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When one thinks of Provence, normally one thinks of hilltop villages surrounded by fields of lavender. We had visited Provence previously, but for outdoor activities, not the classic provençal experience. The weekend of le quatorze julliet had once again arrived, and we wanted to be somewhere to enjoy the fireworks; googling around let me know that Avignon was a good choice, so we set our sights on a weekend of enjoying all that Provence has to offer and seeing what is supposed to be one of the best fireworks displays in the country.

Into the wild

When one plans a trip, it is always a good idea to thoroughly research everything pertaining to that trip. Are there things that could perturb our plans? How do we deal with these? Unfortunately, this is something we did not do. We had train tickets to Avignon on Friday night, car hire from Saturday morning and that was it. I would say that was pretty sorted; we had looked at accommodation in Avignon for the Friday night, but it was astronomically expensive, and as we were planning on camping for the rest of the weekend, we assumed we would stay at one of the many campsites nearby to Avignon.

I had a train direct from Paris, which runs via Grenoble and takes near four hours. This is typically slightly cheaper than the quicker route to Avignon Gare TGV, and does not require a transfer. I arrived at approximately 2200, with Mia arriving only some minutes afterwards to a pretty busy town. Not only was it a long weekend, but also the Festival d'Avignon was on, a large arts festival which runs for the length of July - it was around this time that we realised why accommodation was so expensive. We headed off in the general direction of the campgrounds, which are situated on the Rhône. Crossing Pont Daladier, which is the main bridge over the river, we were treated to a stunning view of the city, in addition to a view of a very full campsite. We made our way to the entry of the campground Bagatelle but were told they were overfull, and to try the larger campgrounds of the Soleil Bleu or the Camping du Pont d'Avignon just down the road. These were equally full and not willing to help out some stranded backpackers at 2300 on a Friday night. Some kilometres up the road was the Camping les 2 Rhône, so we started following the D228, our desire to sleep beginning to weigh heavily upon us. Not far along the road, we spied a sneaky camping opportunity in a field, sheltered by a fairly wild stonefruit orchard. In the end we settled at 43°57'26.6"N 4°48'23.2"E, which, apart from some noise coming from the nearby Kabarouf Barthelasse, was a pretty comfortable spot to sleep.

Le travail Ardéchoise

The sun rose early and, not wanting to impose or be spotted, we rose with it. Our tent is fantastic, but the fluorescent orange fly and retroreflecting guy ropes for alpine visibility make it anything but subtle. With our gear packed, we set off back into town, heading toward the station to pick up the hire car. We enjoyed walking around Avignon when nobody else was around - it seemed like the festivities had gone late into the night and consequently Saturday morning was pretty relaxed. Along Rue Joseph Vernet, one of the main thoroughfares through Avignon, we picked up some traditional breakfast pastries, and there was also a special on flavoured doughnut-like treats which could not be passed over.

We had organised to hire our car through locationdevoiture as we did in Verdon, since they were by far the most reasonably priced. We were slated for a 0900 pickup, as this was when the agency opened and we were there right on time. The agency was Budget and on the voucher we were picking up from Gare d’Avignon, which is distinct from Avignon TGV, but of course, the booking was incorrect and our car was at Avignon TGV. The staff were very helpful and said this was something that happened consistently, so they would just give us another car, which in our case was an upgrade as we had paid for the cheapest. However, I am not sure how much of an upgrade one can consider a Fiat Panda; it feels like a commercial vehicle and is just not really appropriate for the alpine roads. But we gladly took the car and the advice of the staff to get out of Avignon as soon as possible, as the roads were being shut down that day for the coming quatorze julliet celebrations. As that was beginning to happen, we hurriedly threw everything into the Panda, jumped in and made a bee-line out of town - stop number one: Pont du Gard.
Pont du Gard is famed for being the highest of all the Roman aqueducts, as well as one of the best preserved. It sits above the Gardon River and forms part of the Nîmes aqueduct, carrying water from a spring in Uzès to Nîmes. The bridge is impressive, but I am more blown away by the aqueduct system: as the crow flies it is a distance of 20 kilometres from source to drain, but because of the landscape, it actually follows a 50 kilometre path. The height difference between the source and drain is only 17 metres, meaning that the average gradient of the aqueduct is only 1 in 3000. It just boggles my mind that it is possible to construct something with that kind of precision, let alone something for which construction ended in 60 AD!

