Pictures - Languedoc 2007

Bezier, Pezenas and Narbonne

Pezenas and Narbonne

Day 9

Determined to spend as little time at our gite as possible, we set off immediately after breakfast for Pezenas and the weekly market. It seemed that we were becoming connoisseurs (or gourmands, depending on your point of view) of weekly village markets on this trip.

The market, with all the usual suspects, was in full swing when we arrived. Cheeses, produce, sausages, pastries and breads, olive oils and the best flower displays I had seen. I fell in love with the way bouquets were wrapped up- cellophane and butcher's paper tied with colorful ribbon, creating little freestanding vases. And for the first time in my life, I discovered the beauty of a blooming artichoke.

A well preserved medieval village, Pezenas was a joy to stroll through- the narrow cobble-stone streets, beautiful open squares, grayish-white stone buildings with their pastel colored shutters that shone so beautifully in the crisp sunlight. As we wandered down one of the streets, I spotted a bakery with Pezenas' specialty, clive pies in the window. Ever the intrepid gourmand- I had to try one. Hmmm-OK, it was tasty- but not really my cup of tea. A little too treacly.

We also noticed posters all over town announcing the "Reconstruction of Moliere". No festival activities seemed to be taking place as we continued exploring Pezenas and so we decided to bail and head to Narbonne.

Narbonne was majestic in relation to Pezenas' medieval charm. The crown jewels of Narbonne are the Palais des Archeveques and the Cathedral St. Just. Both structures are a jumble of architectural styles, as different sections were built over the span of several centuries.

Tucked away on the second floor of the Palais, we happened upon the Museum of Art and History. The fierce wind rattled against the windows as we explored the galleries. Though many fine paintings graced the walls, I was fascinated by the faience (earthenware pottery) room and the large gallery hall with pharmacist's jars on display.

The massive Cathedral St. Just pretty much floored me. Both inside and out, the architecture was astounding. It is the largest cathedral in France, according to one source I checked, but I could be wrong. I was entranced by the soaring height of the nave, the beautiful chandeliers, the rhythms created by the columns and windows. As you entered, there was a wall of marble 'merci' plaques, framing the patron saint of the cathedral. At the rear, behind the altar in the Lady's Chapel, was a beautiful white stone altarpiece from the 14th century that had been painstakingly restored to most of it's former glory. And of course, I had to snap photos of the bishops' sarcophagi (is that a word?) since religious effigies scare the beejeezus out of me.

Stuffed with enough art and historical culture for awhile, we deposited ourselves at a cafe for our sometime customary wine and cheese break. A debate ensued regarding where to spend our evening. My vote rang for Narbonne, but my husband convinced me to return to Pezenas, for the Moliere Festival.

We arrived back in Pezenas just as the festivities began. My initial fear that things would be too crowded immediately dissolved as we stumbled upon our first group of revelers. The mood in town was infectious! As we hurried through the streets, I felt like a kid at Christmas...when even though the last present you had unwrapped was great, you couldn't wait to tear open the next one to see what treasures awaited you.

There seemed to be about ten different groups, ranging from groups of tribal musicians to actors putting on plays to jugglers and even a roaming troupe of guardsman. Behind the main square, they had recreated a slice of medieval Pezenas, where the town fool pontificated and the actors horsed around. Near the Jewish ghetto, was another recreation of medieval life, where they had set up a pub and even had livestock and an old smith.

In the main square, as I was taking pictures of the guardsman- they decided to turn the tables on me. One grabbed my camera, while the oldest, most haggard looking and silliest grabbed me for our own photo shoot. What I couldn't see, was a third guard sticking his sword through my new friend's legs and making it rise up every time the guard kissed me. All in good fun. I laughed when my husband told me about the little joke.

We were both getting really hungry, but didn't want to miss out on any of the action. So I quickly ran to the emptiest looking restaurant in the square (for once, we could have cared less how good the food might be) to see if they had a table available for dinner. Luck was on our side again! We scored a table with a perfect view of the entertainment. And luckily, our food was pretty good too. I ordered grilled calamares and my husband had some kind of meat stew. As the festivities continued on, we were impressed by the level of acting from the troupe that staged a short play, including their sword stage-fighting abilities. And every time the fool passed through the square, we laughed as he set off 'bombs' that made everyone in the restaurant around us jump in their seats.

