The Village of Bories, a walk in the woods, and Dad battles it out with a scorpion

Having now seen quite a few ruins, we decided to visit the Village of the Bories near Gordes. The 20 restored bories here are grouped around a community bread over, with other bories serving as dwellings, animal enclosures, or storerooms. The pigsties were the funniest, with a small wall around an outdoor area and then a little low door with a lintel built into the wall. I guess the sheep and goat could jump right over, but pigs had to have a doorway! The wine cistern also took some figuring out. It was made of big flat stones (instead of all the little ones which of course would not hold water) with a second story opening to put the grapes in (we think) and a spigot (well, pipe) at the bottom to get the wine out. These buildings are between 200 and 500 years old, and were in use until the 1800s, but their origin remains a mystery.

There is no mortar - and they make such a nice shape!

Apparently they were shorter than I am

Mom, Dad, and me being borie villagers

The arch has the oven in it

Signage being a bit lacking at the exit (you had to drive down these little one way roads to get to the village, with 10ft tall walls on each side!) we ended up driving through the village of Gordes—and then turning around and driving back through it as we couldn’t find the roads we picked for alternate route. The village is very nice, and we will be going there on another trip. After finding the correct road, we wound through farms and vineyards till all of a sudden I saw a windmill! So we had to get out a look at it. It currently appears to be made into a house, which I think is a neat idea.

Windmill house

Gordes

In the afternoon we left Alan to his studies while we explored the one road out of town we hadn’t been on. It goes to the very base of the Petit Luberon (the range behind us – the one behind Bonniuex is the Grand Luberon). Dad’s knees were bothering him, so we walked a fairly level path along the bottom of the ridge (it appeared to once have been a road) looking across the valley at the Abbaye de St-Hillaire and Mount Ventoux.

Abbaye da St-Hillaire

Mt. Ventoux

Alan came back from class and café declaring himself in need of some more food, so we sent him to the kitchen to eat leftovers. His food was warming on the stove when he announced to those of us in the living room that he had found his first Provencial scorpion in our paper towel roll. SCAD had warned the students of them, but we had yet to encounter one. Mom (who never kills bugs but always captures them and carries them away to safety) was all for catching it in a cup. When asked what she would do with it then (with no large backyard and gulley behind the house to deposit unwanted creatures into as she usually does) said maybe she would walk down past the church at the bottom of the hill. Alan didn’t want to squash it, but Dad was all for it. I voted for squashing, although I was busying myself getting the camera to document the activities while the rest hashed out the future of the invader.

Scorpion!

Armed with a flyswatter, Dad gallantly whacked the poor scorpion multiple times before it escaped us (apparently unharmed) behind the stove. Having been told that lavender keeps them away, Mom brought out all the little sachets she had bought at the market (we had banned them to a bag in a cupboard because they smelled so strongly) and placed all thirteen of them around the house. We have not seen the scorpion since, so it must work!

Mom breaks a tooth, we find a borie, and Alan visits the pizza van

French bread is wonderful, chewy stuff… apparently too chewy for one of Mom’s teeth! Bits of the tooth fell off, but the filling stayed intact and luckily it doesn’t hurt. Dad took some photos (I’ll spare you) and sent them off to Mom’s dentist to get an opinion (but we haven’t heard back). Alan got the name of a local dentist from SCAD, but Mom is hoping that if she just keeps chewing on the other side of her mouth maybe it will make it till she goes home. We’ll see!

We set out on a walk after deciding Mom didn’t need to be rushed off anywhere. A borie ruins marked with a pink star on our trail map just a few kilometers out of town had caught our eye. After almost reaching our destination without getting lost, the trail did a funny jig and we were left not sure where to look for our borie. Venturing down the path we thought might be right proved fruitful, revealing a group of larger bories off in the woods, each about twice the size of the ones Alan and I had seen on our walk out of Bonnieux. We scrambled in around the overgrown ruins before heading on the loop trail we’d figured out. The trail lead to a high point with nice views of Rousillon and Goult across the valley before returning us to Lacoste.

Old deux chevaux (it's name means two horses)

Old tractor in the woods along the trail

There are lots of varieties of butterflies here

Mom looking in on of the borie

See how much longer these ones are?

Rousillon across the valley

Goult, which we haven't been to but is close by.

Work was waiting for me when I got back, so Mom and Dad entertained themselves with quilting, sudoku, and a walk around the town in the afternoon. After supper, Dad went for another wander around town and came back to report that the pizza van was down in the square in front of the church. Apparently most of the village had turned out (the van comes just once a week on Wednesday) for some pizza, and it was a party-like atmosphere. No sooner had he finished telling us this then in walked Alan with a pizza! He was done with his lecture (which went well, he said) and the food at the café was unidentifiable so he (and a lot of other students) went to the pizza van. The box amused us (it pictured not pizza, but what looked like a steak, dinner rolls, salad, maybe a baked potato, and a glass of wine), but the pizza was good. The van has ovens built into it, and so they make the pizza with whatever toppings you want while you wait. Maybe they are on to something… sure beats getting a cold delivered pizza! Alan thought he would have leftovers till he realized the crust was cracker-thin. He ate it all up in no time, although Mom did get a piece and I grabbed a bite. Yum!

