The Disappearing Lavender Field

The weather in Provence had been absolutely perfect with sunny days and just a few night storms, but as we got back from Gordes the sky turned dark. We opened up the house as soon as we got back to let it cool off. Most houses in this area of France don’t have AC and don’t have screens, so you leave the windows closed while away. You also close the big, heavy storm shutters so the thick stone walls (if you’ve got them) maintain the cool from the previous night.

Problems arise though when you’re home during the day and want some sunlight and maybe a breeze, cooking anytime and don’t want flies, or when it rains during the day like it was about to in Rustrel.

Forget about the lavender and wine: AC, screens and gutters would be my line of work if I really wanted to make some money here. There are already some pioneers, but I’m telling you, AC, screens and gutters is a growth market!

So we watched the rainfall and mopped the floors around the windows and doors, which were open for needed airflow, but let in water from the gutterless roof. We felt fortunate though that this was the only real weather we had to deal with all week.

On our final full day, Alex and I got up early to revisit the one lavender field we liked the best out of all we had seen– but first we had to find it. A few curse words, close calls and U-turns later (I still hadn’t gotten used to going all the way to the roundabout to turn around) and we found the dirt road that led us to a beautiful field of deep purple lavender climbing up a hilltop…. At least we thought we had.

“Where’s the lavender field?” I asked as I looked at a brown hill of dirt. “Right there” Alex said knowingly. “But it’s brown, it was purple just two days ago!” Alex just shook her head. “They harvested,” she said. “Already?” “Already.”

And that’s the beautiful unpredictability of travel: We were there at the exact right moment two days earlier. Two days later and the hill just blended in with the scenery.

No Photo for You

Just below the village of Saignon was a deep purple lavender ocean, blowing its buds in the wind like waves. We stopped for a photo and noticed Saignon balancing above, on the top of a large rock formation like the bow of a giant ship.

We drove a little further up and found a mostly empty gravel parking lot at the base of the village. I grabbed my loaded backpack and we headed up. In these hilltop towns there are usually two parking options, below or above, so you just have to decide if you want your legs and lungs to burn first or last. My backpack was full of wine and food, so we figured we’d earn it.

In the heart of Saignon is a large fountain surrounded by an asymmetrical circle of five or six buildings with narrow pedestrian walkways spoking out in different directions between them. On this day there were some café patios with their umbrellas open and a few big shade trees that helped block the bright sun. There was an obviously local man reading a book next to a wall covered in vines, and a cat lounging just nearby in a pool of sun shining through the canopy.

There were definitely tourist shops here, but it felt less touristy than most. The only real tacky thing we saw was an old man sitting outside his shop with a dog tied up on a cot next to him and a homemade sign that read: “Photo- two Euros.” This guy had either been to Venice Beach, California, where every street vendor or act wants money for pictures or, going by this guy’s age, maybe someone from Venice Beach came here 50 years ago and got the idea from the old man!

On the way back past the old man, it looked like he had either fallen to sleep or died right in his chair. A snort and a coughing fit told us it was the former, but it didn’t really wake him from his nap. Alex took the occasion to snap a couple of free pictures while she had the chance.

Alex was my own personal travel photographer, possibly viewing more of the trip through her lens than through her naked eye. The sun suddenly shone through a hat shop and she stopped. The bright colors inside lured her to the front door. She snapped a few pics, only to be told sternly by the owner, “no photo!”

Funny, these folks are in business to sell things, and to sell things you need people to see them. Seems they would benefit from a Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Fumbler, Bumbler or whatever kind of post people are into. A post sent around the world in seconds seems a lot more effective than sitting around in a small remote village waiting for someone to walk by and maybe, or maybe not, walk in. Hey, at least this guy stayed open during Siesta!

Purple Haze ~ Lavender Vacation

From our plane window the Marseille coast resembled Big Sur with cliff and rock formations strewn out into the ocean and waves crashing hard against honey colored stone, but the water here was less Pacific-dark-blue and more Jamaica-clear-blue. Very beautiful…. from the air.

We only stayed in Marseille long enough to meet our friend Jen who was joining us from another flight, rent a car and leave. They call Naples Rome’s dirty little brother, and we had heard that Marseille was Paris’ dirty little sister.

Provence was our destination and lavender fields were our siren. My wife Alex had seen pictures of the velvety seas of lavender that bloom in Provence once a year, and the photographer and aesthete in her just couldn’t resist.