Eventually, the troupes took leave for their own dinner, and the square was taken over by children and adults who heartily indulged in a huge hay fight, desiccating the bundles stacked everywhere.

After dinner, we grabbed some gelato and reworked our way through the town, enjoying the infectious joy of the revelers in the warm glow of the evening light.

As we fell into bed that night, we both remarked at what a wonderful and unexpected day we had enjoyed.

On the road again...

Day 8

After the deluge of the previous day, we were elated to find a mostly sun-filled sky in the morning. It was time to leave Mas Lou Albeihs.

As we packed up the car again and said our goodbyes, I considered ditching the majority of my clothing in order to fit the kittens and Bibou in my suitcase. Decided that trying to get the animals through customs probably wouldn't work and hence, ditched the idea.

We headed west, taking the same drive we had attempted yesterday. What a difference a day makes! Driving through the Causse Mejean was simply stunning. A causse is a limestone plateau, and Mejean has the highest altitude of all the plateaus in the Cevennes. Due to the high altitude, it can be quite hot and arid in the summer months. However, thanks our loyal companions- the rain and the tramontane (the langeudoc mistral), the air was refreshing and cool. The verdant landscape shimmered in the morning sun. The pine forests and wildflowers (clover, oleander, lavender and poppies) carpeting the landscape filled the mountain air with an incredible sweet perfume.

Meyrueis, another picturesque village nestled in the mountains, was our pit stop for lunch. From there, we continued through the Gorges de la Jonte. As we drove through the narrow canyon, we marvelled at the views towering above- limestone cliffs, rocky outcroppings and the 'castle of the vultures', where we viewed hordes of vultures circling high in the sky. At Peyreleau, the Gorges de la Jonte and the Gorges du Tarn converged, and we were treated to yet more stunning views in all directions.

The next milestone on our journey was Millau- to view and drive across the famous bridge. Officially opened to traffic in December of 2004, it is the tallest vehicular bridge in the world. It was built to ease traffic congestion (pre-bridge, there were huge traffic jams in Millau due to travellers from the north heading towards the Mediterranean). I was awed at how it merged with the natural environment. The bridge was a beautiful work of art, dancing across the landscape. The graceful linear architecture evoked the image a majestic sailboat, sailing across valley. DH marvelled at the engineering.

I spend alot of time on the Fodor's and Slow Travel message boards researching our trips. It was on the Fodor's boards, that I had read several postings from people who were terrified at the thought of driving over this bridge. So, I was curious to see what our reaction would be.

To my surprise, the drive over wasn't frightening at all. After the roads we'd been on, it would have taken alot to more to make us nervous. The traffic lanes were wide. The road felt solid. The clear guardrails that lined the side of the bridge were high enough to give a sense of security and still offer spectacular views of the valley as we drove across.

Bridge experience completed, we hopped on the autoroute towards our next stop- Roujan.

Roujan was a last minute addition to our trip, due to a lapse on our part, that resulted in our only having reservations for two nights at Lou Albeihs instead of four. Our gite was at the edge of the village and run by a very sweet old lady whom my DH immediately nicknamed "Madame Bouquet"- a reference to the character of Mrs. Bucket on the British TV show "Keeping Up Appearances". The nickname was earned because of her high-pitched sing-song way of speaking- not the humorous misguided snobbery of the sitcom character.

We hauled our bags up the stairs to our room and thought we might spend a relaxing evening, having a picnic out by the pool in the tiny yard. Alas, Mme Bouquet seemed to think the Gites de France were policing her every move. As I tried to let myself through the gate into pool area, she hurried out of the house. Like an over protective doting great aunt (the one you loved but dreaded), she kneaded her hands, as she explained to me that 'the rules' said she couldn't allow guests into the pool area if the pool wasn't 'open'. OK, it was time to ditch that idea.

We explored the entirety of Roujan on foot in about ten minutes...and decided it was a one horse village a little lacking in charm. So out came the map and the guidebook. Beziers was only twenty minutes away and it had a large park. So we grabbed our picnic supplies and hopped back in the car.