The aqueduct fell out of use sometime around the 6th century, but the bridge was used as a means for crossing the Gardon in the form of a toll bridge. In the 18th century, a road bridge was constructed in line with the lowest level of the three-tiered structure, which serves as the tourist crossing bridge today. The area has a collection of walks around the bridge and along the river, with many people hiring kayaks and choosing to paddle under the bridge. I had previously visited the site in 2012 when I first moved to France as part of a social day at a conference in Nîmes, but we simply did not have much time to look around. This time we would have plenty.

Having arrived early on a Saturday morning, there were not many people around. There is no fee to access the area, but there is an 18 € per vehicle parking fee. There is a great information centre with more details than you could want to know about the area, including the nearby sights (which would shape our day’s itinerary) and, importantly, the walks in the area. If you are part of a big group, you can organise to have a tour - which goes on the top tier of the bridge and visits the water conduit, but as a lonely few, you have to be content with just wandering around. Walking upstream, particularly on the north side of the river, provides the best views of the area and reaches a higher vantage point; walks around the nearby hills all offer many-a-lookout. With so few people around, it would have been great to have a picnic out on the rocks and enjoy the scene; in effect this is what we did, just minus the food.

As we were not swimming or kayaking, we did not hang around all that long, as we had other sights we wanted to see. The information board showed that there were some caves nearby, with the spectacular-looking Grand Site de l'Aven d'Orgnac the most obvious choice. From Pont du Gard, it is about one hour north, through some beautiful countryside, with amazing villages every 20 - 30 kilometres. We went up through Uzès, Lussan and Barjac, where we stopped in to grab some lunch from the bakery Les Delices de Marie Et Julio and have a quick wander around town. There was the tail end of a market, but nothing too special happening; the highlight of the visit was definitely the baguette and lemon tart.

The Grand Site de l'Aven d'Orgnac is a large cave system and historically significant site. Discovered in 1935, the cave was immediately recognised as something special due to its size. The original entrance was simply a hole in the ground, and all that was known was that the cavern was very large. The first people who entered the cave found an enormous number of bones from animals that had fallen in, as well as a huge pile of guano. After exploration by speleologists, it was clear that there was money to be made, so work began in making the cave accessible for tourists, which meant people had to start digging some stairs. Later, they would blast out an elevator shaft, but all tours still take the stairs down. Access to the cave is only with a tour, which run frequently (approximately every 15-20 minutes) and cost 12.50€ per person. When we arrived we were told a tour was just leaving, and as we did not know that they were so regular we ran so we could join along.

The tour guide was a large man who was very friendly and had an impressively dry sense of humour. We descended into the cave, which was a fairly long walk, but I found myself admiring the workmanship required to construct the staircase. The first cavern is simply enormous; I have never been in a cave even remotely that large. Due to its size, there are almost no crystal formations, but it is still magnificent. It is loosely illuminated by a shaft of light coming through the original entrance, under which sits a 30 metre mountain of guano. After the standard talk of how caves form, the difference between stalactites and stalagmites and the do-not-touch-anything speech, we moved further into the cave, into the smaller caverns with the more spectacular crystal structures. As the caves are quite old, many of the stalactites, stalagmites and columns are enormous. The tour guide was cracking fairly funny jokes most of the way, but really stuck with the line “le travail Ardechoise”, saying that features are formed in the style of work from the Ardeche, that is, very slow and relaxed. It got quite a few laughs so he really kept on milking it.

The tour lasted for about an hour and ended with a light show in another very large carvern, but I don’t think many people were all that impressed by it - which basically means we were not all that impressed by it. As a whole though, the tour was fantastic, and I could not recommend it highly enough. Afterwards, we looked around the rest of the site, which serves as a museum of all things prehistoric, due to the large number of artifacts found in the area. There was even a live demonstration of hunting weapons and fire-making, which was pretty interesting, although aimed primarily at children.

