Provençal versus Provincial

As we drove down the A7 in our electric blue Chevy Spark, passing fields of shockingly yellow sunflowers whose heads were basking in the glory of the afternoon sun, we prepped for our voyage into the land of the lavender and cigales (cicadas) by listening to a podcast about Provence that was conducted by travel guru Rick Steves (mind you, this came after hours of Kathy Griffin and prior to my popping in the ear buds to enjoy a little Snookie and “The Situation”). One of Steve’s guests, a Frenchie, talked about the difference between Provençal (having to do with the region of Provence), and Provincial (anything outside of Paris). Whereas my initial reaction was one of disgust for Provincial, being a Parisian and a lover of all things Provençal, I do believe this week prompted me to turn my head a wee-bit, as the position of my sun has changed.

My initial, uneducated image of Provence prior to our visit was of fantastic linens (being sold in adorable markets found in charming little villages), and fields and fields of aromatic lavande blowing in the wind. I was not terribly far off with this romanticized image, but as Matt I quickly learned, Provence is no longer a charming little secret. If anything, it has become a very large, dirty lie. This is not to fault Fodor, Lonely Planet and Mr. Steves. With masses come destruction, and in the case of Provence, a grime that is not a result of simply cigale dung. As Matt and I tend to stray far from relaxation, and try to seize the moment, our week took us on steep mountain roads, in and out of Provencal villages and towns, and to the coast to seek out Puff Daddy in Saint-Tropez. With this comes my biased observations of the land of the lavande.

Our thoughts on the good, the bad, and the downright ugly:

Saint Saturnin les Apt: Perhaps it is because we called this small, delightful Luberon town home base for the week, or perhaps it was the medieval ruins we found ourselves climbing up for our pre-dinner walk the evening we arrived. We spent the first few nights having a picnic dinner in the town square, overlooking the mountains, eating Provençal fare from the boucherie and patisserie (with a bottle of rosé secured from a cave we popped into prior to touchdown). Our Tuesday morning began with a saunter around the open-air market, and our Friday was spent relaxing at the public pool listening to the cigales and owl who had perched itself in a nearby tree. Our Friday evening will wind down with a stroll to the moulin, and a final view of the Luberon.

While here for the week, we took advantage of being in the PACA region (Provence, Alps, Cote d’Azur). Below are personal observations after a week tearing up the terrain in our Chevy Spark.

The Good:

Lacoste: No clothing boutiques, but there is a design school located in this quaint mountainous village.

St. Remy en Provence: DO NOT venture here in the morning when the market is in full swing or you will miss out on the beauty of the village. However, if you do make a morning of it, head out of town on foot on the path that shows you where Van Gogh painted (and the loonie bin where he stayed after cutting his ear off!).

Outside the walls of Van Gogh's asylum

The exact image captured in Van Gogh's, "The Olive Trees"

Roman ruins

Bonnieux: The lavender fields are intoxicating and worth an afternoon of inhalation -- just wear the right shoes as the crickets are busy defending their territory there.

Sault: If you take the N7 there you will pass lavender fields and glorious mountains in the distance that combine to form an image that is postcard-worthy. This Luberon village is perched on the top of a hillside and looks down onto fields of lavender. Our favorite linen shop was here -- it is hard to resist Provençal prints when you are perusing with a view of lavender fields and lush valley.

Arles: Turned on by the idea that this large town has a Roman arena still standing (with bull fights a-plenty, and taureau meat as the local cuisine), we were pleased by the beauty of the town in addition to the history and unique traditions. This is the town where Van Gogh cut his ear off and gave it to a prostitute!

Garden from one of Van Gogh's paintings

Oppède le Vieux: Climbing through the ruins of a 12th-century castle atop a mountain is quite a unique feeling, only to be rivaled by a nature walk that the town has set up through the vineyards, next to old, quintessential Provençal estates, and down dirt roads to educate visitors about the wines produced in the local valley. Final stop: a wine-tasting!

Note: you could spend a week visiting chateaus, domains, caves and olive oil moulins. Matt and I ditched Aix (or "aixed it" if you will) to do a personal vineyard tour. Our visitors will thank us, as we are bringing back quite a nice sampling of local wine!

The Bad:

Yes, it exists. Although part of our memory of Avignon involves Matt on the phone dealing with more visa trouble (we knew it was too good to be true that our stars had aligned so quickly), the city itself is choatic and dirty. Any free space has been taken over by advertisements in the form of haphazardly placed posters, while the noise and chaos from the street performers (and protesters) is a distant second to the Provençal din of the cigales. The good news: all the low-end chain stores from Paris have found a place in Avignon, so you can get a cheap new pair of shorts when yours get Avignon grime on them.

Saint-Tropez (Cote d’Azur): I know this one will cause a ripple, but unless you are staying on your massive yacht docked away from the harbor, this is nothing more than a high-end shopping destination with inappropriately dressed (and surgeried) clientele. The view is quite breathtaking (once you are away from the harbor and in the water), which can be accessed one of two ways: from the ferry we took, or from the multi-million dollar mega-yachts dotting the horizon.

The Ugly:

Marseilles: Is a port town famous for producing soap, yet it appears only to export it and not use it. However, Quick Burger on the harbor has public restrooms -- always a plus.

I think what perhaps was the most upsetting for me over the course of the week, however, was not my fluctuation between like and dislike of the Provençal, but my extreme happiness when confronted with a morning of provincial life. In Apt, the larger town nearest to us (which already holds weight with the fact that it produces candied fruit), there are a few mega chain stores. As I found myself in E. Leclerc aimlessly roaming large aisles (very unfamiliar to this now Parisian), a thrill unlike any of the others this week came over me. We had parked our car in the parking lot, and were now perusing any and all categories of goods. As we walked out with an iPod cord and four ridiculously low-priced espresso cups (which meant we had to buy them), and climbed into our Chevy, I felt a sense of peace and belonging that I have not felt months. Like the sunflower needs it sun, apparently I need my dose of provincial. I am not ashamed, however. My new Provinçal tablecloth is going to complement my espresso cups quite nicely. And that iPod cord will allow us to blare Kathy Griffin the entire way home, beating out the crickets and cigales.