TWO TREKS AND A PICNIC - 6 October 2011
6th October, 2011
This might have to be one of those posts that has a couple of parts to it, as so much has happened since I last wrote, on Sunday, so here goes.
Monday
We journeyed to Banon and Viens and also to a place that shall remain unnamed as there are some experiences which are singular and cannot be sullied by signposts, which, to this day, Peter Mayle is still accused of, sullying that is, by all Provencals.
First Banon, home of our favorite cheese: a small soft disc of runny lusciousness wrapped in leaves. The town is only some 24 miles from us although I hesitate to give specific mileage because something happens when you travel the back roads of Provence, some trick of time and distance, those 2 abstracts that we humans are constantly trying to measure, here seem to mingle, resulting in a sort of alchemy that totally f--ks with ones sense of either. In America 24 miles is, for many, a short daily commute. Here you may as well be on a donkey setting out for an all-day trek.
We had planned on visiting the cheese factory, but when we finally arrived we saw several tourists buses outside, so gave it a miss and drove into the village, stopping at one tiny shop to buy the cheese and then across the street, ducking into an equally tiny shop that at first glance seemed to have a beaded curtain hanging from ceiling to counter. In fact, it was some several hundred strands of pencil-thin sausage in 6' lengths. We bought 18" of one flavored with fennel.
This portion of town struck us as what we refer to as the real thing: old, worn buildings, no tourists, proper shops i.e., grocery, bakery, butcher, hardware etc. Yet after we had explored its few simple streets we saw that there was a higher section to the village and so began the slow climb up on a pedestrian-only street of ancient cobblestone. Except there were no pedestrians. We were so entranced by the houses and doorways that it took us a while to realize that nothing stirred here. Windows were closed and shuttered.
A ghost town that made my heart ache. And slightly eerie, too.
And then, just as we were beginning to feel we had entered a twilight zone, we rounded a little corner and discovered the Bunnies of Banon.
I've always thought of bunnies as benign - as in Beatrix Potter, but these were Bad Bunnies, I just know it. Bunnies from Beyond. And boy do they crap. Bunny Berries everywhere. We left.
On the way back to Bonnieux we decided to stop in Viens, a small village we had briefly stopped in early in the spring, on a drizzly, cold day. It was here that Joel had photographed our favorite Judas tree...
and we wanted to say hello to it again.
We like this village. It's gorgeous, inhabited and lively and we discovered new streets and alleys this time. We had just finally begun to feel we had shaken the Curse of the Bunnies when suddenly we heard running feet behind us and turning, saw what appeared to be a Tibetan nun: shaved head, red robes, sandals. For a brief moment I felt a blessing had arrived and greeted her with my best Buddhist Bonjour which she completely ignored as she was wrenching an outer door to a house off its hinges before pounding on the inner door and screaming something other than Buddhist teachings. The level of insanity and rage that emanated from her had me wishing I was still with the Bunnies. The door finally opened at the same time that an older woman appeared on the street and began gently and insistently tugging on one of the 'nun's' arms; the kind of gesture that speaks of having been made many, many times. And it worked, she was able to drag her away, but not before a huge gob of saliva was spat at the home owner. Give me that old time religion!
Frankly, we'd had about all the adventure we could handle for one day and were ravenous, which is not surprising as it was 2p.m. By now we had traveled a total of 30 miles - in 4 hours!
Then, as always seems to happen in Provence, just when you think you're out of luck, fortune awaits around the next corner. In this case, Le Petit Jardin, a wonderful little family-run restaurant in a sweet, walled garden, the dozen or so tables sitting under a light-dappled awning. And here we ate a delicate pumpkin tart served with a roquefort, tomato, endive salad, followed by a serving of lasagna so light and juicy it is impossible to explain how such a universally known dish could have reinvented itself.
In the evening we ventured out again into the warm, rosy light and found the street we want to live on. One solitary foot-street, whose length is an avenue of subtle and, yes, magical visual energy. Each house leaning on the next in an upright yet random manor. Suspended terraces made of cobwebbed iron. Stone steps and stairs, each its own path home. This door ajar. This one openly open, its dusky interior an invite to the hearth. This entrance has a totemic spirit, this sill a hand-painted metal flower box. I sat on stone walls like the the cats, the stone still holding the heat of the day. And the cats on this street, they mean business. I heard a child's voice from an open window and I said to Joel, I'd like to live on this street. Just a small simple place, bung in some furniture, fling some muslin here and there and watch the sun and the moon.
Tuesday
Friends from Rhode Island email; they're hiking for 5 days in the gorges near us, how about meeting up for a picnic. How great is that! One of the myths about getting older is that you don't make friends as easily or as deeply. What rot! There are so many interesting people in the world, why not have some for friends. We met this couple 2 summers ago on Cape Cod and hit it off immediately. K and P are old world adventures with a wry sense of humor and kind hearts.
So, via cell phone we syncronize our maps and meet at the intersection of a trail and a country road. We pile them into the back seat and drive all of 300 yards to a dappled copse. We have a ground blanket, picnic cloth and all the trimmings. We have salad and salted oil, cheese, sausage, a Luberon Terrine, 2 baguettes, tomatoes, olives, 2 lemon tarts, dark chocolate, grape juice and water. It's slightly surreal and intensely intimate. And after and hour and half we take them back to the trail and watch them, shorts, sturdy shoes, backpacks, disappear into nature. They'll go for miles. They'll take hot baths and sleep well. And we'll look forward to our next rendezvous because it's always an adventure.