Not far from the site is the river Ardèche, which in that immediate area is home to two points of interest: Pont d’Arc and the Réserve Naturelle des Gorges de l'Ardèche. Pont d’Arc is about 20 minutes from the cave, and getting there takes you through the town of Vallon-Pont-d'Arc. From that point the traffic was pretty bad; the road was narrow, people were looking to pull over at all times and there was a lot of traffic. It was not great driving, but that usually signals that there are things to be seen. The Pont d’Arc (arch bridge) is famous as the start of the Ardèche Canyon, but in its own right it is really impressive. Postcards and alike often oversell a sight, so when you see it, you feel it is not quite as spectacular as you were promised. This was the exact opposite - I thought it would be mildly interesting given the photos, but it was stunning. It was much larger than I realised: 60 metres wide and 54 metres high, and had that mystical quality about it. We did not hang around as the area was immensely busy with swimmers, kayakers and tourists like us. Some hundreds of metres away was la grotte ornée du Pont d'Arc, which contains some of the oldest cave drawings known. You can see a replica cave; however the real one is sealed off from the public. Consequently, we did not stop in, but it would have been great to see something drawn nearly 33,000 years ago!

Following the river downstream, one enters the Réserve Naturelle des Gorges de l'Ardèche and for a stretch of about 25 kilometres, the road sits above the gorge - this section was marked on our Michelin guide as a 3-star attraction. Notably, the belvédères de la haute corniche (the ledge viewpoints) were marked as 3-stars in addition to the overall gorge. Along the length of the road, there are viewpoints over the gorge, usually at pretty spectacular locations, either with large cliffs or big river bends. Overall, there are 12 or so lookouts, some better than others; we stopped at most of them as, after all, that is what we were there for. The other way to see the area is to kayak down, and I would say approximately 10% of the road traffic was people driving downstream to pick up some kayaks, or driving upstream having already picked them up. Overall, the canyon was beautiful, but not quite at the same level as les gorges du Verdon.

Following the road, we left the river and arrived in Saint-Just, and from there we were on a mission to our destination, Sault. Sault is a town in the Vaucluse region which has become famed for its lavender festival, but it is much like many other small mountain communes in Provence, in that it is centred around agriculture and increasing tourism. Our route there passed by Orange and Carpentras; Orange would have been nice to visit, but we simply did not have the time. The drive was some 100 kilometres, with the latter parts being on mountain roads, so it was pretty slow going. As we got closer, I remember going over the last mountain pass and being greeted with a valley overflowing with lavender and a town perched on a large outcrop at its centre. Such sights are so iconic of the region and yet are just special when you get to experience them yourself.

We passed through town and went on to the nearby Camping Municipal Du Defends, where we set up for the night before cruising back into town for some dinner. We came across an Italian eatery, Le fugone, which was busy but had a great looking menu. Everyone was seated inside, near a big fire, but as the sun was still up we sat outside and enjoyed the sunset. The waitress repeatedly asked if we were sure about sitting outside, to which we replied “of course”, as it was a nice summer evening. Of course, you forget that altitude really has a way of making everything a little fresher, especially when you are in summer garb, and once the sun went down we were freezing. But as we had been strong with our resolve for sitting outside, we felt too embarrassed to move indoors. The food was delicious, but the real highlight was going inside to pay the bill and standing next to the fire and warming up. It was so cosy inside that I really wish we had just sucked it up and moved in. Following dinner, we returned to the campground and retired for the evening.

Coming up roses

As is normal in Provence, we awoke to a beautiful blue sky, with not a cloud in sight. Our loose plan for the day was fairly stereotypical for a trip to southern France: visit pretty towns and frolic in the lavender fields. I had a chat with the owners of the camping ground and they suggested an itinerary for the the area, a loop from Sault to Ferrassières, on to Barret-de-Lioure via the col de l’homme mort, down into the valley to Montbrun-les-Bains and back to Sault via Aurel. This was sold to us on the premise that there would be lavender fields, great scenery and a beautiful village: Montbrun-les-Bains.

