Don't take me too literally when I said the lights of Frankfurt actually went out on June 29th, 2021. In reality, what I'm describing is the dark, bleak appearance that the city seemed to have from the air as we flew over it on the way to landing at their international airport to the south.

I have had the good fortune to be allowed to travel internationally when many others have not. The trade off for this opportunity was that I was going to miss the European Championship quarter final game between my the country of my birth and the Germans.

England has had no luck trying to make the final of any major tournament since 1966. I wanted to watch this game so badly but alas you gotta strike while the iron is hot. I must consider myself very fortunate to get these great tickets from Victoria to Marseille a week earlier.

So here I am in Frankfurt collecting my things from the overhead bin. The first thing I did when I got off the plane was turn my phone on to check the result of the game. Shock, surprise, jubilation and joy we're all emotions that pulsed through my veins as I walked towards passport control. A while back I mentioned how dark and grey it was in the skies over Frankfurt. Those dark and dreary tones were nothing compared to the grim, disappointed and miserable faces of the German border police as I approached their wickets. They clearly had either watched or listened to the game at some point prior to my arrival. It is not often that I get a chance to celebrate an English victory over Germany. I wanted to bust out my happy dance along with my passport and Covid doc’s. Somehow I was able to curb my enthusiasm and thought better of gloating. In circumstances like this, rare as they may be it’s really hard to mask the appearance of happiness. Just as John Cleese once said in an episode of Faulty Towers, “don’t mention the war”. Another top tip is don’t mention the outcome of a game between England and Germany when Germany comes out on the losing side.

By biting my lip for long enough I was waved through and then I was off running to the next gate and my connecting flight to Marseille. That short ninety minute flight was a walk in the park compared to the previous leg of the journey. Having already cleared European passport control it was a few minutes from the time we landed until I had my bags and on the way to Budget for the rental car and my final leg of the journey. The well skilled upselling Budget agent convinced me that in fact I didn’t want a Hyundai, and instead for a mere few dollars more I would far more enjoy the brand new Volvo V60 that took pride of place on the forecourt.

I’m a sucker for the upsell and moments later I was pulling in to the local Marseille Ikea for a few Swedish junk store staples. The kitchen counter of our new, very old house in the village of Bonnieux some 45 miles to the northeast was in need of some cheap wine glasses and dinner plates. Not unlike the vast majority of my fellow Ikea shoppers, we followed the arrows like lemmings until we made it to the “marketplace”. The “Marketplace” holds within it the possibility of actually purchasing what you had seen earlier but weren’t allowed to touch in arrow on the floor land.. I filled several blue plastic bags of which I’m sure were made by the hands of small children somewhere in a far off land. “That’s not cool Ikea”! Just for shits and giggles when I got back to the Volvo, I spoke boldly out loud to myself as only mad men do. “Start the car!” “Start the car”. I had never before gone shopping at a Swedish store in a Swedish car. Not on the bucket list, but its checked off now regardless.

So back on the road and the GPS has been instructed to avoid the toll roads. Partly because of cost but mostly because of the never ending beauty that awaits a traveller on the back roads in Provence. Our village is one of three that define the boundaries of the Luberon valley’s golden triangle, along with Gordes and Saignon.

I think the valley is hard to beat as a picturesque location. Lavender and vines compete for the only “industry” in the region. Lavender for soaps, perfumes, honey, and myriad of other products. Grape vines as far as the eye can see and the Rose is to die for.

After a couple of days getting used to the new old house and wandering the village back lanes, It struck me the old bike race was coming by quite soon. I should get in the car and take the 10 minute country drive to Rousillon to watch the tour fly by at break neck speed on their descent from Mt. Ventoux. It took about 15 minutes to arrive and find a place to stand with my camera. My newest camera does not auto focus so I apologise up front as I struggled for a couple of decent snaps of the peloton.

Got the yellow jersey!

Got the Green jersey!

Where is the polka dot jersey?

Mt Ventoux in the background. Bonnieux’s lower church.

They were gone as soon as they appeared and then it was back to reality. At 3:00 p.m. I met my new best friend and local plumber. I say my new best friend because the electrician who was my new best friend yesterday was done and gone, and it was now the turn of Mr. Vial. Mr Vial is a man of small stature but with the heart of a lion. My leaky toilets, leaky faucets and leaky pipes were not a challenge for Mr. Vial. It was 35 degrees and he didn’t sweat a drop throughout his entire stay. I on the other hand looked like I was standing under the shower just watching him work. Mr. Vial made the bad things good and left with a promise that he is our man when we decide to instal a new kitchen in the early fall. Merci beaucoup Mr. Vial, if you were a super hero you would be Bat Plumber, Super Plumber or the obvious Aqua Plumber.

My local (25meters away) Boulangerie. In the background is the village of Lacoste. Once the castle of the Marquis De Sade & now owned by the estate of the late Pierre Cardin.

I haven’t ventured too far from Bonnieux yet as I am so happy to be in a place that is this peaceful. For added value I have included a few images from the last couple of days. I hope you enjoy.

Please leave a comment if you wish to hear more about the move to Provence. By the way, the French language skills are put to the test daily. Immersion is the only way!

Live well!

Mark

All photos taken with the Leica M10-R