At one end of the Gorge there is lovely town up on a rather sheer rock cliff, at which center stands a small but amazing leetle church. It is a typical provencial village in as much as architecture except that it is perched right in the middle of this cliff, with a slippery slope leading you right to church. The way up is ok, if steep and requiring of you the necessary pennance or at least some stamina and an interest in taking pictures from the top. But on the way down, you soon realize that you had better have said a prayer up at the chapel as the stony steps are worn smooth of the eons of pilgrimage. You will slip and you will tumble and somewhere high above you someone will say "Man, I told this bloody americain to wear proper footwear. What are they all thinking coming up here in flip-flops?"
The Chapel's name is Notre-Dame de Beauvoir and sits high above Moustiers Sainte Marie (I dont believe this can be translated to Musty Saint Mary, although one never knows in this country, i.e. smelly cheeses once again).
I saw two amazing things on my way up and down this by the summer heat baked dead mountain: The birds that were playing in the up draft. I tried to take a picture of them, as they hung motionless in the air, scant meters (yaya, its metric system bitches) above me. But every time I would try, as if on clue the bird would launch himself on another round about tour of the cliff, leaving me to take a wobbly picture of the sky. So unfortunately my seemingly japanese need to take pic after pic did not work and you will have to take my word for it, and I the memories.
The other thing were the windows of the chapel. My nerdy dork knowledge contains useless facts of all proportions. For example most of the churches of Europe have been destroyed at one point or another. At those points what remained of the churches were their supporting walls. If you would like to check on that, please google image "St Stephens Cathedral Vienna WW2". Of course all of these were rebuild, which could be kind of annoying considering that we could have built a library or a parking lot (danke Herr Hrubos:) or something. However the one thing that could never be rebuilt properly were the windows of these churches. Somewhere during the history of devastation of europe the church lost the secret ingridient to make those wonderfully strong colors you can find only in churches that had not been destroyed. Whenever you look at a church like the St Stephens Cathedral in Vienna, you will see that the colors are pale compared to the originals. Sometimes you can even see where individual window panes were patched around the original and clearly note the difference between the old and the new. This little church on the cliffs of the Gorge de Verdon has escaped our periodic madness and therefore retains its original brilliance. Of course my silly digicam doesnt do it justice, but it was indeed lovely to behold.
The Chapel's name is Notre-Dame de Beauvoir and sits high above Moustiers Sainte Marie (I dont believe this can be translated to Musty Saint Mary, although one never knows in this country, i.e. smelly cheeses once again).
I saw two amazing things on my way up and down this by the summer heat baked dead mountain: The birds that were playing in the up draft. I tried to take a picture of them, as they hung motionless in the air, scant meters (yaya, its metric system bitches) above me. But every time I would try, as if on clue the bird would launch himself on another round about tour of the cliff, leaving me to take a wobbly picture of the sky. So unfortunately my seemingly japanese need to take pic after pic did not work and you will have to take my word for it, and I the memories.
The other thing were the windows of the chapel. My nerdy dork knowledge contains useless facts of all proportions. For example most of the churches of Europe have been destroyed at one point or another. At those points what remained of the churches were their supporting walls. If you would like to check on that, please google image "St Stephens Cathedral Vienna WW2". Of course all of these were rebuild, which could be kind of annoying considering that we could have built a library or a parking lot (danke Herr Hrubos:) or something. However the one thing that could never be rebuilt properly were the windows of these churches. Somewhere during the history of devastation of europe the church lost the secret ingridient to make those wonderfully strong colors you can find only in churches that had not been destroyed. Whenever you look at a church like the St Stephens Cathedral in Vienna, you will see that the colors are pale compared to the originals. Sometimes you can even see where individual window panes were patched around the original and clearly note the difference between the old and the new. This little church on the cliffs of the Gorge de Verdon has escaped our periodic madness and therefore retains its original brilliance. Of course my silly digicam doesnt do it justice, but it was indeed lovely to behold. As a stray thought: isnt it weird that I seek out a church up on a hill and bore you to tears with my nerdy dork knowledge, when I am a declared born-again atheist?
After this lovely excursion I finally entered the Gorge de Verdon proper, and was amazed. I had no idea that Europe had such a big hole in the ground. Granted it would fit into the Grand Canyon many times over, but that is only a proper size relations between EU and USA anyway. Completely forgetting that I should be looking for a place to sleep other than the backseat of the Volvo, I drove further and further into it, enjoying the setting sun as it played of these weirdly SoCal like hills. Lo and behold there is a camp site right smack in the center of it. And careful investigation (handsignals with locals) proved that a man would come by who I could pay for the one night stay. Sometimes I wonder how things just fall into place. I spent the night camped out next to a nice dutch couple, who did invite me for a cup of coffee late at night, but who drinks coffee before going to sleep, and who can accept that when they have nothing to offer in return?
Early the next morning I drove on down the gorge, and came out the other side. Some of the most amazing vistas arose out of the morning mist. I know this writing style sounds incredible cheesy, but it only reflects the cheesiness of the landscape. And cheesy is only in the eye of the beholder and proof of something that all consider to be truly lovely anyway. So extraordinary as to become clichee.
Hope you are all enjoying your lives, cubes travels as I do this trip.
Pierre
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