We made our way north from Sault and we soon had our first real contact with the lavender farms on the outskirts of Ferrassières, and of course we hopped out of the car and took photos. The small stash houses in the area were clearly quite old and made entirely of loose stones, but as a consequence, many were also piles of rubble. It quickly became apparent that the entire area was filled with picturesque fields, and as we were out early we had the place to ourselves.

Continuing on, we started our way up a mountain road, heading for the col de l’homme mort - or dead man’s col. The road was pretty gnarly, but as we climbed we were treated to a pretty amazing view over the Sault valley. As the climate is quite arid, the grasslands are somewhat yellow in colour, which contrasts amazingly well with the pink and purple of the lavander. Passing over the col, we started descending into the neighbouring valley, which was a real treat. Somewhat unexpectedly, there were quite violent volcanic rock outcrops throughout the valley, which was topped with a sprinkling of villages and a narrow road flowing between them. The landscape was somewhat reminiscent of le puy de dome, but with an alpine backdrop.

We descended down the valley and as we pulled into Mountbrun-les-bains, we spotted a good-looking bakery which was teeming with locals, and of course we had to investigate for ourselves. It turns out everybody was there as the baked goods were absolutely delicious. At this point, the town did not seem anything spectacular, but it was only once we left that we realised that the town is built right into a cliff! Whilst the buildings are not carved into the rock à la Saint-Emilion, they are impressively balanced on the rock face. From here it was back to Sault; the road leads through Aurel, which is a small hilltop town, but without any major spectacle, which in this part of the world means there is little point stopping in.

Back in Sault, it was late morning by this point and the market was in full swing. The major attraction here was lavender- and honey-related products; Mia got some soap and I got a big brick of nougat, which disappeared all too quickly. The market was small so we did not hang around before driving to what seemed to be the primo lavender fields to the west. They were the most developed and colourful, but access was a bit tricky; we ditched the car and walked through an uncleared block to reach the spot I had scoped out from high in the town. All would have gone well, except wearing thongs in that terrain is not advisable, and my feet suffered the consequences.

Once we had our fill of the lavender, we saddled up to head 35 kilometres south-west to Gordes. So pretty is Gordes, it often tops the “must-see” lists of towns in France, with only Moustiers-Sainte-Marie or Les Baux-de-Provence providing real competition. The drive was short but quite scenic, especially around Lioux, where a stunning cliff - la falaise de la madeleine - runs parallel to the road, towering over the landscape. Before we reached Gordes, the terrain flattened out and more lavender fields appeared, in addition to vineyards. Once again there was a fantastic contrast of colours between the lust green of the grape vines and the pink/purple of the lavender. As we got closer to town, the traffic started to get much heavier, we went from seeing only one or two cars in the space of an hour to being in the middle of a traffic jam. As one winds up the road into the town, there are small carparks which are effectively used as lookouts as they provide a view of the town from afar, but it is absolute chaos: think triple-parked tourist buses boxing in a group of cars all trying to go different directions. Unfortunately, the view that one receives from said lookouts is superb, and one really does not have a choice. So we sucked it up, parked in a seriously suspect spot and rationalised our actions by saying we were only going to be a minute and got out.

Sault is, for good reason, famous for its lavender

The town itself is built upon a rocky outcrop and has likely been occupied since people first laid eyes on the location. The first documented town was established during the Roman empire, but the modern city was started when a castle was built in 1031. To say the city is picturesque would be a gross understatement. The towering cathedral and buildings carved into the stone make it a truly impressive site. Once we had finished gawking from afar, we wanted to get in amongst the action so drove into town. Parking is pretty limited so we were forced to pay to park in an area about 5 minutes walk from the old town. By this time, it was the middle of the day and absolutely baking in the sun, so we were taking it pretty slow and steady. The town is a delight to wander around, with narrow, vine-covered streets and colourful paintwork on many of the buildings. We found a bakery where we could pick up lunch, headed down a quiet street and had ourselves a picnic, then wandered to the ramparts for a view over the surrounding countryside, which is dominated by vineyards. Looking out from the town is nice, but the inside of the town deserves most of the attention. That being said, the town is quite small and one needs only an hour or two to see it in detail.

