Losing Provence

“Maaate, you shoulda been here yesterday.  Biting, they were fair jumping straight into the boat, you didn’t even need to drop a line in.”

The point was pumping, no one in the line up, wind off-shore - Big Wednesday.  Yeah, we heard about it …. on Friday.

You know the score, the best time to be here, to do that, to visit there, was always yesterday.  Sometimes it is true.

Provence – the best time to be here was yesterday.  Not yesterday as in, one day ago, maybe more like yesteryear, as in 20yrs ago.  As soon as I say that I can hear the seasoned travellers saying 20yrs ago was already too late.

Provence is now one big urban sprawl from Marseille to the mountains.  The Provence of our dreams of soft rolling hills covered in vineyards or olive groves or srubby bush, the hills dotted with little villages; of quiet back roads between the villages where you could just stop anywhere to have your picnic; of villages where the main street is lined with plane trees and the café spills out onto the road through town, this Provence no longer exists.

Yes, all the elements are still here, there are still villages and vineyards and olive groves, but the dots have been joined by sprawl such that in places it is hard to pick where one village ends and the next one starts with each village surrounded by a hinterland of residential blocks ranging from ¼ acre to an acre, each one holding an interpretation of the typical Provencal villa.  It is as though the worst excess of Sydney’s urban sprawl has been transplanted to Provence, with everyone wanting their rural manor, and no one wanting to live in the little villages.

The consequence of this sprawl is that there is less and less empty space between the villages, meaning there is less and less of what it was that defined Provence, and more and more of what you went to Provence to avoid: congestion.  We decide to visit a town only 10km away, our sat nav tells us it will be a 25min drive: “that can’t be right”.  Yes it was, and as we crawled through the sprawl, passing us on the other side of the road was a constant stream of cars.  We are not in the city, we are in the country.

Provence is still here.  It was better yesterday, but it’s still here.  The beautiful stone houses, the terracotta roofs, the soft light at dusk, the vineyards, the rows of lavender running up over the hill and out of sight, but there is less of it, and it is harder to find.  Before, Provence was every where you looked, now you must search it out.  And at times it is best to turn your gaze slightly, and not take in all of the view.

Provence is still here – just don’t leave too many tomorrows before you visit.