A four hour drive South from Annecy (spitting distance from the Swiss border) saw Lady Penelope steer us towards the mighty Alpilles mountains, and sitting atop a rocky outcrop, the medieval village of Les Baux de Provence.
Now Les Baux was something Madelene, Freebs and I were all looking forward to, as we had booked a couple of nights in a cave. Well a B&B in a rocky outcrop carved into a cave, but a cave none-the-less. More cave-like than anything you get around Melbourne's suburbs. I'm sure you get the drift.
Something special.
And the drive up, and up, and up to Les Baux was terrifying, exhilarating, and busy, given this is smack-in-the-middle of olive orchard and grapevine country, with little dogs, the odd tractor and not much else around in respect to civilisation. The views were drop dead gorgeous too.
What we found at the top was a medieval village alright, but it was more of a tourist attraction than an historic site, complete with tour buses, herds of meandering seniors, with ice cream and trinket shops at every turn. I then noticed a sign that clinched the deal on my opinion of the place. On weekends, they had jousting demonstrations.
Jousting.
This wasn't France at all.
This was Kryal Castle.
If I had found a glass-blower somewhere shaping dogs and teddy bears, I would've thought for sure that I had been transported back to Ballarat. A mock whipping of some lowly street urchin, and some busty wenches serving pints of ale in commemorative beer mugs would've sealed the deal.
But this was France, and it was definitely 12th century, and it was beautiful.
We wandered up to the very top of this rocky crag, and found our home for the next 48 hours, Le Prince Noir. Ute our hostess showed us to our rooms, which immediately gave us that feeling of "Uh oh!", as the booking we had made was for one room. As the rooms we were shown were all part of a wing of the B&B though, we thought maybe our expectations had been a little low, and this was what we had booked.
As you can't drive to the top of the mountain during the peak tourist times, we had left the Peugeot in the main carpark, and as such had no luggage to book in with, so we spent the next few hours wandering all over the village, soaking in the medievalness of it all, and secretly thinking to ourselves, what the Hell are we going to do here for two days, as a few hours of dawdling had us covering the village completely.
We decided to return to Le Prince Noir, only to be greeted by Ute saying, "We have a problem". She went on to tell us that these were indeed not our rooms, and that her husband had double-booked our room, the day before.
The rat I had smelt earlier stood up and winked at me with glee.
So, what to do?
Freebs was disappointed, and I was pissed off, but Madelene was shattered, as this had been the one place she was really looking forward to staying.
Benoit, Ute's husband was apparently in the office making feverish phone calls all around the village (and beyond) to see what alternatives could be offered, but all I could think of was the perilous drive up the mountain (in broad daylight), and the prospect of going back down the mountain in the dark.
Not Happy Jaques!
Benoit proceeded to explain that he had indeed found us lodgings for the night in the nearby town of Saint-Remy, a mere 15 minute drive, and handed me some printed Google Maps directions. It was a 4-star place, and he would cover the cost of our first night there. He then told us not to hesitate to contact him if we wanted his assistance in finding something else for our second night. Fair enough I thought, but I was still unhappy.
We trundled back down the village (which from this point shall be named "that which shall remain unnamed"), fired up Lady Penelope, and 15 minutes later were driving into the walled village of Saint-Remy-de-Provence.
We checked into our 4-star suite, consulted our Concierge (Phillip from Kalgoorlie - true story!) re dinner recommendations, changed, and then headed out for dinner.
Now, I'm assuming that you noticed the "...de-Provence" reference to this town's name, as this is in the heart of Provence, home of provencal cuisine, about 50 kms north of Marseille and the Mediterranean, and as such, although a little pricey, Le Bistrot de Marie was a knock out. Matched perfectly with a gorgeous red wine of the Cote du Rhone, just like Paul said, "...all our troubles seemed so far away".
Funny how some good grub and booze will round the edges to an otherwise shitty day.
By the way, we hold no grudges against Ute & Benoit from Le Prince Noir, and can say honestly that although it's a beautiful, beautiful B&B in an amazing setting, two nights there would've been murder, as, OK, I'm going to say it, the town was dull after four hours!
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