Hanging out in the Village of Apt, Provence, France

The majority of our time during many of our travels includes undertaking a variety of physical activities from backpacking, cycling, and trekking from inn to inn or hut to hut. Our trip to France will indeed include these types of excursions. But, at MK’s insistence (and, I must say, something I readily agreed with), this trip factored in a good deal of down time, leisurely sitting at street side cafes, wandering the streets of small towns and tiny villages, seeing and learning more about ancient and historic sites, and simply watching the world go by while reading, drinking a beer or glass of wine, or sipping a thick, rich cup of coffee. 

This was never more in play for the two and a half days we stayed in Apt, one of the larger villages in the Luberon region of Provence. While MK readied herself for the day, I sat outside our hotel near a public fountain to jot down my notes and to get my Hemingway on. I soon learned that not only was this fountain a source of potable water for the townsfolk, but also a refreshment stop for the many dogs owned by these people. One dog, too warm for the increasing temperatures, decided a few slurps were not enough and instead needed a fully submersed swim.

As we approached the nearby Saturday morning market area, the bartender from my beer break last night recognized us when we walked by his tavern. We returned his smile with a head nod and friendly wave.

At the market, all types of produce, meats, seafood, cheeses, leather goods, and artwork were on display and on sale. One cheese monger, wearing his garb from the farm, pressed us with a hard sale of his Beaufort cheese. Somehow, he knew that that was our favorite cheese. But after tasting some samples, we had to decline a purchase since we still had a good amount left back in our hotel room.

Hmmm. Right out on the street. No longer relegated to dark, dingy bathrooms. 

Nearby, a flower seller’s product filled the air with fragrant scents. We took advantage and sampled the smell of the sweet, perfume-like aromas of his lavender which Provence is famous for. This pleasantry was interrupted when someone walked by with a lit cigar. One fragrance had replaced the other.

Narrow lanes and alleys led to otherwise hidden stalls where baguettes and meats were sold. A large hard crust loaf, some savory ham, a tomato or two, and some cheese (always cheese), will make for a tasty dinner later on this evening. A young boy couldn’t wait for his snack and munched away while seated near his family’s stall.

At a nearby courtyard, men played petanque, one of France’s national sports (kind of like bocce ball). Old ladies, wearing scarves and sweaters too thick for the warm temperatures, watched the proceedings, perhaps serving as impromptu judges or, more likely, critiquing form and technique. I had hoped the men might invite me to give their sport a try, but such an invitation was not forthcoming and I was too timid to ask.

We stopped at a café ringed with merchants to refresh ourselves with a proper cup of coffee. We lingered, people watched, sipped at our cups, and reassessed how we would wile away the rest of the day. How stressful.

The next morning had us in a groggy mood. The hotel’s fire alarm system went off at 2:30am. We’re not ones to mess around with these types of things. While scrambling for our clothes, someone loudly banged on our door. I hopped toward the door with one leg in and one leg out of my shorts. We found our proprietress standing there in her night clothes, hair mussed, and, with a quizzical if not irritated look, asking us if we were smoking in our room (which we were not. And if we did, it certainly wouldn’t be at 2:30 in the morning). Apparently, it was the smoke detector in our room that set off the alarm. Things eventually quieted down. But they could never find out why ours was the one that malfunctioned.

This lack of a sound sleep made for slow going as we walked up to Saignon, an adjacent village that is perched high up in the surrounding hills. Near the village’s central fountain, a young couple (he a look-a-like to Bradley Cooper, she a look-a-like to Kim Kardashian – but without the large derriere) asked us to take their picture. In return, they showed us the way to the old stone church where we planned on attending Sunday morning mass.

The mass, of course, was in French. We didn’t understand a word other than an occasional “amen” or “hallelujah.” However, with MK being a regular church-goer, she knew the drill – when to stand, when to sit, etc. The pews didn’t have any padded kneelers, so no one was expected to perform that otherwise bone crushing undertaking. Good thing, since everyone, except the priest, MK, and me, were at an advanced age with what were likely bad hips and knees that would make it impossible to get down that far (or, for that matter, to get back up afterwards).

Famished, we walked up to the viewpoint set atop the ruins of a castle built into a limestone rock to eat the sack lunch we brought along. Below us and far off into the distance was Apt and the Luberon region, the area through which we will be hiking over the next seven days.

But, let’s not to get ahead of ourselves. We had to first continue with our various café stops to people watch, sip our coffees, and enjoy our leisure time while in this corner of Provence, France.