“Medieval village, first left.” We made the turn and snaked up the hill towards Castillon-du-Gard, emitting suffused sighs of wonder with each twist of the panorama. A discovery was in front of us, waiting.
Admittedly, they are increasingly rare for Remi and I. For his various photographic projects, we have criss-crossed la Provence and the eastern reaches of the neighboring Languedoc and wear our metallic merit badges proudly. We even know of secret villages and bijous that are hidden in plain sight.
But Castillon? Well, it was just a mark on the map that we passed on our way to the Pont du Gard and my beloved Uzès. As we had just left nearby St. Hilaire d’Ozilhan and were taking the long road home (aka driving in the opposite direction of where we needed to go), it was time to explore. The light was softening to a whisper and as we pulled ourselves and the pups out of the car, we realized that we had the streets to ourselves, just as we prefer.
And what unusual streets they are, such perfect cut stone paths…rock against rock to echo…
…and lead us down the yellow brick road…
…into a forest where things haven’t changed actually, not since one thousand years.
And yet I felt slightly ill at ease, as if the old stones were holding their breath, waiting for us to leave them in peace. We did and let the light lie behind us.
Mystery is a fickle dancer. So, of course we were immediately tempted to go back by day…
…and discern with a wagging finger…had we been imagining things?
Solidly, yes.
For there was something of the touch too much perfect…
…a stage set without blunder…
…as if the joke was on us.
What to make of this and these – those pictures that beg to be taken without posing?
A bit like a Frenchman captivated by an insouciant minx, we were slightly under its spell.
We visited a house for sale and returned, returned again; trying to imagine ourselves walking those streets…
…so different from the rowdy roll of Arles with no graffiti, no garbage, no wild cats to be seen. Could we? The answer is no. At least no for now.
But it was still a good discovery and like the mirage of the Pont du Gard shimmering in the distance, a kindly reminder not to assume but to stop and question. “Tu as toujours de préjugés,” Remi has been saying to me lately. And I believe that he is right. I think that after all of those years in New York, I try to decide what a situation is or could be in advance as a sort of survival tactic. It might have been smart then but it could be time to change now. Better to think twice then. Once with your head of course but always, always once with your heart as well.
PS. My friend DA Wolf at Daily Plate of Crazy recently wrote a thought-provoking piece on the definition of wisdom that I think that you might enjoy. You can find it: here.
Have you considered coming back to the STATES?I think LIFE would be cheaper………just a thought!I know not the same but it might be worth consideration!
I loved walking the winding streets with you, wrapped in history and imagining how life was in the town's heyday.
A beautiful place…but did you ever encounter any people (or their detrietus) there? Thank you for continuing to take us on your explorations, Leslie
What an interesting town. I will have to visit one of these days. AND I loved your photos. Thank you again Heather!
Your instincts are (as usual) on-target, Heather…..the village DOES look as though it'd just been thoroughly prepped for a period-movie set, with the filming barricades scheduled to go up the next day.
Two friends of mine DID, actually, once wander unintentionally onto a movie set. They stopped by the lovely farm/country house of a friend they hadn't spoken to for some time and, since they had a key to the back door (they'd lived there for a while, themselves), simply let themselves in as they always had. They were lounging in the living room with the beers they'd opened (not having noticed some furniture, such as a piano, which hadn't previously been in the house of their non piano-playing friend, or the fact that the house suddenly had flower-filled vases and no dogs) when several horrified and hysterical set managers/propmen (they'd been into town for lunch) came through the front door and began raising a very complete shitfit.
I gather my friends abashedly made some very profuse apologies and GOT OUT (which the owner and her dogs had done the previous week).
In any case, Castillon du Gard IS a very lovely spot…..particularly given the proximity of the bridge (which I know only from 1000 & 1 postcards.
That makes me think of my first visit to Herve's family's house, when Know-Nothing Me sat at breakfast one morning and brightly asked about my favorite "fantasy" chateau "Do you think we can we go to see Izay le Rideau? How do you GET there from here? Can we do that someday??". I got mildly quizzical looks from my in-laws, and was basically told to just go down the driveway, turn left, and walk about 1/2 a mile".
It was a disorienting (to Tennessee born&bred me, at least) as someone's telling me "Oh, you want to meet Elizabeth Taylor? Gosh…she lives next-door…just go over, knock, and say hey…it's EASY…."
Level Best as Ever,
David Terry
http://www.davidterryart.com
What a beautiful piece you've written today Heather. It's so atmospheric. These little villages of Provence are so pretty and so untouched by the passage of time.
Thanks again and for the tip on the DA Wolf piece, too. I loved it, not least because of the same reason why I always love your posts, the sincere personal touch.
Such a dreamy, wise post Heather. I will keep that with me today: Think once with your head, but always, always once more with your heart. Wow.
The light you captured infusing the old stones. Magical.
Crossing fingers and toes that the Yellow Brick Road leads you home soon.
XOXO
I was beginning to get the Ben napping under the table feeling until I saw the yellow brick road, and got a chill. Door #1 has magic. I think y'all are getting close to your new home.
I can almost hear the soft padding of history's footsteps on the stones of the empty streets.
The last photo, of the Pont du Gard in the distance took my breath away. It brings back lovely memories of a vacation Tim and I took several years ago. We rented a motor scooter in Avignon and barreled out to the Pont. It was a hot day. We'd put our swimsuits into our knapsack, changed behind some bushes and swam in the river while gazing at the Pont. History and present melded in a magical day.
Thank you for sharing these lovely corner of Provence with us.