The much-anticipated, fabled bike tour

So I decided that before I left France for good, I had to do a number of things (mostly drink wine and eat cheese), one of which was a bike tour in Provence. I trained, but not very much, and then I left to do a little tour around the Parc Naturel de Luberon, exploring the mountains and

Leaving the house for my grand escapade

kl;villages in the vicinity. My planned circuit began at Fourcalquier, passed through Lurs, Cruis, Apt, Rousillon, Fontaine-de-Vaucluse, and ended in Cavaillon, where I would catch the train back to Vichy. Everything that could have gone wrong did–well, maybe not quite. My tires exploded between thunderstorms instead of during and my camera didn’t quit working until my very last day, and no one stole my bike. I guess it could have been much worse. Plus I had a wonderful time despite all the mishaps and weather.

Day 1: Skipped my last class of the day to catch the south-bound train that accepts bikes and several hours and two trains later arrived in Avignon. It wasn’t warm. The weather report had warned me about rain, unseasonal at this point, in the region, but I had my doubts. It’s almost unheard of, pouring rain five days in a row in the south of France in June. It didn’t rain while I was in Avignon, and I found my way to my couchsurfing host’s apartment. Her name was Laurence, she had just turned forty, and she made me some of the best soup I’ve ever tasted. She was a really awesome lady, a pre-school teacher who took half of each year off (in France, you can do that, and just get paid half your salary every month so you still have a steady income…I think I found my future dream job) to travel. Her most recent adventure was in South America. I really admired this lady because she was so independent; she traveled everywhere all alone, and she’d met a man while in Argentina but was not willing to give up her life she’d built in Avignon to go be with him. We drank an apératif and I ate my delicious soup and went to bed after a couple hours of interesting conversation. I love couchsurfing because it’s like having a blind date with someone who

Tut tut, it looks like rain

you already know you have tons in common with. I mean, without the dating part. It’s like having automatic friends wherever you go, and they live in the place that you are visiting, and so know lots about it and can show you around. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time wiht Laurence to really take advantage of this aspect, but I really enjoyed my evening with her nonetheless.

Day 2: In the morning I woke up around 6, locked up the apartment and got on my bike to head to the bus station. I took the early bus to Forcalquier. I woke up in the quaint, beautiful village, bought a delicious pastry for breakfast, drank some coffee, and went to the tourism office where the extremely helpful ladies didn’t even want me to spend money on a map but just wanted to give me very specific directions to everywhere I wanted to go. I bought a map anyway; some of my couchsurfing hosts were off

The perfume university

the beaten path and I would need to find them. I spent a long time hanging around Fourcalquier, hiking up to the top of the hill in the old town (where there is–surprise!–a church), smelling all the roses at the university of perfume, learning how to use the self-timer on my camera to take self-and-bike portraits and also taking pictures of cats (which would continue throughout the tour). I finally got on my way around 11 AM, riding some major ups and downs through a kind of desert-ish mountainous country that, like most of France, looked like a part of Oregon (minus, of course, the ubiquitous perfect little stone villages). My lunch stop, around 1 pM, was in Lurs, a tiny little village that was stunningly beautiful, perched

A typical Forcalquier ruelle

atop a hill that proved to be a grueling climb. The town was deserted because of the sprinkling rain, and I found a closed bakery who opened just to make me a three-euro pizza. I sat with a cat and ate my lunch before heading off towards Cruis. I got a bit lost, but that’s part of bike touring. Cruis was also beautiful, and is classified as a ‘Village of Character,’ a special official designation that I kind of think is just tourist propaganda. Often I find that the villages that are not classified are often more beautiful and authentic. By the end of my very short ride of 40 K, I was absolutely exhausted to the point that I kept stopping and checking my bike, thinking that something must be rubbing somewhere as I was having such a hard time climbing the endless hills. Around 4 PM I finally rolled into my chambre d’hôtes, Grand Champs, 1.5 km after

Poppies and Lurs in the background

Cruis. I was so excited to have a bed and even took a dip in the freezing pool despite the weather. I did end up having several hot showers trying to warm up and spent a lot of time under the covers in my bed. The area is rumoured to have the clearest skies in Europe, so astronomers come from all over, even Ireland, to observe the stars. I didn’t see any stars because it was too cloudy and it rained heavily all night.

The owners of the chambres d’hôtes were a great, really open (polygamous!) couple. Phillipe was originally from Paris but had made a name for himself in Provence and been accepted, instead of detested and rejected (like most Parisian invaders) into the community. I had a great time chatting and eating with them around the family table. The limitless supply of free wine probably helped. The food was good, my room was wonderful and inexpensive, and I set out the next day in the rain around 10 AM.

In Viens, the black cat street!

Here I am overlooking one of the most beautiful views in France, a white wall of precipitation.