Grape harvest and Pont Julien

I had to work this morning, and Alan still needed to polish up his presentation, so Mom and Dad went on a walk around the town and into the valley below without us. They were picking grapes in one of the vineyards below us, but the picking machine had jammed. Dad was very disappointed that they had a machine as he had high hopes of hiring me out to pick grapes with the gypsies, who (he was sure) sang and told stories while they picked. We could see the vineyard from our window, and so got a few photos from up here once the machine was fixed. It drives over top of the row, and we have yet to figure out how it picks the grapes without squashing them. They worked very quickly, emptying the machine into little trailers pulled by tractors who then rushed off to who knows where with their load of grapes.

Grape picker heading over a row of vines

Dumping its load after 2 rows

In the late afternoon, Mom, Dad, and I drove the few minutes down the road to Pont Julien (which we have passed multiple times on our way to other places but never stopped at, except for Alan who had a picnic here with SCAD his first weekend). The bridge was built in the 3rd century along the Domitian Way that linked Italy and Spain. While the river now seems to hardly need a bridge, apparently the floods can be sever as the bridge’s two-pier design was specifically to help it withstand floodwaters.

See the modern bridge in the background?
Not nearly as cool...

In the evening, Mom and I went on walk up to the chateau. We found the ancient stage where Pierre Cardin (fashion designer and owner of the 42-room chateau) now holds theatrical events in the summer, and then wandered down the road back into town.

Vines are turning colors

Cat had found a ledge in town

This house had a beautiful horse, who I got to talk to me.
Dad wanted to know what it said. Bonjour, of course ;)

House on the edge of town

History of Protestants in Lacoste

The Source and the ocher cliffs

Alan has been working hard to prepare his lecture on Parisian photographers as part of his TA work for one of the classes, leaving Mom, Dad, and me to pick a place to go in the morning from Alan’s already-been-or-will-be-going-for-class list. We chose Fontaine-de-Vaucluse, which you might remember was the starting point of our hike a while back. This time we took the much shorter and gentler walk to the Source (it sounds so mythical!). Rick Steve’s guidebook calls it “the most overrated sight in France” when the spring is not running… and it wasn’t from the main, most impressive opening. Its depth from this opening has never been accurately measured, with the last recorded depth being 1,034ft. But it was easy to imagine the huge gush of water that would come out of that opening during the spring floods! I wish we could see it then.

The Sorgue River (below the Source)

The Source - when flowing it gushes out of
that cavern all the way to the trees
in from of my parents!

Multiple smaller openings gush into the river farther down, and while there is only one wheel here compared to the eight in L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue the river rushes along with plenty of force. This wheel is now part of a paper mills museum (with more gift shop than information). We decided not to go to the Petrarch museum (he lived here for 16 years), but did stop at a neat aqueduct on the way out of town. I don’t know anything about it, but it looks cool!

Paper mill run by a waterwheel

Random aqueduct

Taking the guidebook’s suggestion, we set out late in the afternoon for the town of Roussillon. All the houses are colored orange by the residents’ use of ocher from the cliffs that surround the village. A range of colors comes from the cliffs, and others can be achieved through the baking and drying processes. Ocher in oranges, yellows, reds, and green were sold in packets all over the town (as were other non-natural but still organic colors made by adding other minerals). I was very tempted to buy some, but I don’t know what I would do with it! Alan was trying to think if he could use it as part of a printing process, but couldn’t figure it out just then. Luckily if we want to go back Roussillon is not far away.

After walking around the town, we went on the Sentier des Ocres, a sign-posted walk through the cliffs. We were tempted to pick up some of the colorful dirt, but signs discouraged us (and everyone else) by noting that it has to be washed and processed to be of any use. Instead we just enjoyed the evening light glowing warmly on the brightly colored landscape.

Market again and Bonnieux at last

In view of last week’s success, L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue’s Sunday market was the first item on today’s to-do list. Alan wanted to arrive while the vendors were still setting up, so we braved the very cold morning wind to arrive before 9am. We decided to first walk around and look for the eight water wheels placed strategically along the branches of the Sorgue. Used in the past to power all sorts of industry including paper, grain, and oil mills, the wheels turn today for the pleasure of the tourist industry. So we dutifully walked around till we found all of them, surprised that no two were the same! Each had a different shape, size, and paddle arrangement, I suppose to properly power their respective mills.

