Vaucluse Dreamer

It’s hard to believe that it’s only just 5 weeks since we arrived back from our little jaunt on the bikes, along the south coast. In many ways it feels as if a lifetime has passed since then, and yet in other ways it feels as if we’ve only been back a few days

It was such a perfect week away, and reinforced just how much we enjoy getting on the bikes, with the basic bits needed for life and cycling off together relying on our legs, bikes and my trusted maps to get us to where we need to be. I know that this is the first year that we’ve done it, but I’m already well and truly hooked. I can’t believe it has taken me until the latter half of my 6th decade to realise what fun can be had, just pedalling between villages, making our way home, and filling our saddlebag with even more memories as we go

There is an incredible simplicity to it, and it may sound strange, but I love that we can only take the bare necessities with us, stripping out all the bits of life and day-to-day chaos that we have around us, and just carrying what is most important. I know we could go further by taking a tent, or wild camping, but I’ll be honest and admit that we like a bit of space, a comfy bed and a nice, hot shower each evening, and I make no apologies for that.

That last week, pedalling our way around the Herault, exploring new areas and revisiting some favourite places was such fun, and somehow we managed to have a week of pretty much wall-to-wall sunshine, which ended the day we arrived home. I know that at some point we will find ourselves cycling through storms, bedraggled and soggy, just focusing on turning the pedals to get to the next point in the trip, but during our two adventures this year, we have been blessed with almost perfect weather, and it has been simply glorious.

So much has happened, since we cycled back up the hill to our little home, unclipped the bike-packing bags and put the maps away. Almost at the same moment that we wheeled the bikes into the ‘cave’, the rain started to fall and autumn arrived with a vengeance. It was as if it had waited until we were safely home for the winds to start howling and for the heavens to open. But there was no time for rest and reflection, as we hit the ground running, making the final preparations for our son’s wedding to his beautiful fiancée. The ceremony had originally been planned for early September, but sadly had to be delayed after a tragedy in her family, a few days before the planned date.

It would be slightly different now as friends and family wouldn’t be able to join us in person, but we were looking forward to celebrating their marriage with a ceremony at our Mairie, and welcoming the newlyweds with champagne at home, with Millie threatening to wear a ribbon in honour of the occasion too.

Happily, most of the hard work had been done beforehand, with a complex dossier of paperwork having been submitted and probably more importantly, accepted. Also everything had been bought, to stage and set, and cater for the event. It just needed a bit of tweaking for the change in circumstances and we would be ready to go.

The one thing we couldn’t do anything about though was the weather, and as the skies turned the colour of wet tarmac & curtains of rain fell, we couldn’t help but feel that the ideas we had of using Fifi as the wedding car, roof open, bedecked with flowers, may not actually happen.

Don’t get me wrong, we needed the rain. It’s been one of the driest summers we’ve known here, with hardly any rain falling since mid June, when we arrived back from our long ride home from Devon. The riverbeds have dried and cracked as the ground has been baked under the blistering summer heat, plants have battled to survive and crops have struggled too, so the sight of the clouds rolling over the Mourre Negre, like a huge ocean wave and the sound of rain gurgling in the gutters brought a smile to our faces.

There were brief respites from the rain, when we managed to potter out on the bikes, but the arm-warmers and gilets were needed, just to deal with the shift to chilly morning temperatures; a far cry from the (still warm) days, the week before.

What we hadn’t bargained for though was the wind. Normally we are well-protected here, as the hamlet was sensibly (and understandably) built in the lee of the hill, protected from the Mistral and biting winds from the north and west. In fact we’re so protected here that we will often set off on a ride commenting that the weather forecast of 50kpm gusts were obviously totally wrong, only to get to the bottom of the hill to find ourselves battling into a headwind, or being blown sidewards. But this autumn has been different.

A few times each winter the wind shifts and blows into the front of the house, a sign (a neighbour told us when we first arrived) that the weather is changing and bringing rain. Generally, it’s a stiff breeze that sings through the closed shutters, as it whips the leaves into life, but very occasionally (twice since we bought the house) it has been brutal.