In Beziers, we headed straight to the pretty park, Plateau des Poetes. There, we spread out our blanket, laid out our meal, uncorked a bottle of wine, and spent a lovely evening just being.

Pictures from the Cevennes 2007

Cevennes 2007

Here comes the rain, again

Day 7

In the Bible, it says that on the seventh day, God rested. On our trip, he changed his mind and decided to recreate the story of Noah's ark. We had high hopes of a different history when we awoke that morning. Clouds gathered ominously around the mountain peaks, but a few patches of sunshine offered a glimmer of hope.

Our original plan had been to spend the day kayaking through the Gorges du Tarn. Due to a my husband's ski injury three months prior and more importantly, the chilly and formidable weather conditions, we begrudgingly knew that adventure would have to be saved for another trip. Holding on to our glimmer of hope, we decided to take a scenic drive through the Causse Mejean, ending at Mt Agouil and possibly fitting in a light hike somewhere along the way.

We set off towards the Causse Mejean. Driving along the D13, clouds hugged the mountainside, obscuring views of the valleys, their cottony, soft appearance lending a false sense of comfort as we motored along the road. As we passed through the tiny hamlet of Barres des Cevennes, it started to rain heavily. A little rain couldn't stop us, though our hopes were now dimming to a tiny flicker. We continued to forge on. A few kilometers south of Hospitalet we met our match. Instead of marvelling at the spectacular views marked on our Michelin map #339, we found ourselves completely enveloped by clouds. We couldn't even make out the trees on the side of the road. Visibility was zip, zero, zilch. Mother nature had won the battle on this one.

Deterred but not defeated, we changed direction and headed to Florac.

When we arrived in Florac, classified as one of The Most Beautiful Villages de France it the start of the lunch hour, and so most of the shops in town were closed or about to close. We stumbled upon the last vestiges of the weekly market, as waterlogged vendors disassembled their stalls. Chilled and waterlogged ourselves, we decided that something warm to eat might be a good idea. So we took our cues from the vendors and got a table in the nearest cafe. We had some kind savory crepes (there's a specific name for them, but it's not in my notes and I can't remember it for the life of me) which sufficiently warmed our stomachs before making a second attempt at exploring the town.

We lasted about twenty minutes in the rain. Finally admitting defeat, we headed back to Mas Lou Albeihs, for an afternoon of reading and napping.

That evening, we again convened in the dining room for apertifs. But tonight, we all huddled around the fireplace, letting the toasty warm fire dry out our chilled and soggy bones as the kittens and Mignon snuggled in our laps. As we sipped rose and nibbled fresh hummus, Barbra from Switzerlad uttered the best quote of the day- "The only problem with today was that it rained. Once. ALL DAY LONG."

Dinner was scrumptious as usual. Our starter was a salad of melon, tomato, olives, mozzarella and chives, dressed in oil and vinegar and garnished with fresh mint.

The main course was a simple meat sauce, poured over tri-color pasta that had been boiled and then sauteed. We were also served a tomato and a zucchini, both baked and stuffed with the sauce. When I asked what the meat was,I was told it came from a small deer, native to the region. Whatever it was, it tasted damn good.

Conversation eventually shifted to politics, a vacation first for us- the election of Sarkozy and the war in Iraq. It was enlightening for all of us, I think, to hear each other's views- views that didn't necessarily reflect what is often reported in the mainstream media. I for one, gained a better understanding of the french and their hopes for the future of their country. And when we explained to them how we and many of our friends disagreed with the Bush government's handling of Iraq, though we supported our troops who were putting their lives on the line- they were both shocked (that we would dissent) and relieved (that we did dissent).

At Lou Albeihs, conversation is primarily in French. Personally we love it, since it increases our vocabulary and comprehension exponentially. Still, I was surprised at my ability to express my views on such a subject, without resorting to English. My husband's comprehension had improved so much that he was able to follow the conversation, though he had to respond in English. Noticing his improvement,Julien and Clothilde teased him that next year, it was time to get past his timidity and speak French. Only French!

