“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.
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it is Jolly Exciting to wander around these villages with you pondering if you and the Monsieur will reside there shortly with a lostinfillinthelbank to continue on in another location.
funny enough – this line that you opened with: ""Medieval village, first left."
reminded us of yesterday as we took a stop in Encinitas (to buy snacks for the long trek home) and saw this sign
"1883 Historical Schoolhouse three blocks" and an arrow.
why yes, we did take a detour.
because keeping an open mind about the future, even if it's only the immediate future, is the only way in such strange and uncertain times…..
*wavingfromlosangeles*
_tg xx
Lovely insight and beautiful hidden village. I'll be in Provence this May and hope to do some exploring myself!
Wow – what a beautiful, spooky town! I love the blues in the first pics and the last shot is breathtaking. But where the hecky darn is everybody?? Not even a pupper in sight! It was a little creepy; I understand why you passed! But beautiful as always. I would also like to concur with Maywyn's and D.A. Wolf's statements. : )
The place reminds me of The Country of the Blind by H.G.Wells, clean and well ordered. But even the sighted one was tempted to leave the idyllic place.
Wisdom grows with age.Thank you for the link to the insightful essay.
I think I've said this to you before, and trust me, I know it is no simple thing at all and nor is it quick, especially with all that life asks of us, but… perhaps it's time to gather your exquisite words and images for a book? Perhaps the "don't assume" is falling (like a whisper) – just at the right time?
And thank you for the lovely mention.
xo
By the way, Heather……giving credit where credit is due, I do need to give a compliment to my French in-laws for never correcting me when I regularly referred, over several of those initial visits, to "Izay" le Rideau.
Have I ever told you about how, during that first visit (when I was equipped with only my skoolboy, learned-in-Tennesse French) I arrived at the reception for my first exhibition in France (arranged, mais bien sur, by my mother-in-law) and, in front of about twenty people, told her that she shouldn't be such a greedy cocksucker? The term I used (learned from sanitized, American art-history accounts of Henri de Toulouse-L'Autrec's work) is complete gutter-slang and does not at all mean that a person is simply a "glutton".
Everyone was very nice about the business and simply acted as though it'd never happened (although Herve hustled me downstairs and gave me a quick lesson in French idioms).
Warily yours as ever,
David Terry
http://www.davidterryart.com
It's so powerful to see your images now, having been there, having met you at last. There's a greater context and richness, if that makes sense. But these were compelling because they required a careful second and third viewing. Those crisp and exactly right and expensive details – too perfect. In this town you'd call in Set Decorating and tell them to age everything down and rough it up a notch. I've watched them do it. It's an art getting a patina, creating rust and centuries of grime in minutes. But some things can't be faked. Missing you! XXX
A chillingly perfect response, David.
And Remi's work is here Bella Contessa, so for now, here we stay…