On these rare occasions the unforgiving wind slams into the front of the house, the rushing sound more akin to the roar of a waterfall in flood than anything else, and we hunker down watching anxiously as the roses on the terrace are whipped into a frenzy, and decayed branches are ripped from the trees. Once, it forced its way behind a huge marble chiffonier mirror that was leaning against a wall, sending it crashing to the ground, shattering the glass and splitting the sheet of marble in two.Another time it got under the ‘bache’ covering the car shelter, creating a huge sail effect that left the metal structure broken and twisted, as if a giant had been fiddling with it in his huge fingers. So we are always aware of the damage that can be caused, when this rare wind happens.

But since arriving back, this wind has happened three times, probably more than it has happened in the last 8 years put together. The first night it caused one of the car shelters to collapse, twisting and buckling the roof, to the point that we had to dismantle it and take it to the local tip.

Another night, it wrenched the rose arch from its fixings, requiring some emergency repairs to be done, whilst also blowing a cast iron fire-back onto the terrace from its resting place against the fence, and Andy was out at 1.30 am in his pyjamas, tying down the shelter that protects Fifi too.

We almost gave up hope that the wedding day would be anything other than soggy and grey, with me buying heavier shoes and a jacket to wear with my dress, and even planning how we could decorate Fifi to be driven with her roof closed.

The day before the wedding Beyza and I created the flower displays to be taken to decorate the Mairie…

With the painting that she had done, to stand on an easel in the light, airy room too…

Having to wait to load the car as the rain was bouncing almost to waist height from the driveway. It was about as grim as the weather can get.

But waking on the day itself, the clouds had cleared, the wind had settled and it was the perfect autumn day, with the sun glinting through the golden autumn leaves, quickly drying the sodden roads and bringing a lovely warmth.

It was as if (after everything that had happened), the weather Gods had taken pity on us and pulled out all the stops to create a ray of joyful sunshine, just when it was needed most. So Fifi’s roof was rolled back and she was dressed in her wedding finery, with flowers, ribbons and a wonderful sign that Beyza had painted, tied securely to her boot

As we worked on the car, the sky turned a bright blue and our smiles broadened. It was a gentle, lovely and stress-free morning, and we couldn’t have asked for more.

Finally we threw on our own glad-rags and drove Fifi into Apt, for the young couple to drive up to the Mairie.

In the end it was a perfect afternoon, with a lovely ceremony that (thanks to the internet) was followed by family and friends who just couldn’t join us in person.

There was laughter, yes a few tears too, but so much happiness too and it was so wonderful to see them married in France, our local village and the place that is home.

The happy newlyweds glowed in the late afternoon sun ..

Before driving off in Fifi, rattling along with a string of old cans bouncing on the road behind..

It was small, intimate and perfectly formed, which was beautiful and after a small apéro-style champagne reception at home, they drove off to start their new life together.

Of course, in a film it would be a happy ending, with the music fading, as the couple drive off towards a lavender-scented sunset, but sadly life isn’t written by Hollywood. The happy ending will come, but it won’t be plain sailing, as there is still lots to do, to enable Beyza to join George to live here permanently.

As a parent, you always wish that you could wave a magic wand and make everything easy, but sadly that isn’t the case, so they have a period of separation and heartache still to come, accompanied by a tide of paperwork that will keep my head spinning for a good while yet!

So as I type this, I’m on the TGV, hurtling towards Paris and a couple of weeks back in the UK, to do some pre-Christmas events, before heading back home to Provence in time for the festive season here.

It’s fair to say that I don’t think our feet will touch the ground for a while yet and so in the quiet moments, we’ll just keep looking at the maps and planning next summer’s weeks of simplicity, getting away from it all on the bikes.

At the moment we’re hoping to fill our saddlebag with more memories, pedalling our way between Amsterdam and Apt, visiting a few different countries en route

Perhaps life may have calmed down a little by then …. But on the other hand, probably not!