Exploring Provence

October 17

We set out Thursday morning for the ocher cliffs of Roussillon. We had Google maps for the town and for several recommended wine caves on the way. We also had recommendations for a couple of restaurants in the area. 

So after the third or fourth traffic circle, nothing matched up. 

We found Route D977, but it was headed the wrong way. We never did see 950D, so Larry drove us into the town of Sarrians, where we found a bar and someone who could give useful directions: Turn left at the next corner and follow the signs for Monteux, and so forth.

That makes a lot more sense than go 1.4 km and turn right onto Rue de St. Whatever. Road signs are few and far between in this territory. Far from telling you what towns you want to make for, the Google directions don’t even tell you the compass direction you are taking. 

It reminds me of Alexander the Poet, whom I once heard at a reading. He had a haiku called “Why I Hate MapQuest”: 

I went to MapQuest

to get me some directions,

but they were fucked up.

Once we go to Monteux, we were to follow signs to L’Isle sur la Sorgue. Only, there weren’t any. So we stopped again, this time at a stationery store where they told us they hadn’t heard of the place. One lady dismissed us with the back of her hand to go ask somewhere else. 

The guy across the street at the pizza shop told us to follow signs for Cavaillon and it was on the way to Cavaillon, which happens to be the melon-growing capital of France, that we got onto the road to Isle Sur la Sorgue. From there we were to go in the direction of Apt, and we would find Roussillon on the way there.

The road to Apt led us to Coustellet, which is the site of one of the restaurants that Claude had recommended, La Maison Gouin. We thought it was supposed to be around the corner on Route D2, but couldn’t find it.

Larry parked and went to get more directions.

His first stop was a boulangerie, where the baker didn’t even know the name of the road that the store is on. He came back and said we should try the police station. But it was closed for lunch. 

Joanna saw a map across the street, so we jaywalked to read it. We knew we could get away with it because the police were out to lunch.

Larry, meanwhile, found an outdoor furniture store and was told the restaurant wasn’t on highway D2, after all, but on the main drag, D900, the Road to Apt. 

We finally got there and it looked closed. But a small sign on the door said to enter at the back. You can get to the parking lot from Route D2, but the Gouin faces the main street through town, hence the confusion.

The place was packed, but a waiter said to come back in 10 minutes. Joanna and I went to wander the deli in front. The store sold rich, red aged beef, and several prepared specialties, including something called vol de vent, which looked like a pastry.

While we were there, the waiters set up a table in a small space just inside the store. This was space they were making for us.

Joanna and Larry had a very strong fish soup to start. I tasted a spoonful of Joanna’s along with a bit of cracker and aioli, a garlic mayonnaise. Having no idea what it was, I ordered tartine a la mousse de foie gras. It was a creamy mousse flavored with goose liver and served with raw greens on a kind of biscuit.

I wanted to find out what vol de vent is, so my main course was vol de vent de volaille (chicken), a standalone chicken pot pie. 

I had a Côtes du Rhone red with the tartine and a Rhone Valley white with the main dish. The white’s appellation is officially Côte du Ventoux, but that’s right in the neighborhood of Beaumes de Venise and Côte du Rhone Villages, etc.

Joanna had salmon on a bed of green beans and skipped wine. 

Larry had lamb, like we had for dinner the night before, with pasta, which was on tonight’s menu, because he can’t get enough of either one.

Roussillon is built high up an almost vertical mountain on cliffs of ocher. Purple, red, orange, yellow. It’s one of those medieval towns where some of the thoroughfares are pedestrian stairways. 

They built them high up in the Dark Ages so the barbarians would take one look and say; How much plunder can fit up there? It can’t be worth the climb.

We, on the other hand, are not marauding barbarians. We don’t maraud; we’re curious. So when we see stairs winding up, we have to climb them. At the top, there were more ocher cliffs and a house—a door, windows with curtains, etc.—built into the living rock. 

The photo of the day is Joanna standing next to that house (I see now that I didn’t get it into frame) with the lookout tower overhead. Actually, I don’t know how authentic that lookout tower is because it also has curtains on the windows.

The stucco and mortar are colored with ocher. The paints are chosen well to go with the rich earth tones. Shutters, for instance, are shades of red or purple.

This was a residential neighborhood, and so we went back to the car, consulted the tourist map and drove around the mountaintop to the hopping part of the village, which is packed with tourists whose average age seems to be 90 or so. They make me looked tuned in.

We sat at a cafe overrun with the aged tourists. I had a beer named for cicadas. Larry, who is driving, and Joanna, who doesn’t drink much, had bottled water.

We had stopped at the local tourist office for directions back to Carpentras, which is very close to Beaumes de Venise. The tourist rep spoke no English. Larry had enough French to get directions. But we got lost again. Then Larry saw a sign for the route touristique to Carpentras. The scenery was beautiful. Snaking mountain roads opened onto great vistas and then plunged into rocky ravines. There were hairpin turns and no shoulder. 

Larry was a nervous wreck. Good thing his hands were on the wheel. There was one really exciting moment when the car came around a bend and discovered an oncoming car. My steering wheel didn’t work, try as I might to pull us out of the way, but Larry got us there just fine. 

It’s also good that he kept his hands on the wheel, or else he might’ve bitten his nails down to the quick. But he got us home without a scratch or a bump.

Back at the house, Larry started to unwind. He made a savory pumpkin sauce, with onion and lots of butter, for pasta. Joanna had picked up some vegetables earlier and we had those too. It was a mix of several things cut small, maybe pepper, zucchini, and onion. 

Most dishes here have lots of garlic, but the stuff isn’t anywhere near as pungent and sharp as the garlic I’m used to. I generally don’t like much garlic, but the mild variety here is just fine. maybe I can find some when I get home.

It was early to bed because tomorrow we go to the market in Carpentras.

Have fun, everyone. Lift a glass of Côtes du Rhone, and help out the French with the euro.

Harry