Why I love my Job (if I haven't already mentioned it a thousand times)

I do love my job. Yesterday was the first hot day of the year. I spent most of the day in the car, shvitzing in the Provençal sun, doing some more scouting for a bike holiday, which runs from Avignon down to the Mediterranean Sea.

The best part of the day is when I have to leave the car behind and take out my bike, either on roads not fit for or forbidden to motorized vehicles, or around the narrow streets of tiny villages.

Just across the Rhône River, close to Avignon, I first passed through the town of Aramon. In all the touring or work I've done in the region, my travels have never taken me here. That's the beauty of rural Provence, or France for that matter: splattered with an endless choice of tiny villages set just 5 or 10km apart, you can spand a lifetime getting to visit them all.

Zipping through the narrow streets of Aramon, I was overcome by its massive stone buildings, its old cobbled roads, the disproportinate size of its ramparts. And all of this is hidden on the tourist map.

And plus it was market day: a small market filling the village square and the length of it main street, where the locals can stock up on fresh produce and spend the morning chatting with friends.

The old ramparts and a village gate:

A close-up of the old stone ramparts:

Looking up from the base of the ramparts, possibly to part of its old castle? (I'll have to look this up... unfortunately I didn't really have the time to stay here...)

An old bridge leading to the castle? Anyhow, I'll go back to investigate...

Near the day's end I passed through the town of Beaucaire, set on the Rhône, its main street passed through by a canal...

One of those times where I had to leave the car behind! On my map I saw what looked like a track following alongside a canal, and I went to check it out, and see if it was fit for cyclists. Conclusion: perhaps a little bumpy, but as you can see, for the scenery alone, it's worth the small detour from the roads...

Pernes les Fontaines

Pernes Les Fontaines: it's a village I've passed hundreds of times by bike or by car, a small town just outside Carpentras, and not far from Avignon. Doing some scouting for Walk Inn this past Tuesday, I entered the old part of Pernes for the first time, breaching the old ramparts. For someone from the "New World", for whom architecture is more a contemporary contemplation, I'm continuously awestruck, never tired of centuries-old buildings, dilapidated stone structures, ancient fountains and wash basins...

My boss Yann had talked of this town often, and I never really got the point until I entered the heart of it myself. In the picture below you can see one of the town's 40 fountains (hence its name), the village ramparts, and half of the old covered market (and my work tool: my bicycle).

A woman and her grandson contemplating the village ramparts and the Nesque River.

A peek inside the old town gate:

A walk through the vines in Burgundy

I returned from Burgundy last night, after spending two days amongst the vines, scouting hiking itineraries for Walk Inn. It was my first time in the region; it's always exciting to travel to new places for work, especially doing what I love best -- exploring countryside by foot.

My first task was to set out to the tiny town of Vougeot (despite ongoing train strikes), set beside some of the region's "Grand Cru" vineyards, and create a walking itinerary. The centuries' old estates and cellars, like the one pictured below, are seemingly impenetrable, open only to those with ranks of nobility, or at least those willing to pay the hefty prices some some of the Grand Cru wines, which start at about 80€ a bottle. But looks are deceiving: once inside the welcome is warm and sincere, frankly much more inviting than in my Provence (sorry Provençal winemakers, but it's true). And I was able to taste a variety of wines without having to pay, or without feeling pressured to buy (it did help however, when I announced I was setting up a walking tour, and sending people who are able to afford the wines...)


Below is the 12th century château du Clos de Vougeot, a few minutes' walk from the village of Vougeot, among the reputed vines. The tree in the forefront is used as this photographer's tool to block a large, white camping car at the château entrance...


The vineyards are set as on a thin line just above the Rhône Valley: high enough so that the water table is far below the surface, and low enough to enjoy the warm sunny climate on the first slopes. All of the best wines are mono-varietal: Pinot Noir for the reds, Chardonnay for the whites. The appellation "Grand Cru" concerns only 1.5% of Burgundy's vineyards, reserved for the best terroirs, or as they call them here: climats. I was told that the Pinot Noir grape is neutral in flavour, taking in all the particularities offered by the soil and the climate, ensuring the wines are very different from one climat to another. Complicated stuff to grasp, especially after having tasted 5 wines...


The waymarking here has a little twist, following the "bunches of grapes" sign. The walking in Burgundy is all about the prestigious vines and villages. While the landscapes aren't as grandiose as others I've experienced in France, the vines are indeed very grandiose. The holiday I was putting together here is very much about the vines: and what better way to get a grasp of the vignoble bourgignon than to walk among its vineyards, from one village to the next...


In the tiny hamlet of Chambolle Musigny, a linden tree planted in 1575.



I spent the night in the town of Beaune, often referred to as the capital of Burgundy (at least of its wines). The town is beatifully kept, majestic buildings and monuments, the streets are filled with 4-star hotels and Americans, a tourism centred 100% around wines and winemaking.