As the evening drew on, dessert was served- strawberry/rhubarb/honey tartes. Still warm, the blend of sweet and tart was a perfect end note to our meal.

Another wonderful evening drew to a close, and we bid each other good night. DH and I, of course, had to finish ours with another kitten rendezvous in our room. When we eventually crawled into bed, we fell asleep....to the sound of....the falling rain.

To the Cevennes, away we go!

Day 6....

We had a leisurely breakfast, settled our bill, and took another round of photos of Le Vallon. Fred joked with us to please leave some wine in France when we mentioned our plans to stop in Chateneauf des Papes on our eternal search to find a cave that ships to the US. We laughed and agreed to leave enough behind for everyone else. Then we bid our gracious hosts adieu, until next year.


Our stop at Chateneauf was brief. We searched in vain for the cave we visited last year...where we both remembered being told shipping to the US was possible. Or maybe that memory was a dream, sprung from hope, who knows. We just wanted to bring home a bit of France with us, so that over the year, we could open a bottle on special occasions and be transported back to this enchanting place. And with the new flight security regulations banning liquids in carry-on, we were nervous about packing bottles in our checked luggage. Eventually, we wandered into another little cave, where the very funny and charming salesman lead us through a brief degustation of Chateneauf wines. Even though he valiantly tried to sell us a case, proclaiming "everyday is a special occasion, especially when on vacation!", we only opted for two beautiful floral whites (hard to come by in the US, as white only makes up 4% of the Chateneauf output) and one 'big' red that would reach it's full potential in a few years.

Treasures secured, more than enough wine left in France for the French and other wine loving tourists, we hopped back into the car and headed west towards the Cevennes. We decided to drive straight through, bypassing Pont du Gard and pretty Uzes, since we had visited both before, in hopes of discovering another little gem along the way. We finally stopped at a roadside aeire on the N106, somewhere near La Grande Combe, to stretch our legs and enjoy a little picnic lunch. Even though we were bounded by beautiful mountains on either side, being by the highway wasn't the most idyllic spot. Still, it was fun to have cyclists and truckers alike wish us a 'bon repast' as they passed us by. Towards the end of our petit dejeuner, we noticed that an impeccably dressed old man and his dog had come down to watch us through the wire fence that lined the wooded property above us. Every time we looked his way, a big smile would spread across his face and would give us little a wave, as if to say, 'Your enjoyment of your meal is my pleasure too". As we got back in the car, he bid us adieu and un bon journee and we bid him un bon sejours.

So close, yet still another hour to our destination. Last year, I think my husband and I had nearly 10,000 heart attacks combined driving to Mas De Lou Albeihs. I remember seeing hundreds of wooden silhouettes lining the highway, marking places where motorists had met their untimely deaths. Maybe my imagination was in overdrive last year (in response to warnings about the dangerous roads), since we only managed to spot a few this time.

We turned off the highway and up into the mountains.

This was the part that produced the most heart attacks last year, since we took the tiny D13 road that my husband thought would be a 'fun' shortcut. Just picture a mountain road, with no guardrails, wide enough for one car to drive along, intermittently unpredictable cars and trucks coming from the other direction, and lots of blind curves. Needless to say, I had no trouble convincing DH to try another road this time. So we opted for the D984, at Col de Jacreste for our ascent. Soooo much better! Or maybe we'd both been inured after last year's adventure. I was even able to enjoy looking out over the valley without envisioning being blindsided by another car and tumbling to an untimely demise on the valley floor.

When we finally arrived at Mas de Lou Albeihs, Julien greeted us warmly and we spent the next few minutes catching up. I wanted to say hello to his wife, Clothilde. Julien told us she was in Ales with their son, to see Spiderman 3 and would return a little later. Next, I asked about their dog...who had been our most excellent companion on last year's hike. With a mischievous smile, Julien held a finger in the air, quipped 'un moment' and then clapped his hands as he called out "Bibou, bibou, bibou". And quelle suprise....from the house, came running a baby lamb! His little tail was swishing a mile a minute as I clapped my hands and giggled with glee.

