Gordes et Roussillon
The European cycling culture is next level.
Each day we venture out I am a bit wrecked as our midsize SUV weave and wend through the hilly French countryside. Yet the cyclist are fearless. They’re motivated. They’re downright athletes. They take to the backroads and mountain climbs with nary a sweat on the brow. They ride on the road as confidently and expeditiously as a vehicle. It’s impressive.
The lookout over the city of Gordes was gorgeous. As creative writers, the boys were inspired by the old villages and cases. No doubt their novels will be blessed and detailed by the sights we’ve seen.
Our spry and adventurous boys braving feats close enough to edge of precarious places even passersby clutched their bosom or covered their eyes in terror. The girls and I were frightened when they seemed too close to the ledge at the Gordes lookout too. The littles ones chastising them with my need to.
The views were a work of art. From the cliff edges we admired the countryside and the village before entering. The Master certainly has a distinct skill of taking ones breath away. Beauty so overwhelming it gives both great amusement and joyful sorrow.
We entered the village, as old as the Middle Ages, with our sights set on a specific cave tour. The coolness underground was welcomed. As we explore the ruins unearthed buried below the city places we learned it was once a place of refuge for villagers in the Second World War. Oil was pressed, ovens were built in the walls and latreens tucked away in corners that dropping deeper into the earth.
The stroll through the narrow streets was strenuously hilly but the views made every turn worth the effort. For enduring heat and hills, we reward the girls with ice cream cones; the boys and I revisit a Laduree location for macarons. The sweet treats encouraged us as we made our way to the car and next destination.
We found ourselves squeezing through the one lane roads of the quiet village of Roussillon. If we reached our arms outside the car windows we might brush against the shutters of the red clay homes. The narrow path was uniquely pretty from other villages as the soil in the area was full of iron. The orangish pigment makes for a rich clay color to the exterior of the buildings. Once we reached the edge of town where the hike began there were small crowds embarking on the same exploration of the regional park of Luberon.
Since it was our second adventure of the day, we determined to do only a single mile hike that looped back to the start. It was hot enough but giving the girls piggyback rides the last quarter mile had Zachary and I panting of thirst. We practically drenching ourselves in the portable fountain at the finish line.
Covered head to toe in red silt we head back to our cottage oasis for the pool and lunch.