Quinson

(Parked alongside a Westfalia James Cook, the Mercedes Sprinter version of our van)

Walking out last evening, the fading sun, lit the pine trees at the base of the mountains.

High in the sky above us, five para gliders dropped slowly downwards, their pilots swirling the bright canopy above them, to prolong the descent.

Today we drove the roads of the Verdon Gorge. Now whose idea was that? Picture this, narrow, winding roads, (which we should be used to by now), rocks protruding from the side, rocks overhanging above, 'will Marge fit under there?', and then, throw around one hundred impatient motorcyclists into the mix! Oh, yes, we must also mention the single lane tunnel, where we didn't know if someone was already in it, and heading straight for us.'Right whose going to back up then?'. Sorry Marge, it looks like it'll be you, easier said than done, with yet more impatient motorcyclists, trying to squeeze between Marge and the rocks. We were really starting to question their mentality! The drive was real white knuckle, having to switch to the opposite side of the road on blind bends to avoid the protruding rocks, despite adopting our 'slow and careful' approach, we needed to stop for Marge's driver to rest her shaking legs, re-hydrate her dry mouth, air her wet clothing, soaked from perspiration, and to generally take a breath. We'd thought we'd left all this drama behind in Italy. But we mustn't forget the words of the young American man, we met the night before we crossed the border into Italy, 'I like to call all this drama, living!'. We stopped again, just past Point Sublime, the views were impressive, and striking, the strata and height of the rocks, and the trees on the valley floor stretching upwards. But the sheer drop frightening. Sometimes the sheer drops were right next to us as we drove. Advice from the driver, 'I can't look at the views, why don't you help me watch the road!'. There were a few English vehicles on the road, and we sounded our horns, and waved to each other, offering moral support for the journey ahead. But for all our nerves, we both agreed, the hair raising drive had been well worth it.

As we dropped down from the roads above the gorge, we drove through the lavender fields of Provence, the fragrance from the bushes subtle, not yet at their full potential.

Tonight's aire is right by the river Verdon. Upon our arrival, we talked to an English couple who'd arrived yesterday, and were planning to stay a few days. We discussed the drama of driving the roads of the gorge, and our cycling trips in Europe. The man's mother had been a cyclist, winning competitions. She had lived to be one hundred and two, after suffering a stroke, as our Marge did. The conversation brought back some sad memories. Saying that though, Marge is with us on our travels, After all, her name is emblazoned across the bonnet of our van, and almost everyday, we remember her fondly in conversation, as we drive or walk out.

We are planning to spend two nights here at Quinson. We are about five minutes walk from the canoe hire, and tomorrow plan to hire one, and paddle the blue waters of the river Verdon.

On our usual walk into the town, taking in yet another French church, we saw a swallows nest in the porch, the parents dashing in and out with constant vittles for their noisy young.

At one point a large insect 3"-4" long which we thought may have been a locust, but think now, was probably a member of the grasshopper family, flew by, skimming John's shoulder, and giving him quite a start. Following it up the road, we found it on a piece of dead wood, its colouring, hiding it well.

As we walked back to the van, we stopped to photograph a three wheeled British kit car, powered by a Citroen 2CV engine. Tonight, whilst typing the blog, we can hear the pleasant notes from an accordion played by the Dutchman behind us.

St - Andre - Les - Alpes

Yesterday evening, after dinner, we walked out along the river, and then into the older part of the town. Beside the river, two short - eared bats flew above our heads.

The sun was setting over the mountains, above them hung a orange, purple sky.

Up on the rock, we could see the chapelle, lit by soft lighting.

As we were sorting ourselves out this morning, the German couple next to us, took an interest in Marge. She's starting to attract quite a following from this nation. At lunchtime, we stopped alongside the Lac de Castillon. There was another van there, from which the man was swimming nearby in the lake. After he pulled himself out, up the bank, his wife was dispatched to ask about Marge, her husband too shy to come over himself. Marge is catching the eye of the Germans big time, the confusion of her driving position, British registration plate, with the name of the German garage she was imported from, causing scratching of heads. How could this be? Within a few seconds, the husband had joined us, and as he was so taken with Marge, was given a guided tour, she would have loved all this male attention! The couple were interesting to talk to, and they seemed to know the area well, so could advise us places to visit and stay. The lake was beautiful, its green, blue water almost translucent.

After our lunch, we drove further on, following the side of the lake, the views stunning. Whilst driving near the mountains, it is important not to be distracted by the spectacular views, and the same applied to the lake.

When we reached the dam, we pulled over, as did many other people. The hydro-electric station, belonging to EDF Energy, provides power for over 31,000 people. Flying over the dam were sand martins, their homes in the crevices of the nearby rocks.

Further along we stopped for John to photograph the lake, whilst doing so, he thought, he saw a wolf?

When we arrived at tonight's aire, we noticed the young German lady from lunchtime was there. We'd seen her husband set off on his road bike, whilst we were eating our lunch. She had driven, to meet up with him. After settling Marge, we walked into the nearby town, visited the church, as always, and after an invite to the Bar du Commerce ' I'll pay, if you order', we studied some information we'd picked up from the tourist office, where as always the member of staff was very helpful, showing us the route we should take to the Gorges of Verdon tomorrow.

Local edible snail, just need a few more......

Castellane (Day 2)

After a much needed restful nights sleep, we were awoken by the pleasant sound of a cuckoo calling.

After breakfast, a lady police officer came around to make sure we all had valid twenty four hour tickets. We talked with her a while, in both French and English, each understanding the other. We told her, we were going to walk up to the Chapelle Notre-Dame, thinking it would take us a couple of hours. Understanding some of the French conversation, we realised she was telling us, it would take about forty minutes, and that it was easy for children of four and over to do it in that time. No pressure then.

Before we set off on our trek, we walked into town to visit the tourist office, and buy some camembert and a baguette. Bread for lunch today, heaven! Lunch packed into our rucksacks, we set off up the footpath to the chapelle, with is situated on the rock right next to the aire.

Distance to the top about three quarters of a mile, up an uneven, rocky path. We arrived within thirty minutes, feeling pretty pleased with ourselves.

(Marge is the last van on the left in the central 'v' shaped area)

The chapelle was 185 metres above Marge, who, if you were brave enough to look down, could be seen below.

The views back down towards the town, and up into the mountains were stunning.

The walk up to the chapelle was not in vain, inside it was absolutely beautiful and peaceful.

Once privately owned, it now belongs to the community of Castellane, and is still used for services a few times a year, one of them is obviously Easter.

Behind the chapelle stands the statue of the virgin, which was struck in 1970, when the head was destroyed.

We sat at a picnic table at the rear of the chapelle to eat our lunch. A young couple asked if they could sit at the table also. He was German, and she was American, working in Germany. Over lunch, we talked about each others countries, the driving talents of the Italians, and our travels. They were a nice couple, and we enjoyed their company. After some final photographs, we set off with some trepidation on the path back down. The ground uneven, with polished rocks from the footwear of thousands of walkers over time. Trying to keep our footing on both the rocks and the loose stones, we were very aware of the sheer drop beside us.

We stopped at intervals to look at the wild flowers, butterflies, giant ants, and a beetle.

On the way up the path, we had spotted a large snail on a stone wall, just another eleven needed for a starter!

Arriving back at Marge, we were surprised to see we'd been out for over three hours, but both agreed the walk had been well worth it.

Tonight, we will stay once again by the river in Castellane. The plan tomorrow is to drive to a nearby lake and hire a canoe.