OK...I'm a geek and I'm in heaven. I have a friend who makes a yearly pilgrimage to hug a baby lamb each spring. As Bibou nuzzled up to me and licked my face, I completely understood my friend's lamb hugging obsession. Everyone should hug a baby lamb! Julien allowed me to feed Bibou his bottle of milk, which Bibou promptly sucked down in one minute and quickly followed with three more. Bibou's mother had rejected him, and now he was being raised by Julien and Clothilde. Even though Bibou was a mouton (male sheep), which are raised for their meat, Julien assured me that Bibou would not be some one's future dinner. They were going to raise and keep him for educational purposes. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was giddy and delirious with baby lamb love, when Julien led us around the corner of the house for yet another surprise. On an old wooden bench under the kitchen window, was their cat (who I nicknamed Mignon) sleeping with her three eight week old baby kittens. Heaven just got better! Here we were, in these beautiful mountains, at this great gite, surrounded by baby animals...and we're in France. We spent the rest of afternoon studying some french, soaking up the views, and of course...playing with the kittens.

Chlothilde and her son returned from Ales. We watched with amusement as her son bounced about the side of the mountain, still brimming with excitement from the movie.

At 730pm, we all gathered for apertifs of Lychee vodka and saucissons sec in the dining room before dinner, since the evening air was too chilly to sit outside. We were joined by two other couples, one from Switzerland and the other from England, both named Barbara and Michael.

Meals at Lou Albeihs are something we look forward to with heartfelt anticipation. For one, they are just damn delicious. Not in a haute cuisine kind of way way, but more like home cooking with a twist. Nothing pretentious, but everything so creative and full of wonderful flavors- and always paying hommage to the terroir of the Cevennes. And of course, we also look forward to an evening of conversation with our hosts and the other guests.

Our dinner began with individual mustard quiches, which arrived at the table fresh from the oven. The contrast of the grain and spice of the mustard against the creaminess of the eggs was a tasty surprise.

For our main course, we were served sanglier (wild boar) meatballs in a tomato sauce with a wild green that was similar to spinach- but with more of a peppery bite. It was accompanied by a puree of potatoes and chestnuts and a salad. Who would have thought the addition of chestnut puree to mashed potatoes would create such a rich and satisfying dish? And the meatballs were so full of flavor and lean, wonderfully complimented by the tomato sauce.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, as we talked about our backgrounds, travels to different countries, and our shared love of France. Second helpings were eaten and red wine flowed freely. And finally, came dessert- a creamy chocolate pudding flavored with fresh orange peel. As we scraped our bowls clean of every last delicious drop of pudding, we all paid our compliments to the chef of the evening, Julien, for another wonderfully orchestrated meal before trundling off to bed.

Well, most went to bed. I confess DH and I stayed up for another hour or so...playing with the kittens, of course!

Vaison La Romaine and Mt Ventoux

We decided to visit the weekly market of Vaison La Romaine. We had visited Vaison on both of our previous trips. One of our highlights from last year's, was a glorious and raucous celebration in Vaison's town square after France's beat Portugal during the World Cup finals.

We had a mission to find ingredients for that night's dinner. We wanted something a little more substantial than our usual bread, cheese and tomato picnics since we had a fantastic kitchen to make use of back at Le Vallon. Everything looked so good, I felt like the proverbial kid in a candy store...I wanted it all!

Wandering through the market...I excitedly discovered a vendor selling fresh artisanal nougat and calissons. Be still my heart! We were introduced to both of these Provencal delights on our HM (Michelle would serve little treats each morning at breakfast) and immediately fell in love with them. There were four different slabs...huge slabs (slabs big enough to pave a sidewalk, if you lived in OZ) of nougat to choose from. After tasting the samples, I asked a for a small piece of Lavender Honey nougat and a large piece of Orange Peel Nougat. I completed my purchase with a bag of calissons. And yes Virginia, there is a difference in the taste! (I am saving the last bit of orange peel nougat until I finish writing about this trip...mmm, incentive!)

Eventually, I amassed the supplies needed for the evening's dinner while my husband patiently followed me on my hunt.

We packed up the car and left Vaison with the intention of visiting the villages of Sault and Caromb. As we drove east from Les Dentelles, I spotted the summit of Mt. Ventoux completely free of clouds. Carpe Diem! Last minute change of plans, and we decided to go for the summit, before Mother Nature changed her mind.


