Journal de Provence vol. 4
Salut.
After the bustle of Avignon I figured I'd be able to get some decent rest, but I guess my sleeping problems followed me here and were exacerbated by jumping 6 hours into the future. Who would have thought.
I pulled myself out of bed to grab a croissant (again) with a cafe au lait, hypnotized by the view of the morning fog burning off in the sunlight through the cafeteria windows. We split off into two vans to head to our destination for today, Fort de Buoux. Narrow roads leading through dense forest led us to the parking lot at the base of the structure-through breaks in the treeline we could see spectacular streaked cliff faces illuminated by the morning sun.
Once we arrived and unloaded from the vans we began the trek up a gravel trail toward the visitor center before running into a snag-the fort happened to be closed today, and we were only made aware by a tiny handwritten sign held in place by scotch tape over the small post that contained information about the park’s hours. We chose to press on to see for ourselves if the fort was actually closed and made some photographs in the shadow of the rock overhangs jutting out over the trail. I found what looked like a wild parsnip uprooted and spent a few minutes photographing it before seeing my groupmates ahead of me beginning to turn around.
It really was closed.
My professor, Josh Jalbert, has done an incredible job organizing the itinerary for this trip and up to this point has brought us to amazing locations I never would have thought to go before. He’s also shown an incredible flexibility and has been quick on his feet when running into unforeseen issues-no problem, we’ll head to Bonnieux instead, a nearby village we had to take a raincheck on a few days prior.
A stone’s throw away from the fort’s parking lot and on the way to Bonnieux were a small cluster of abandoned buildings that looked to be a favorite proving ground for local aspiring graffiti artists. We were able to find a spot to park the vans and hopped out to explore briefly before continuing forward. I’ve never been particularly interested in photographing abandoned spaces, and oftentimes (not all the time!) graffiti or tagging in unoccupied structures tends to be vulgar and unskilled, but this was different.
The structures, overgrown, huddled together in the mile of shade cast by the towering escarpments, exhuded character and invited us to explore them and see what may be waiting inside. I was particularly struck by two light fixtures dangling precariously by a few cables from the ceiling in one of the rooms-someone had taken the time to fashion a makeshift cross out of them. This transformed the space into a church of sorts-in this deeply Christian region of France, God can be found in the most unlikely of places. The heavy air of old school mysticism entrenched in such naturally beautiful surroundings constantly invites me to commune.
After meandering through the remaining structures, we ended our excursion in quaint Bonnieux. It was interesting to find myself on the streets of the hamlet we see each night twinkling at us across the valley through the fog. I found many quiet moments along the winding corridors that zag up and down, dappled light falling on my feet from the quickly setting sun. Clothes hung on lines flapping gently in the breeze, the sputter of diesel cars occasionally making their way up the cobbled streets. I stopped in a market to admire some fresh regional vegetables before stopping into the town square, adorned with snowmen and sleds and arches fashioned out of christmas lights not yet illuminated for the evening.
Before I knew it, a few hours had elapsed and it was time to head back to Lacoste for another restless night, my mind reeling to process the swell of emotion and renewed sense of wonderment for the world that had begun to fade with the monotony of my daily life back home.
A la prochaine fois.
Jacob
