There are places you travel to with meticulous planning and others you randomly alight to with infinite delight. The latter is the case with Castellane, a small alpine village set along the Verdon river at the base of the Roc of Notre Dame, soaring 184 metres vertically into the air.
Castellane holds the position of being France’s least populated subprefecture. There must be a unique method of assessment to make it so. With a population of around 1,400, we’ve certainly been in less populated villages.
After yesterday’s drive, quite frankly, I’m just quite happy to be alive. Oh my God that was scary. But we’re safe and sound with a new village to explore.
There’s a market in the main square where I purchase a much longed for “French girl at market” woven bag. I’ll be road testing it at Adelaide’s Central Market as soon as I’m home. I’ve learnt over the years not to resist the siren’s call of certain objects and yet almost made the mistake of leaving it behind. It’s the thought of walking the market wishing I had it that cinched the deal. Space to store it in the meantime will be the challenge. Had Himself not set off on a timely haircut (cue cute moble barber below) and not given me time to think, I would have wrongly left it behind.
You’ll not be surprised to know Himself soon has lunch in mind. And who am I to object? It’s a decidedly pleasant way to spend an afternoon.
We select a spot and divert from our usual: he has a “feather of pork” (French meat cuts are so different to home) with a chimichurri sauce, whilst I opt for an Alpine version of fondue, a baked washed rind cheese ‘fondue’ with local charcuterie, potato, cornichons and salad. Dipping tasty titbits into melted cheese – what’s not to love about that? Absolutely delicious.
The village is tiny, bordered by mountains, the river and the enormous rock that defines it. We explore a while post lunch. A sun hat joins my bag in purchases made. We find the village’s original fortified gated entrance and a couple of brave souls attempting a river slalom by canoe.
The church atop the rock is a tempting climb. Himself declines. I make it about a third of the way up before I’m I’m painfully reminded I’m wearing completely inappropriate footwear (lunch vs hiking) and have to turn back. That and the small fact that the next 100 metre climb is practically vertical along a very weathered stone path. Credit to attempts to mask it. One is lulled into a false sense of security with a bitumen path first, then lovely stone steps, leading to a vertical ascent into wilderness. Perhaps more luck might have been had pre-lunch and with better footwear.
Far more tempting to go back to the village and settle for a drink in the late afternoon, accompanied by the Verdon river gurgling under a stone bridge, now soley reserved for foot traffic.
Afterall, there are sparrows to feed, blog posts to write, photos to capture the sun’s last gasp, and for a brief moment in time, to be utterly relaxed. It doesn’t happen often when it does, I’m savouring it.
Miss Baci Travels 