As we started the ascent, we oohed and ahhed over the increasingly beautiful vistas. Below us lay a patchwork quilt of mountains, towns and fields of Provence. My heart skipped another beat, as my love for this region grew even stronger. The weather would have been warm that day, if not for the chill winds of the mistral that continued to blow. We marvelled at cyclists we passed who were making this same ascent via their own will power. And we were doubly humbled that the majority of them seemed to be quite a few years older than us. In NYC, I commute by bicycle most of the time, but the thought of trying to reach the summit of this mountain by pedal power truly astounded me. I looked at my husband like he had two heads when he suggested we might do the ascent by bike in the future.

As we neared the summit, a true suprise was waiting. Almost 200m from the summit of 2909 meters, the verdant greens of spring and summer were suddenly enveloped in frost and snow...and in two days it would be June! At the summit, the wind was so strong that it shook our car like a baby's ratlle. We parked and stepped out to admire the view. A dutch couple travelling by motorcycle kindly took our obligatory "we were here" photo. The chilly air was refreshing, for the brief five or ten minutes we lasted outside the car. I was awed by icicles on the road sign that had been rendered completely vertical by the strong winds.

Heavy clouds started to roll in, and I reminded my husband if we didn't move quickly, we would have absolutely no visibility driving down.

A hasty retreat from the summit, and we drove down Mt Ventoux. On our way back to Le Vallon, we made a detour and stopped at Gigondas and Vacqueras with two intentions. I wanted a photo of what I call "the Hollywood sign" that has amused me to no end on our previous visits and the hope of finding a cave that would ship a case of wine back to the US. We visited a few caves, and none would ship to the US. Oh well...we decided to do a degustation and buy a few bottles at a cave in Vacqueyras.


As I was paying for the wines, my husband eyed the huge casks from which you could fill your own bottles. This has been an ongoing obsession with DH since last year's trip...the novelty of filling his own bottle. So he mustered his courage, got out his nalgene bottle and tried to ask in his very limited but improving french if he could tank up (I was so proud of him for trying to speak French!). It tugged at my heartstrings to see the disappointment on his face when he was told that a minimum of five litres was required to fill up your own.

Back at the apartment, we both packed and readied our bags for the next morning's departure. And then I prepared dinner. I wouldn't say it was a major culinary adventure, but rather a simple experience. In my dreams, I want to be the kind of cook who can whip up a spectacular meal from nothing, without a cookbook to help me...I am a good cook, but there are times when the results just don't match what I envisioned. I prepared a salad, boiled the potatos and tried an experiment with the white asparagus, cooking it in butter, olive oil and white wine. The duck and rabbit we bought at the market were already prepared and packaged in these wonderful sacs with instructions for reheating. Hands down, they were the stars of our dinner. The duck had been prepared with olives and thyme. The rabbit was prepared in the Provencal style with olive oil, garlic, tomatoes, and thyme. Both were moist, succulent and exquisitely perfumed with herbs. For our wine, we opened one of the bottles we bought at the cave, a 2004 Gigondas Domaine Varenne Vieux Fut...it was a perfect food and wine match. Well, except for the asparagus...someday I'll figure out a fabulous way to prepare it.

After dinner, as the sunset, we took a walk along the Canal du Carpentras and through the fields and orchards near le Vallon. The countryside started to resemble a Millet painting, as the sunset bathed it in beautiful golden hues. We came across a cherry orchard and my husband mischeviously grabbed a handful from one of the trees. We savored the last moments of the day and the sweet cherries as we made our way home, and looked forward to next year's visit to Le Vallon and the two weeks that still lay ahead of us. Next stop, the Cevennes!

Arles and Le Camargue

The next morning, we arose with foggy heads and wonderful memories of the night before. The weather didn't seem too imposing, so we set off to see a different side of Provence...Arles and the Camargue. I have been fascinated with this area's reputation for ruggedness, gypsies, bullfights and in the Camargue, wildlife.

