Les Gros. Before you start accusing me of making up such a fantastically quaint-sounding name, let me assure you that this little village is as real as my newfound commitment to the gym. Yes, the gym! I can already hear you snickering in disbelief, but it’s true—I’ve been going to the gym daily. Now, if you’re picturing rippling muscles, let’s just say we’re still in this transformation's “enthusiastic” phase. It isnt so much transformative as it is preparing for an impending knee replacement. Doctors say that building size and strength of quad muscles, etc, is key to recuperating well. But I digress.

Today’s discovery of Les Gros Temple came during one of those rare moments when life offers you something unexpected, purely because you took a slight detour on your way to do something routine. In my case, the routine was another day of sweating and groaning my way through a fitness regime that seems to be designed by people who think pain is a lovely way to start the morning. The detour, however, was pure serendipity.

It was one of those warm autumn mornings that feel like a gift from nature—bright, sunny, with the light that turns everything gold. It is the sort of morning that makes even the most sedentary of us feel virtuous for being outside. As I set out, driving in the usual general direction of the gym, I somehow found myself wandering ever so slightly off my usual path. By "slightly," I mean I got totally lost. And there it was, nestled quietly in the Luberon Valley like a secret waiting to be uncovered—Les Gros Temple.

Now, if you’re imagining a grand, imposing structure worthy of Indiana Jones, let me temper your expectations. The “temple” in question is more of a modest village centerpiece—perhaps built for worship or reflection in its day, but now standing silently, as if waiting for visitors like me who stumble across it and wonder what on earth it’s doing here in the middle of a tiny hamlet. And that was precisely my question: was the temple the first resident of this sleepy village, or did the rest of the village crop up around it, like the villagers thought, “Well, since there’s a temple here, we might as well stay”?

The mystery was as delicious as the morning light, which softened the stone buildings, casting shadows that seemed to whisper tales of centuries gone by. I spent a good chunk of time wandering the narrow streets, admiring the architecture that seems to be plucked straight out of a time capsule. The buildings are a charming mix of old stone and weathered wood, with crumbling walls that speak of endurance rather than neglect. Each one seems to have its own personality, like the elderly residents of the village who have been around long enough to witness history but are in no rush to share their stories.

The joy of wandering Les Gros Temple is that it feels like a place you discover rather than visit. It’s as though the village was waiting patiently for someone like me to get lost and stumble into its embrace. And oh, what a happy accident it was! If I hadn’t strayed from my usual route, I would have missed it entirely. The gym would have come and gone, the routine would have been followed, and I would have returned home none the wiser. But sometimes, dear reader, getting lost is the best way to find exactly what you didn’t know you were looking for.

And Les Gros Temple—well, that was exactly what I didn’t know I needed. It’s one of those rare places where time seems to slow down, almost as if the village itself has its own rhythm that defies the outside world. There are no crowds here, no souvenir shops or tour guides waiting to pounce. Just the soft sound of the wind through the trees, the distant hum of a tractor in the fields, and the occasional bark of a dog that seems to know every single soul in the village.

I couldn’t help but think about the temple itself. Was it once the heart of the village? Did the residents gather here for worship, for celebrations, for community meetings? Or was it more of an afterthought, added after the village had established itself? The stone walls certainly looked ancient, as if they’d weathered more than their fair share of storms. There was something almost mystical about it—standing there, quiet and unobtrusive, as though it had witnessed centuries of change but still remained steadfast in its purpose.

It’s the kind of place that makes you wish stones could talk, though I imagine if they could, their stories would be slow and measured, much like life in the village itself. And what stories they would tell! Tales of farmers and merchants, of families who had lived here for generations, of celebrations and hardships, of the quiet rhythm of life that had ebbed and flowed through the village for centuries.

As I wandered through the village, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace. There’s something about a place like Les Gros Temple that makes you forget the chaos of the world outside its borders. The narrow streets invite you to slow down, to take in the details—the worn stones underfoot, the ivy creeping up the sides of buildings, the small pots of flowers that seem to burst with color against the neutral stone.

At one point, I found myself standing in front of a small house with a blue wooden door, its paint peeling slightly, and a window box filled with lavender. I imagined the person who lived there, going about their day, perhaps unaware of how much beauty they brought to the street simply by existing in that space. It’s the kind of scene that makes you want to take up residence in a village like this—at least until you remember that you’re more accustomed to modern conveniences like fast internet and, well, not being so close to nature all the time. All of which sounds very good to me!

But for the moment, it was perfect. A reminder that sometimes the best discoveries are made when you’re not looking for them. And while the gym was still looming on my horizon, its cold, unwelcoming stationary bikes and machines waiting for me, I felt a sense of gratitude for having taken that small detour. Les Gros Temple had given me something much better than a morning workout—it had given me a little slice of history, a glimpse into a world where time moves slower and the simple things are what matter most.

So, if you ever find yourself in the neighborhood, perhaps on your way to do something routine, I encourage you to get a little lost. Take the scenic route, wander down a road you’ve never been before, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll find your own Les Gros Temple. It might not have a temple, but it will have something even better: the joy of discovery.

And who knows? You might even get to skip the gym that day, which, in my book, is always a win. (I didn’t Skip!)

Thank you for taking the time to look at today’s retrospective. Your thoughts and comments are very welcome in the box after the last image below.

All of these images were captured with the new Leica Q3 43.

Live Well!

M.