Day 3: I had 90 k to do, which turned out to be easier than my 40 k day since I was mostly going downhill. In the pouring rain. There were tons of sights I wanted to stop and see: Banon, St. Simiane-La-Rotonde, various gorges and canyons…but my views from the tops of plateaus were entirely obscured by fog. I stopped in a tiny village called Oppedette for a hot chocolate (in the South of France, in JUNE) and a sandwich where I listened to a group of old French people discussing tourists’ plans to build a new house in the area. I continued my descent, tried to see the famous Gorges of Oppedette, saw lots of fog instead, and climbed up to this gorgeous (not classified) village called Viens. It, too, was pretty much abandoned because of the weather, but I entertained myself just riding around and hiding under archways during heavy periods of rain. When it became clear that the rain was never going to let up, I left for

Oppedette

an uncomfortable, wet, and cold descent that seemed to go forever. I past Apt, which looked big and unappealing, and followed an old railway converted into a bike trail past a village called Lumières and to the rural home where I would be spending the night. Roseline, my host, lives on a little lavender farm that doubles as a ‘gîte rural’. She rents an old stone garage/barn that’s been converted into an adorable apartment with a living room/kitchen and a separate bedroom and bathrrom. It’s paradise. She had left me her keys hidden in her garden with instructions to let myself in and ‘fais comme chez toi’. Which I did; I took a shower and did some yoga. She came home around 5:30 and made us crepes with jam and hot chocolate. I liked her immediately. She was hosting an itinerant cinema in a nearby village, Bonnieux, that night (since there’s no real movie theater, the residents have a projector that they drive around the region, showing movies in p;ublic places), but first she gave me a wonderful tour of her home village, Goult, a beautiful stone village on top of a hill (I know that description is getting old, but that’s what all these villages are). We walked around the woods nearby, and she showed me ‘bories’, stone huts where ancient peasants would store grain,

A typical house in Goult

where she used to play as a kid, and introduced me to this awesome concept that’s like geo-caching but without the GPS. It’s a French thing, but these treasures are hidden and found by French people all over the world. You just have to follow online instructions to find them, and then when you do, you have to add a little note or object to the hidden treasure. The country side in Provence is just lousy with them, as Roseline showed me. We had a drink in Goult on our way to Bonnieux and Roseline’s boyfriend Jonah came and met up with us. I walked around Bonnieux as the sky cleared up and I suddenly saw the countryside as I was supposed to have seen it earlier that day. I was suddenly convinced that I live in the most beautiful country in the world, which I think, in a way, is true. France isn’t beautiful for it’s wildenerss, though its landscapes can be incredible, but for the interaction of the ancient villages with the environment around them, for the agriculture and the colours of the stone structures. I got back to the movie after it started. More delicious sweet meals when we got home, toast and various spreads; I discovered a caramel one. And tea, Roseline had all the

Some dork in front of a borie

greatest kinds of teas.

I had planned to leave the next day and do a 50 k loop around the Pays d’Ocres, which is this region from where the colour ochre, as far as oil paints go, originates. The rocks are a startling red, and I’ve had French people say it’s their mini version of the Grand Canyon. Mostly it made me want to see the Grand Canyon, because on a bigger scale, this would be really impressive. The colour was still shocking, and I was breathless when I saw it, though I did not see it from my planned bike loop. I was enjoying my time with Roseline so much that I stayed for a late breakfast and as I was getting

From the top of Bonnieux

ready to leave, the downpour began. I mulled it over, and decided to stay and hang out for another day. I called and cancelled my chambre d’hôtes in Rousillon, which I am SO glad I did, not only because Roseline was awesome but because Rousillon turned out to be horrendously crowded and inauthentic. Roseline and Jonah took me to another famous tourist destination for the morning, La Fontaine de Vaucluse, which is a site I still don’t really understand but the water flows out of the rocks at an alarming rate, and it’s a beautiful crystal blue and whatever natural phenomenon this is, it’s supposed to be the biggest of its kind in Europe. After lunch, Roseline drove me to Rousillon to try to do the famous hike I was

More Bonnieux. This was my only clear night, so I had to take a ton of pictures.

planning on doing that day, only to find that it was closed due to dangerous rainfall. Instead, she took me to a ‘secret cave’, an abandoned movie set from about 30 years ago, wooden structures built into the rocks, huge caverns carved into the ochre (which was very malleable, like crumbly sandstone), which we explored completely tourist-free until I was too scared to go deeper (I really seem to have a problem with caves and dark water; things I can’t see to the bottom or back of, I guess), and then we turned around and went home. I made us soup for dinner, drank some nice wine, ate some good cheese, picked raspberries and strawberries for dessert, and then we watched the movie that was filmed in the caverns we had visited. It’s called “La Belle Histoire” and it’s actually a fabulous film. I was riveted through the entire 3 hours and 15 minutes of it.We went to bed, but both woke up later to watch the thunderstorms. Beautiful.