The market began to awake, with vendors forgoing umbrellas in the cold wind and tourists remaining scarce till later in the morning. We took shelter in the church for a while, admiring the blue and gold décor and relishing being out of the wind. Back outside, Mom searched for some fabric she could use for a quilt, but none we found was suitable. We stocked up on more veggies and fresh pasta before meeting Alan (who had gone off on his own to take photos while we shopped) and heading again to the SuperU to round out the pantry.

The antique section... Yes, Texas is antique...

In the afternoon Alan needed to prepare photos for his two upcoming critiques, and Dad was happily engrossed in a sudoko, which left Mom and I to set out once more for Bonnieux. We had studied the map and put our binoculars to good use studying the valley from our window, and this time we were pretty sure we could make it all the way. And the third time is the charm! It took us just over an hour to walk the 3km across to Bonnieux, and we only got barked at by two dogs, both of whom were more excited to have something to bark about than interested in bothering us. We startled a few people out collecting firewood, and other than that were left to ourselves. Upon reaching the bottom of the village we turned home again, walking the 3km back in the evening light.

Borie we saw on the walk

Dad had barely welcomed us back before announcing that he now was going to go on a walk around the village, and did we want to go? We declined to answer such a silly question, letting our busy food-making preparations to fill our hungry bellies and groans about tired legs answer that question.

Fort Buoux (and the rest of the valley)

A crisp, sunny day greeted us in the morning, the perfect temperature, in Alan’s opinion, for the planed itinerary of a hike first to Fout Buoux, perched high on its mountain plateau, followed by a loop walk up the valley below.  The fort’s location provides a natural defense system that has been used by Ligurians, Romans, Catholics, and Protestants, with neolithic people occupying the area before any of them. Louis XIV ordered its destruction in 1660, stopping the succession of persecuted people (like the Waldensians) from using the stronghold.

Watchtower at Fort Buoux

Looking across the valley from the fort

We parked the car in a little lot across from a wonderful rock wall already dotted with rock climbers, their voices echoing across the gorge and the sun glinting off their equipment as they prepared their next move. Our trail started in the opposite direction, going first under a huge overhanging rock (the largest in Provence) that has been used since prehistoric times (there are beam holes for roofs and water channels carved into it). We reached the entrance to Fort Buoux only to be told that the actual fort was under renovations. Most of the plateau was open, and we wondered close to very step edges, ruins of watchtowers, homes, silos, and cisterns. The church was open, but with a pile of rocks next to it suggesting renovations will be going on there sometime soon. Alan and I opted to take the hidden staircase down while Mom and Dad went back the gentler route we had come. After descending a short way, our path snaked along the edge of the plateau, leading us past the fort above before the trail suddenly came to a drop-off that housed the real stairs. They were carved out of the rock, going steeply down—but what bothered me was when the outside edge lost its ancient handrail leaving nothing between me and the drop below! We made it down without incident, meeting my parents and heading on to the actual hike (now that we had been walking around for almost 2 hours).

The hidden staircase

Between my book (with written directions) and Mom’s map (with a marked trail) we made and missed turns but ended up where we wanted to go for the most part. We were high on one side of the gorge just before lunch when Dad asked me if I had seen the house built into the rock on the other side. I was looking for the house when suddenly I though I saw a deer stuck on the side of the cliff! Binoculars and cameras proved it to be one of a herd of goats, tripping along paths I couldn’t see nibbling on bits of leaves that I hope were tasty enough to warrant the risk!

We think it was just a herd of domestic goats

We ate lunch on an old, old bridge—if that’s what it was. We were now walking on the old salt trail that was favored for its lack of bandits, and this “bridge” from one side of the gorge to the other seemed to be an old wall of rocks with no hole for water (that we could see) rising straight up for at least 100 feet. It was about 15 feet wide at the top and ran about 100 feet from one side of the gorge to the other. It wasn’t mentioned in the guidebook, and we only went down the little path that led to it because we were looking for somewhere to sit and eat! Trees blocked it from view, and there was no good way even to take a photo of it, but it made for a good topic of discussion as we sat down in the middle of it for lunch, eating sandwiches and wondering why it was built in the first place.

Sivergues

The (very) small church

 The town of Sivergues lay next in our path, a very cute little town with a small church cared for by the two remaining Catholic families in town – the other 18 are Protestants, converted when the Waldensians sough refuge here from 1490 to 1520. From the town we descended to the valley floor, following the Aiguebrun river (the name comes from “murmuring water” in the Provencal dialect). The guidebook said the water was so clear you could hardly tell it was there and yes, jokes were made at the dry riverbed we came to first. But the guidebook was absolved when we came to a pool full of some of the clearest water I have ever seen. We were supposed to cross the river somewhere and climb the cliffs up the other side of the gorge; however, we missed the turn and decided to keep following the river, which murmured its way ahead of us till we reached the car. There we left it behind to rest our weary legs at home.

Clear water of the Aigueburn