Nearby is l’abbaye Notre-Dame de Sénanque, a Cistercian monastery founded in 1148 and one of, if not the, most famous monastery in France. There are countless photos of the monastery along with its famed lavender field, which has been the primary source of income for the monks for centuries. It has been occupied for almost a millennium, except after the French wars of Religion at the end of the 16th century when it fell out of favour, and it was not until it was purchased back from private owners in 1854 did it return to being a monastery. The road between Gordes and l’abbaye Notre-Dame is narrow, windy and crowded. Better yet it has a few one-way sections, one of which is nearly 2 kilometres, and is entirely blind! Driving down into the area was not too hazardous, but there was nowhere to park, so we drove past and quickly began climbing out of the valley on the other side. Finding a spot to turn was difficult, and impatient tour buses were not helping. But these 10 minutes of stress would turn out to be well worth it. We drove back into the valley and found parking spot on the main road, a short walk away from the entrance.

Entering the area was not exactly a pleasant experience, it was simply too busy. Access to the grounds is free, but to have a tour of the monastery costs 7.50 €. We were not too fussed by the tour, so we opted to walk around the grounds, which includes access to the main church. Nothing about the place is itself overly amazing, but the combination of the lavender field with the monastery is pretty special. Amusingly, the giant sign in front of the lavender field with “please do not enter the field” printed on it in 10 or so languages consistently had at least a dozen people walking in the field behind it who did not care.

Much like Gordes, it did not take long to see all that was on offer so we left as quick as we came, but things on the road were starting to get interesting. A large influx of traffic was arriving from Gordes, and buses were quite literally stuck on the other side of the valley, blocking the traffic completely. The gridlock was unfolding before our eyes, so we got to the car quickly and tried to get back to Gordes before it all went completely pear-shaped.

We made it about as far as car park entry before the complete gridlock set in. There was a bus trying to get out, which blocked us, but on the other side of the bus we could see freedom. I have never before witnessed a proper traffic standstill, where literally nobody could move. Normally this would not be a major issue, but rather an inconvenience; however we were on our way to Avignon as Mia had a train to catch, so naturally the stress started to build. Before long, there were people on the road figuring out how to release the deadlock. It was clear that it was going to get a lot worse before it got better; thankfully the bus driver noticed that if he backed up and let us pass, he would still be trapped but we could escape. We snuck past, and soon reached the one-way sections, which I had been dreading, as if we got stuck in one of them it would be game over. We passed people for kilometres who had not moved in half an hour but without any idea of what the hold up was, and they were clearly frustrated. Luckily, as no one on that side was moving, we were able to get through everything quite smoothly. Part of me felt a little bad about this, as we were quite literally the only ones to escape that quagmire with only a minor delay. On the other hand, I was beyond relieved to be out of there, especially once we had passed the long one-way stretch. From here we were making tracks to Avignon.

Mia was not able to able to stay for le quatorze juillet (funnily enough it is not a public holiday in Switzerland) so we were back to Avignon so she could catch her return train. We stopped in at one of the countless fruit vendors which were all swollen with deliciously ripe Provençal fruits, and picked up some cherries and cantaloupe - with the latter being possibly the best cantaloupe I have ever eaten. Luckily we did not have to go anywhere near Avignon itself, but rather the TGV station well out of town. Parking was not possible anywhere near the station, so we found a carpark amongst some trees which had more broken glass than rocks on the ground - presumably from all the cars being broken into. Mia and I said our goodbyes at the station and then I hastily made my way back to the car to check it was still there and that none of the tyres had been punctured from the glass. Success on both counts had me leaving Avignon and making my way south. I was looking for a camping ground, and the town of Maussane-les-alpilles seemed to be a good bet. On my way there, I would pass through the relatively large town of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence before crossing the les Alpilles, a small sub-alpine mountain chain that form the backbone of le Parc Naturel Régional des Alpilles.