Day 4: We woke up late, Jonah included. Roseline has a ladder leaned up against her window so he can sneak in at night, so he got up to say goodbye, which was a surprise. I ate strawberries and raspberries and caramel spread on toast for breakfast and

Roseline picking berries

headed, rather sadly, on my way. Roseline really could have been my best friend in an alternate life. She has a life I admire ardently; she works for rich Parisians as a nanny, so only works on school vacations when they are down in their country house. This year they are taking her to Maine and Long Island for the summer, and she’s being paid for it. When she’s bored, she works in the lavender fields or does commissioned sewing. She uses her money to fund her art projects. I had a wonderful time speaking to her and Jonah, a gardener who also works for rich tourists, about what life is like for the people who actually live in her region and aren’t just tourists. Southern France is, of course, extremely beautiful, idyllic and rustic (and usually with an agreeable climate) and has thus been ruthlessly invaded by foreigners since the mid 20th century. First it was the people from Marseille, then Parisians, and now British, German, and Swiss. Some towns are completely empty for the entire winter. And these

Water wheel at Fontaine-la-Vaucluse

foreigners, non-residents, with no real investment in the community, are the main employers in the region. Everyone ends up in service to the rich. It’s a sad situation, but Roseline and Jonah remained somewhat positive about it, at least grateful to be making more than decent livings. The thing about the French is that, no matter how bad it gets down there, it will never be like Spain because they will absolutely not tolerate a total invasion complete with British supermarkets. It’s impossible to get along in rural France (well, pleasantly) without some knowledge of French, and we complain about the French being intolerant of other cultures and languages but after visiting the South, I actually support that attitude. France belongs to French people, and if you’re not going to adjust to their

Et voilà! The fontaine!

culture, you will not have an easy time and you will most definitely not experience France. Anyway, I finally did

Jonah, Roseline, and me (shrieking with joy apparently)

leave Roseline’s, my clothes and shoes still wet despite two days of hang-drying. It wasn’t raining, and I started out on the loop that I had previously planned. I stopped at Saint-Saturnin-Les-Apt, one of the most interesting villages I visited, parked my bike by the old church and hiked up to the ruined castle overlooking the village. I saw storm clouds gathering and decided to head on my way, and managed to

The ochres being ochre

make it to the bottom of the village when my rear tire exploded. I managed to change the tire just before the rain started, and then continued on my way, after having discovered that one of my two replacement tubes was punctured, so I was continuing with no extra tubes…never a good idea. It rained steadily, and after a few kilometers the rain started hurting my face and falling in torrents the likes of which I’ve never seen. The thunder was actually scary, and a detoured to the nearest village, Villars, where I found an open bar full of stranded cyclists seeking refuge just like me. I managed, after much effort and gestural communication, to bum a tube off some Italians. I drank a picon-biere

Rousillon

and wrote post cards while I waited out the storm. I waited until the rain abated a bit, and then continued on my way, arriving at my couchsurfer’s house in Saumane-de-Vaucluse around 6 PM after 60 very wet kilometers. I had a hot shower and we went to a birthday party where I ate about a million finger sandwiches and pastry puffs, drank champagne, and played with children. The next day I rode into Cavaillon after

Saint-Saturnin-les-Apt

detouring (it wasn’t raining!) a bit to see some of the villages I missed the day before, getting another flat tire and flipping out about it because I was worried about missing my train. Also, it turned out that the tire had worn through one of the side walls, so I couldn’t go very fast and under no circumstances could I use the back brake. I managed to make it to Cavaillon (not a very beautiful place) with enough time to buy a salad for lunch, which I ate on the train. I watched the skies clear up completely from the window of the train. Apparently the rain was over. I had an hour layover in Avignon, where I had intended to drink wine in a café, but seeing how crowded and outrageously expensive the cafés were, I opted to ride around the town instead. I discovered that Avignon is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. It’s entirely enclosed by an ancient wall, its streets are tiny winding cobblestone paths, and its filled with amazing architecture with a history so rich it’s unimaginable to my feeble North American mind. I got lost, of course, and barely made my next train to Lyon, where I rode around the Tête d’Or park (amazing, huge, and with a zoo!) very

Ruins of St. Saturnin

slowly for an hour and then went into the old town to eat some quenelle. I was adopted during my dinner by the lovely old French couple who were sitting next to me eating crepes. The man smoked a pipe and both had been very involved in the theater and so were excited to talk about American theater and cinema. We had a great conversation, and after they went home I had one more glass of rosé and headed back to the train station, arriving back into Vichy late that night. It was nice to sleep in my own bed and give my very sore butt a break from the bike seat.