And only steps from the town -- literally -- are the prized vines, which is what makes a walking holiday here such a great concept. This was not the ideal time to come and see the vines, just days before the first buds. The political region is called the Côte-d'Or, translated as "golden slope", and referring to the scene in the autumn, with the vine leaves changing colour, a golden blanket above the Rhône Valley. Perhaps I'll come back in the fall...


The following day's walk was in the hills to the west, above the vines, starting from a village so small there aren't any shops. The boulangerie ambulante, or "bakery on wheels", makes its way to the village of St. Romain every morning at 8am, except on Mondays...



The morning was beautiful: fresh and cool air, bright sunshine, all the motivation needed to set off for a day's hike.

Leaving Saint Romain I set off on a quaint track through the forest, leading up to a limestone plateau. This is more my kind of hiking...



From the top, the views of the valley below are widesweeping. A touch hazy, the distant Alps weren't in view on this day, though apparently Mont Blanc often paints the backdrop of this particular scene.



The tiny town of Orches, nestled just below the limestone plateau, facing the morning sun in admiration.



In the town of Rochepot, the halfway point of the hike, I had the chance to admire its 13th century castle, set in the three photos below:





Near the end of the hike, high on the plateau, the views opened of the Rhône Valley: a veritable sea of vines stretching into the horizon.


A short video of lunch on my first day's hike:

Cherry Blossoms...

It's the month of April, and the cherry blossoms have come into bloom. I've been doing quite a bit of scouting for a company called Walk Inn Provence, for whom I now work fulltime. Combing the tiniest of back roads and paths in the search of perfect walking and cycling holidays, I spend days on end in the heart of the Provençal countryside. Not a bad way to earn a paycheque...

Yesterday's travels took me -- among other places -- just below the tiny village of Séguret, perched high above the Rhône Valley. You can see the blurred village behind the cherry blossoms, which were the focus -- in both meaning of the term -- of the two photos below...






The weather began to turn halfway through the day, and below is the best shot I managed of an orchard in full bloom. To the right of the picture, just above the cherry trees, and perched on a hill, you can just make out the medieval village of Le Barroux, lit by the day's last rays of sunshine. The village is infamous for its most recognizable inhabitant: the leader of the extreme right wing party, Jean Marie Le Pen of the Front National. He could very well have argued that his "flame", used as the symbol for his political party, shielded his village from the incoming storm...


On a short bike ride at the end of a day of scouting, climbing the first tough kilometers of the road to Mont Ventoux, I learned that it'll take much more training before if I ever make my way back to the summit.

Alpes de Haute Provence...

This past Easter weekend I hiked for three days in the region just east of the Luberon mountains, near the town of Forcalquier. Technically speaking, this is the "Alpes de Haute Provence" region, though these aren't truly the Alps, but rather a set of never-ending and rolling foothills, laden in lavender fields and oak forest, much more Provençal than Alpine. The tourists rarely make it here: the villages are are more humble and authentic, devoid of kitschy shops or waiters that entice would-be petrons from out on the streets.

A busy bee contemplating almond flowers, while a hilltop windmill proudly fills the backdrop, just outside the village of St. Michel l'Observatoire:


Forcalquier is just over an hour's drive from Avignon. Think about it: from Mediterranean Avignon, just over an hour gets you here: a glimpse of the Southern Alps, still covered by their wintry blanket:



The hiking in this particular region, I have to admit, doesn't compare to mountain ranges closer to home, such as Ventoux, Luberon, or Alpilles. Here the hills are tamer, cut in such a way that you can see the hike's end from its start, not offering a great deal of variety in scenery, and certainly less jaw-dropping-majesty. But something can be said for having the Alps as a backdrop while you head along a peaceful path, and so peaceful that I had it all to myself. Literally. 3 days, 45 km, not one person crossed my path...


I saw this shrine along the way, built in the early 19th century.


Below is the town of Reillane, one of my stops. It was Easter Sunday when I arrived here, and so this sleepy village seemed all the more tired. On a normal day there are some quaint bars and cafés open, set on the disproportionately huge village square, where you can watch the world go by...

Crillon le Brave...

Close to my first Provençal home last week, I decided to pay a visit to my old friends at the hotel Crillon le Brave, where I worked as a receptionist for two years. I had forgotten just how much I had fallen in love with the countryside here, at the foot of Mont Ventoux: tiny hilltop villages, views extending to the far reaches of the plains of the Rhône Valley, surrounded by a sea of vines with patches of olive groves and cherry orchards, and of course views of the other villages that dot the landscape. This is without a doubt my favourite little corner of Provence: a little corner I'd like to call home one day...

On this particular day, the skies were threatening their worst above Ventoux -- set just behind the village of Crillon -- while the village itself bathed in a few timid rays of sunlight...