 7 in the evening, just at dusk really, we came to Carcassonne, looked to our right and spotted the fortress on a hill in the middle of the city. It was dark and brooding and had I been an 13th century traveler, my knees would have been shaking. It was too early for the floodlights to light it, as we had read about, and we needed to get to our hotel first, so we drove to that end. However, as we drove toward Argon, it became clearer that our hotel wasn’t as close to town as we thought it was when we made the reservation. In fact, it was so far out of town that I knew once we got to it, we would not be going back that night, and when we got lost and ended up in another hamlet, there was no doubt in my mind. Dang it! We really had wanted to see it illuminated. We finally got to our hotel around 9 and went to bed. The next morning, we left early, drove to the cite ‘ (as it’s called) and marveled at what must have been an incredible, invincible and imposing fortification. It was so even now; I can’t imagine what it would have been like in very ancient times. We walked up the path, along the walls, and through the gates to a maze of streets. It was very early, and we must have been the first ones there because we saw only delivery and working personnel until after we had had our coffee and baguette. We knew we wouldn’t get to see very much of this huge structure because we were pressed for time and needed to get to Cahors by noon to meet our friends Ann and Terry Kempley who had invited us to their village near Figeac on the Cele River. So, we said “au revoir” to Carcassonne and set out north.
The next morning we set out to drive through the mountains. We stopped at nearby Pernes des Fontaines, bought pastry, and drove on to postage stamp St. Didier for coffee (pastry shops don’t serve coffee, so it’s ok to buy pastry at one shop and take it to a coffee shop to eat it--at least this is what we were told). We sat on the street at a miniscule table for 2 and watched the traffic try to pass one another on their little one lane road, residents getting their daily fresh vegetables and meats, and students going to school. The morning had turned chilly and it was the first day of dew on the car, so we had to wear jackets.
The mountain road was, itself, barely wide enough to pass two cars and very curvy. It climbed to the tops of the high hills and back down to valleys again, all the while giving us views of lush green forests with little clumps of houses, red tile roofs and stone fences looking like a giant Christmas tree with ornaments hanging off the branches. One of our favorites was Venasque which was a walled hilltop town that we could see from afar and kept getting closer, all the while hoping that the road would take us there but not knowing if it would veer off in another direction or not. Like several others, the road passed through a stone arch (very small passage) and opened up to a beautiful square with a large fountain surrounded by hanging flowers. We hadn’t planned to park and explore this particular town, but we found ourselves looking for somewhere to stash the car so we could just walk around it and take it in the history, beauty, and ambiance.
After a time, we continued up and down again along hillsides planted with olive groves, truck farms of vegetables, cherry trees, lavender that had already been cut but still fragrant, Italian cypress trees that lined little lanes, and great big sycamores or plane trees with their spotted bark and gnarly trunks. We passed through Gordes, St. Remy, Robion, and stopped at Village des Bories, a much different village than the others. It was from ancient Ligurian times and contained dry stone huts; it looked much more primitive than all the other areas, and I shuddered to think of the difficult living conditions and short lives these inhabitants endured. But it was getting late and we needed to be in Carcassonne that night at the hotel we reserved; we had one more site to visit before we made the serious and direct drive there.
I had read about the Pont du Gard in my high school Latin class, had seen pictures in books, but I wasn’t prepared for the enormity of the Roman built aquaduct and bridge. It was huge, massive really, and so beautifully and perfectly built, I could only stand there and wonder how in the world people during that age could possibly do such a work with the tools at hand.
But we had reservations in Carcassonne, so we had to enjoy the Pont du Gard for a couple of hours and then move on. We hurried along A8 past villages and larger towns, and at about 7 in the evening, just at dusk really, we came to Carcassonne, looked to our right and spotted the fortress on a hill in the middle of the city. It was dark and brooding and had I been an 13th century traveler, my knees would have been shaking. It was too early for the floodlights to light it, as we had read about, and we needed to get to our hotel first, so we drove to that end. However, as we drove toward Argon, it became clearer that our hotel wasn’t as close to town as we thought it was when we made the reservation. In fact, it was so far out of town that I knew once we got to it, we would not be going back that night, and when we got lost and ended up in another hamlet, there was no doubt in my mind. Dang it! We really had wanted to see it illuminated. We finally got to our hotel around 9 and went to bed. The next morning, we left early, drove to the cite ‘ (as it’s called) and marveled at what must have been an incredible, invincible and imposing fortification. It was so even now; I can’t imagine what it would have been like in very ancient times. We walked up the path, along the walls, and through the gates to a maze of streets. It was very early, and we must have been the first ones there because we saw only delivery and working personnel until after we had had our coffee and baguette. We knew we wouldn’t get to see very much of this huge structure because we were pressed for time and needed to get to Cahors by noon to meet our friends Ann and Terry Kempley who had invited us to their village near Figeac on the Cele River. So, we said “au revoir” to Carcassonne and set out north.
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