As we rolled into Provence, we were a couple hours later than we intended. We are living the saying – "the journey is half the fun." Keep in mind that what I might do on vacation with just my husband is substantially different than what I actually do when on vacation with my whole family. Besides the two hour insight into French culture that we had in the morning, we also got caught in traffic around Lyon and here and there as we followed the Rhone down into the Occitan region.
The French highways are well designed for road travelers. By that I mean that there are frequent places to take the “aire.” Rest areas with everything from just a picnic table to full-blown gas and food stops dot the highway. Unlike the U.S. where the pervasive grip of commerce has grown freeway exits into full-blown strip malls and fast-food havens, the French have created what feels like a much more streamlined approach. Your choices are limited to whatever vendor has the license for that particular rest area. The food is similar at each stop. You choose from either pre-packaged sandwiches or daily fresh-made baguette sandwiches or something at a made to order grill. We decided to practice our French at these places, stopping frequently. We even came across our first McDonalds.
While I don’t go to the golden arches in the U.S., we could not resist. We ordered a Royal with Cheese and marveled at how it tastes the same no matter where you go.
If I thought I had been developing a crush on France, Le Bastide turned it into full infatuation. The Occitan region is sort of Northern Mediterranean - basically stretching from Provence in France through Catalan Spain, Morocco and Italy. As we left the highways behind, Garmina took us on impossibly small roads – the kind that are one car width, but supposed to be two lanes, and you pray that as you go around each bend there isn’t someone else coming in the opposite direction. And it was gorgeous.
The color palette has changed with the landscape. We get to see it in that warm persimmon-y light of pre-sunset. Abundant olive trees, and those dry pine trees that you see in places like La Jolla, lavender and rock-strewn, sandy soil. It reminds me of Southern California maybe hundreds of years ago. Everything has this dusty tinge to it – just enough to mute the colors one notch down from vibrant. It feels like a result of the dry wind that rises as the day heats up.
We keep driving slower and slower, I don’t want it to end. I keep expecting wild horses to gallop across our path or something. But eventually we cross another river and we arrive at our destination.
I took a chance on this hotel. I was determined to stay in small places where we could meet the owners. (I highly recommend it!) You could only stay here if you had a car, because it is not in any of the popular towns of Provence, and it is so worth the drive.
If I could somehow give a voice to the aesthetic ideals I have, and were able to use them to create a serene retreat, they couldn’t have any better representation than La Bastide. (The photos on the website are from about a year ago - the landscaping is fuller now.) The hamlet(?) of Boulbon is so small, that it doesn’t get included on some maps, and not one of the people we spoke with, before or after the trip, have ever heard of it. La Bastide is an historic chateau that has been converted into a hotel. It is in the center of the medieval town, and stands under gigantic 250-year-old oak trees and under the shadow of a medieval castle up on the top of a hill. It is not open to the public; however, it is lit at night (in the interest of whom, I wonder?) An equally ancient church peals its bells a few blocks away. There is a post office, and a patisserie, and little else. But people do live here, in old buildings built right onto the old narrow cobbled streets.
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