It was only 20 kilometres to Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, and I still had 40 or so kilometres before needing fuel, so I figured I would fill up there. Unfortunately, I had some pretty bad luck as I drove into town moments before it was closed off. It is usual for small towns to have a treize julliet celebration, as this allows residents to enjoy the quatorze juilliet celebrations in the larger towns. So I had entered the town, and immediately all exits bar one were closed and gridlock had spontaneously formed around me. Not fully understanding what was happening, I tried to leave the way I had come in, which was now blocked and in the exact wrong direction to the only way out, meaning that I had to drive back through the traffic to get out. This whole process took about half an hour and I would have covered maybe 750 metres, but I did eventually escape. However, there was still the pressing issue of petrol, as despite the size of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, it does not have a petrol station! A quick google told me that the closest station was 15 kilometres away in Plan-d'Orgon, and I had fuel to go 19 kilometres. Even though there was no reason to doubt I would make it there, that kind of situation makes me uncomfortable. The additional annoyance was that it was exactly out of the way for going to Maussane-les-alpilles, so I had to backtrack - just a little detour.

Crossing over les alpilles was delightful, the area is primarily limestone and the peaks are quite craggy. As I was driving, the sun was starting to get low in the sky and the colours were pretty special. There were no real places to pull-over and enjoy the view, but I would have loved to have had the time to explore the area properly. It was quite a dramatic landscape with relatively few people around. But as the sun got lower, I was conscious of finding a spot to stay. I set up at Camping Municipal des Romarins in Maussane-les-alpilles, which was quite expensive (24€) as it was a three star campsite - great if you are staying for a long time, but when you just want some grass, it hurts a bit. That being said, it was really nice to have a shower!

The real Provence experience — The real *Provence* experience

I cooked up some dinner and had a chat with some the people camping around me - some were kind enough to give me a chair to sit on whilst eating dinner! I was keen to explore Maussane-les-alpilles; like Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, it was closed off for the fireworks, so I wandered through the oddly quiet old town. It was only when I passed a pub I remembered that the World Cup was on and Germany was playing Argentina, so everyone was watching that. I joined in, finding a spot at Café de la Fontaine to have some beer and enjoy the game. It went into overtime, and you could sense the entire town was watching. The proof of this was that once the golden goal was kicked in the 113th minute, the fireworks started just 90 seconds or so afterward!

Arles you serious?

It was July 14th - but while the justification for coming to this area was to watch the July 14th fireworks, I never really considered that the fireworks occur on the night of the 14th, meaning I really needed to stay until the 15th. I felt like a chump for not realising this earlier, as my train was in the late afternoon on the 14th, and I would miss the fireworks in Avignon. I did however still have a day to explore, and not far from Maussane-les-alpilles was the town of Les Baux-de-Provence.

Les Baux-de-Provence, minus the tourists

Similar to Gordes, the town is the poster child for hilltop villages in the south of France. A rocky outcrop amongst les alpilles surrounded by lush valleys is the perfect spot to set up a civilisation. Due to the strategic location, it has long since been occupied; artifacts dating back to the 6th Century have been found there. The distinctive castle which encloses the city was constructed during the 11th and 13th centuries. At its peak there were some 4000 inhabitants; however as of the last census there were 22! A tidbit that I found fascinating is that in the local tongue, Provençal, bauç means rocky spur, giving the town its name - but more interestingly, the town lent its name to a common mineral, Bauxite. Bauxite was discovered in 1821 by Pierre Berthier, and was named in 1861 by chemist Henri Sainte-Claire Deville.

