Postcards from Provence and beyond

Over the last couple of weeks, we’ve happily noticed a decided shift towards the settling down of spring, in Provence.

Arriving back, after watching the Paris-Roubaix, we stepped off the TGV at Avignon into a bitterly cold, and fierce Mistral, which stripped the warmth from our bodies and left us shivering, as we waited for our lift home.

The sky was a blanket grey, and as we drove back along the valley, we spotted just a few signs that spring had arrived.

It wasn’t exactly a bright home-coming. In fact, the first job, once we had dumped our rucksacks on the floor, was to light the fire, have a hot drink, and sit in front of the flames, in an effort to warm ourselves up again.

Fire lit, the chill began to ease and I started to regain feeling in my fingers, as we chatted through what needed to be done, before we set off on our bike ride to Pezenas, which starts tomorrow.

The first few bike rides back in the Luberon, saw us wearing thermal tops and full gloves, as at times, the wind cut through us like a knife. But even with the chill, it was just a delight to be out on the road and pottering around the back-lanes, with spring colour and scent all around.

As each day has passed the temperature got a little higher, and the colours became even brighter.

At this time of year, the hills around Apt are covered with the fuschia pink blossom of the Judas Trees. It’s an almost impossible pink, that looks as if Mother Nature has dripped a pot of Neon Pink paint, across the valley.

The cycle path is a tunnel of colour, and the views across to the Cathedral look as if they have been doctored by AI..

For us, these trees are special, as they brightened the valley when we collected the keys for our house, 10 years ago, this weekend.

It’s amazing to think that we have been here for so long. It’s actually the longest that we have ever owned a house, and looking back, I’m not sure that we ever imagined that what had started many years before, as a dream, would become such a permanent and wonderful home.

The time has flown by. In many ways it’s been a slightly mad, at times chaotic and sometimes rather stressful 10 years, but it has also been simple and great fun too, as we have found our feet and migrated our life to Provence.

After re-working the house and terrace to turn it from someone’s holiday home into the cosy, comfortable space that we had dreamed of, we’ve settled into a gentle life doing what we enjoy most.

As we sit watching the birds on the feeders, and the geckos (Guillaume and Gordon) hunt amongst the wisteria that now covers the house,  we find we have time to look forward to the adventures we have planned, for this year (and beyond). And if we’re honest, it’s rather nice to be able to focus on those, rather than constantly throwing ourselves from one house renovation into the next.

Our first cycle trip of the year is about to start, which will see us take a slow ride across the south of France to Pezenas, for next weekend’s big Brocante there. So we are surrounded by piles of kit and clothing that need to be packed into the panniers, and Andy has spent the last couple of days fettling the bikes, to make sure they are OK.

As we cycled out yesterday, to check that the bikes are ready, we were chatting about how beautiful the valley looks at the moment. Even after all this time, we still pinch ourselves that we can ride and walk daily in this stunning, rather magical corner of France that we are lucky enough, to call home.

Cycling towards Bonnieux, we passed through the vineyards, noticing how the twisted vines have been softened by leaves, and the verges are filled with colour, with vibrant purple cones of Orchids, surrounded by daisies and hawkweed too ..

The cherry blossom has fallen, leaving the first signs of this year’s fruit; small green balls, which will quicly swell and turn red over the coming few weeks

And the first poppies are dancing in the verges..

with a couple of fields starting to turn red too, with the crimson flowers opening among the grasses.

Others are a carpet of gold, with hawkweed, dandelions and buttercups bringing the colour of the sun to the landscape; vibrant splashes of yellow amongst the green

But, it’s not just the sight of the new colour that has caught our attention, but the scents and sounds too.

The air has lost the earthy, smoky smell of winter, and is now filled with the scent of wild flowers, and herbs. After the first couple of chilly days, the temperatures have risen, lifting the scent of thyme, rosemary and curry-plant from the ground, mingling with the scent of lilac, which has been magnificent …

And bombarding us with the heady smell of warm pine, and acacias, as we pedal along.

It seems especially stunning this year, but has brought with it a huge wave of pollen that has tightened my chest and left my eyes, and at times even the roof of my mouth itching; a reaction that I have never experienced before.

But the blossom has been worth the slight discomfort.

The biggest joy though, has been hearing the song of the returning migratory birds. They all arrived back within a few days of each other.

First came the delightful hup-hup-hup of the Hoopoes, followed by the cuckoo calling as we sat with our coffee, watching the sunrise.

Then a couple of days later, the melody of the nightingales stopped us in our tracks. I don’t think there is a more beautiful song, and it now brightens every walk and ride.

Finally the sing-song whistle of the oriole, adding its voice to the morning chorus from the tree in the lane, and the high warbling chatter of the bee-eaters, darting around the cherry trees by Pont Julien and making their way above the house, back to their nesting grounds in the cliffs of the Colorado Provencal, behind us.

I know most people would say that summer is their favourite time in Provence, with long, languid days perfumed with lavender, but for me spring is the best. There is a simple joy in watching the countryside wake up again, plants, flowers and wildlife just bursting back into life, after a long, wet and cold winter.

We’re starting our 11th year here now, and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it, although Andy now is definitely tiring of my annual shout of ‘Hoopoe’ or ‘Wibbly bird’, when I spot the first one of the year.

I really should be more used to it now, but each year, the first sight or sound of each flower, tree in bloom, or song from a bird makes my heart lift. It creates in me, an almost child-like sense of joy, and in a world where moments like that are getting rarer, I’ll keep enjoying these simple moments that never change.

Time now to get packing, before we set off tomorrow.