First stop, Arles. Rugged is a good word for Arles...the grey-blue buildings don't have the sweetness of the towns in the Luberon or Les Dentelles. You could say that Arles wears its heart on its sleeves, where as most of the other Provencal towns we have visited, coo and flirt with you into loving them.

It was a blustery day (yep, that pesky mistral) and the blue skies were peppered with clouds that took turns looking either menacing or pretty, depending on your point of view. After parking the car, we entered Arles through the Porte de la Calverie. The town is as promised, both pretty and gritty. To my amusement, one of the first things I noticed, besides the architecture, was a gentleman sporting a big ol' University of Michigan shirt. Being that U of M is my undergraduate alma matter, it gave both myself and DH a case of the silent teehees. It's a sad confession that my first five minutes in Arles were devoted to shadowing a midwestern fashion statement so I could get a good photo on the sly. Apologies to anyone offended and to anyone who gets my humor, enjoy the chuckle.

The main reason we wanted to visit Arles was to see Les Arenes. Les Arenes (the roman amphitheater) was built around the 1st or 2nd century AD. It had been under renovation during our previous two visits- which is part of the reason we didn't visit before. It's quite an impressive structure and it completely dominates the center of town. There is one other arena in Provence, in Nimes which we had enjoyed on our HM during the Festival des Ferias.

At Les Arenes, we wandered through the interior of the arena, sans audioguide. It was fun to imagine what it would have been like in the Roman era, and I harbored a yen to see live bullfight. The arena still hosts bullfights to this day, with a crowd capaciy of 12,000. Meandering throught the corridors, it was amazing to see day-old fresh hoof prints from the bulls in the sandy dirt. I can feel the testosterone. As we climbed each tier, amazing views opened at nearly every turn. I think my favorite was from the highest tier, overlooking the town and the Rhone river. We also took some time to visit the ruins of Arles' Theater Antique. It's a small shadow of what we saw the previous day in Orange and is currently being renovated by several organisations, including UNESCO and the french government. After a little more exploration of the town, we decided to make our way to the Camargue.

It had been recommended to us to head towards Stes. Marie de la Mer, but I made a last minute decision to head down the D36 route towards Salin de Giraud. My Lonely Planet guidebook metioned that you could see flocks of flamingos on this route...and well, I wanted to see flamingos, because it's just about the last thing most people would think to look for in France. Most of the drive down was pretty but desolate. Vast expanses of grassy fields flanked us on either side, and an occasional Mas thrown in. As we got closer to the southernmost part of our journey, the fields turned to marshes and the wind became stronger. It tossed balls of seafoam up and over the road. The seafoam looked like snow as it bounced across the road due to the extremely high salt content of these waters. We spotted our first flock of flamingos just before Salin de Giraud!

My dutiful DH stopped the car so I could capture my Kodak moment. As I tried to open the car door, the strong winds battled against my efforts for superiority. Zut alors! I had heard the Camargue was windy, but this was more than I had imagined. I eventually won the battle, and my husband and I spent a few minutes playing with the wind as it helped us defy the laws of gravity. Flamingos and silly american couple captured on film, we hopped back in our car to see what lay ahead.

About ten minutes later, at Salin de Giraud, we came upon the largest amount of salt we had ever seen in our life. The huge mountains of salt seemed to stretch for miles. I'll never look at my coveted french sea salt the same way again. At the very end of the road was the Plage de Piemanson. As we turned on to the beach, I was amazed to see hundreds caravans stretching for miles. There weren't many people around, but apparently, this is quite the vacation spot for quite a few people. We drove a ways down, and both had our second laugh of the day, as we spotted a man lounging naked on a beach chair while reading the paper. I am all in favor nothing partial nudity and nude beaches, but I had to wonder how anyone could enjoy being naked on that day in that setting. The amount of sand that was being whipped around gave me welts...and I was fully clothed!

We then headed back north along the D36D, alongside the Etang des Vaccares. This was the prettiest part of our drive...and we saw many more flocks of flamingos, a bull or two and a smattering of horses.

Back at Le Vallon that evening, we had another picnic dinner by the pool. An earlier rainstorm created amazing vistas of the sunset sky. A little wine, some good simple food, and a living breathing painting, courtesy of mother nature..yet another day in heaven.