Les Baux-de-Provence is only 4 kilometres from Maussane-les-alpilles, so I arrived bright and early, so much so that I was the only one around. Parking was a pain, largely due to the road that winds its way over the spur, but there was a small carpark at the closest access to the village which was primarily for people working in the town. I snapped up one of these spots, for which I should have paid; however there was nobody around to whom I could give money, so I just headed into town. The first thing I remarked to myself was how pretty the town was. I would put it as my number 1, but my experience was definitely enhanced by being the only person walking around on a crisp, sunny morning. Around every corner, a postcard scene would present itself and it was a joy to stroll through the town. My walk was short, purely due to the size of the town; however I was still able to spend a huge amount of time absorbing all that Les Baux could offer. By about 0900, other people were appearing and the rumblings of tour buses began to fill the valley, signalling that it was time for me to leave. I returned to the car, carefully sneaking past the attendant so I would not have to pay for parking and started off in the direction of my next stop, Arles.

Situated on the Mediterranean coast, Arles sits just downstream of the river Rhône's divergence, placing it within the Rhône delta. The city has stood since at least 800 BC when it was occupied by the Ligures. It was later taken by the Celts before the Romans took the city and transformed it into what it is today. The zenith of the town's importance was reached in the 4th and 5th centuries when it functioned as a military stronghold and as the strategic headquarters for Roman emperors. Constantine I was the first emperor to really make a mark on the city, and later his son, Constantine II, was born there. The more famous Usurper Constantine III, upon declaring himself emperor in the West, made Arles the capital in 408, and from that point on it was it was all downhill. The city remained playing second fiddle to nearby Marseilles, but it was the arrival of the rail network that dealt the final blow, with the almost overnight cessation of the river shipping trade. Luckily, much of the history contained within the city's walls remains well-conserved due to the city's near-continuous prosperity and its avoidance of industrialisation, making it a pretty special spot.

Arles is 25 kilometres from Les Baux-de-Provence, which took approximately 30 minutes to travel. (There were a few stalls set up on the road selling fruit, but I was still well-stocked from the previous day.) Like many old cities, Arles has a modern sprawl and an old heart, which in this case was walled off. There was quite a bit of parking near the northern gate and I managed to take one of the few remaining spots, situated in front of a fairly seedy café. At least the gentlemen smoking and giving everybody the stink eye would ward off would-be thieves. The time was mid-morning and it was already starting to get pretty warm, almost unbearably so in the sun.

Entering Arles, a fantastic mosaic greets you on the other side of the gate and the charm of the town begins to wash over you. As it is a Roman town known for its arena and ruins, you cannot help but compare it to its well-known sibling Nîmes, which I had found to be beautiful. Arles manages to surpass this, as the town feels a little more authentic. Perhaps it is the city walls which really give a sense of size, or the diverse range of colours used to decorate the houses; it is a really special place.

My first stop was unsurprisingly the Arena, which costs €9 to visit. Annoyingly, just after I walked through the turnstyle my camera battery ran out, and my spare was back in the car. As I was within shouting distance of the ticket office, I explained my situation and the woman at the desk kindly gave me a second ticket, but I had to waste twenty minutes returning to the car. I re-entered the arena, which has clearly been well looked after. Whilst the arena of Nîmes was heavily stained, the rock here had recently been restored and consequently was glowing white. The interior of the arena was interesting, but it was actually the view over the town and surrounds which was the real winner. It was from here that I saw a monastery I'd driven past on the way in, that looked a lot more impressive than it had from the road, but it was a bit late for that.

The surrounds of the area are both diverse and attractive. Not only is one treated to a view of the arena, but the endless alleyways are filled with a mix of cafés, shops, houses and Roman ruins. To the east there is a small park with some pretty neat street art, albeit limited. My next stop was the amphitheatre, which has not had the same care and attention as the arena. The skeleton is still standing strong, but all of the flourishes are in ruins. Entry is, however, free of charge, which is nice. Only a short distance from the amphitheatre is the town centre and town cathedral. This area felt very cramped, the cathedral in particular. It is not all that well known, and given the quality of sights in the rest of the town, one can be forgiven for being a little disappointed. Directly opposite the cathedral was the town hall, where it was all a bit hectic with preparations for the evening’s fireworks show. Other than walking around the town, there was not much left on offer, so I grabbed a quick formule from a bakery, enjoyed it in a quiet street corner, and headed back to the car. It had been in the full sun all morning and so was an absolute oven when I returned, which meant that the remaining fruit was efficiently being cooked. The smell was fantastic, but the pool of liquid melon was not ideal.

