I have been sick. sick. sick…yearning for a place to repair to in which to rest and recuperate. Work made that impossible and then an invitation to Provence arrived and I thought, “Oui!!!” Picturing sunshine and rolling green hills, afternoons lounging by the pool and evenings in the spa before sumptuous dinners — I eagerly repacked my suitcase and boarded my flight. What I have found at Club Med Opio en Provence this weekend is not what I pictured. Yet, there have been a few zen moments and the verdant green of the landscape, barely emerging from fog, has reminded me of the words Peter Mayle penned within A Year in Provence:
‘Look at those vines,’ [Massot] said. ‘Nature is wearing her prettiest clothes.’
The effect of the weather on the inhabitants of Provence is immediate and obvious. They expect every day to be sunny, and their disposition suffers when it isn’t. Rain they take as a personal affront, shaking their heads and commiserating with each other in the cafes, looking with profound suspicion at the sky as though a plague of locusts is about to descend, and picking their way with distaste through the puddles on the pavement….we realized how many of the local people had their birthdays in September or October, and then a possible but unverifiable answer suggested itself: they were busy indoors making babies. There is a season for everything in Provence, and the first two months of the year must be devoted to procreation.
I’ll be sharing an extensive photo essay soon. I hope you enjoyed the preview. Au Revoir from Provence!