My final stop was Avignon, which we only glanced at on Friday night/Saturday morning. Rather than brave the closed roads and certain traffic chaos that the old town would contain, I was to return the car to Avignon TGV and catch the train into Avignon (5 minutes and €1.50). So once again I drove to Avignon TGV - I made sure to fill the car up this time - and looked for the vehicle return station. What happened next would prove to be significantly troublesome, however I wasn't to realise this until a few days later. I pulled into the parking station and began to check over the car, but the attendant appeared quickly which made me slightly flustered, as he was clearly wanting me to hurry up so he could return to his air-conditioned box. I searched wherever I thought something might have been placed and then grabbed my gear from the boot. I began casually chatting with the attendant and we got along pretty well; he had never met an Australian capable of speaking French, so seemed genuinely entertained. He placed his hand out for me to place the key in, but in a moment of stupidity at which I still cringe, I shook his hand. He was clearly caught off guard by this, which I immediately picked up on, and realised what I had done. I quickly gave him the key, waited in embarrassment whilst he filled out the return docket, which I promptly took and ran away as fast as I could. My haste in this instance meant I didn't check the car as thoroughly as I should have, which proved disastrous later on.

In Avignon, there were festivities happening everywhere. The sun was relentlessly hot, and as I had to lug my gear around with me, I took things much more slowly. I did not really have a plan, other than to visit the palace and also find a nice spot over the river to take some photos. The town was bustling, but most people were enjoying an afternoon drink in the shade - I was a little envious, but it also meant that the main attractions were lightly populated. I stumbled across the magnificent old Église Saint Didier which I had almost to myself; the combination of the largely wood-covered interior and glow from the stained-glass windows created quite an atmosphere. As I made my way up to the palace, it was clear that a strike was underway, but this seemed to be overshadowed by a large group of acrobatic performers, who had amassed the largest crowd for a street performance I had ever seen. Access to the palace was not possible, but the nearby rocher des domes proved an excellent place to admire it, as well as being an attraction in itself.

Time was marching on, so I hurriedly crossed over the river and walked along the shoreline until I found a location with a nice view over the town. The profile is very distinctive, especially the Pont Saint-Bénézet, and being next to the river was quite relaxing, so time continued to melt away. Once I realised that it was really getting late, I made a bee-line for the station. Walking through the narrow streets, I got talking to a really lovely woman and her kids who were from the country, in town for the fireworks. She invited me out for coffee which sadly I had to turn down so I could catch my train. I felt that I missed out on a good opportunity to interact with some really friendly locals, which is one of the experiences that I am always on the hunt for, but things just did not fall into place this time. Instead I was back to the TGV station and back to Paris.

I had actually anticipated my train being delayed and hence not having a chance to see any fireworks anywhere, but everything ran extremely smoothly, giving me enough time to drop my stuff at home and head over to the champ de mars to watch the fireworks. I had two groups of friends whom I was trying to meet, but our plan of convening at a particular statue was laughable once I saw how many people were there, not to mention the vanishing phone service that was cracking under the pressure. So I nestled in alone with my sweaty neighbours and enjoyed the show. Once again, the fireworks display was one of the most impressive spectacles of pyrotechnics I have ever seen.

I love the forethought that goes into how to managing the dispersal of such a large crowd. One of the main tactics used is to close all the nearby metro stations, meaning that people have to walk some kilometres and naturally thin out along the way. As it happened, I bumped into my friend amongst the 2 million people during this walk, which made me think that things were going pretty well: a great trip to the south, a smooth ride back, a highly improbable encounter and we would be leaving for our summer holiday in four days. It would turn out that this good fortune was not to last.

Adventures

Into the wild

Le travail Ardéchoise

Coming up roses

Arles you serious?