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Weekend to remember
We all have our reasons for taking a short break, but I like to think mine was more unusual than most - a book on herbs. In it, she describes how she created this aromatic retreat in St Montan. But it's more than a month-by-month account, it's also an insight into the Ard and the neighbouring Dr region. As I turned each page,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I wanted to experience it all for real.
So I hopped on the train and headed south - a journey made easier from this month with the launch of a direct Eurostar summer service from London Waterloo to Avignon. Once there,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I hired a car and drove a couple of hours north, eventually negotiating the Ard Gorge with its hatful of hairpins.
Peering over the limestone cliffs at various viewpoints,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I could see bright canoes skimming the river hundreds of feet below. Then,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], just beyond Vallon-Pont-D'Arc,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], which is home to cave paintings more than 30,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],000 years old,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I unpacked at a little chalet by the river's edge on a campsite at Sampzon.
The Ard has several designated villages de caract so the next morning I drove past files of poplar and chestnut - the region is France's leading producer of chestnuts - to visit a couple to see if the title was deserved.
Labeaume clearly deserves its reputation - it's a beautiful place perched on rocks by a river. Children were splashing in the cool water, while older villagers sipped pastis in the village square.
I chatted to Paul Duplan,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a local who can trace his village ancestors back to 1460. Now in his eighties,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], he showed me round the cobbled hillside lanes and caves of his home with the vigour of someone half his age, pointing out wild thyme and sage along the route, as well as terraced gardens fed by springs from the plateau above, and an ancient burial site built from slabs of rock.
"Each grave would have contained 20-30 bodies and the top stone resting on the side stones weighs about 10 tonnes," he said. Many of the chambers were plundered hundreds of years ago in the search for gold, "but we have found bones and a necklace - as well as 700 teeth in one!" he added.
A few miles up the winding roads is Balazuc,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], which lives up to its billing as one of the most beautiful villages in France. It teeters high above the Ard in medieval splendour and is particularly spectacular at sunset when the ruined 13th-century castle and cliffs turn from ochre to a rosy hue.
Due east of Balazuc is a high plateau peppered with mulberry trees - a reminder of the time when silk production was the premier industry in the region. Silk worms fed on the trees, but disease and cheap foreign competition helped put paid to the industry and the mulberry gave way to vines.
Beyond the plateau, down a precarious curling road, lies Geraldene Holt's medieval village. St Montan fringes a little brook over which villagers have built a Roman-style bridge entrance to the herb garden. Anyone can stroll around this fragrant oasis and smell the lemon verbena, rosemary, mint and a host of other aromatic plants.
Geraldene invited me to join her and husband Maurice for a glass of local lavender essence and iced water before explaining how she came to create the garden: "The land belongs to the church, but it was overgrown and the original plan was to create a children's playground." But the prospect of discarded crisp packets and pop bottles prompted Geraldene to propose a gentler use - the herb garden - and what's more, she said she'd do it for free.
The idea was warmly embraced and she began work, with villagers enthusiastically leaving plants and cuttings on her doorstep and volunteers assisting with clearing brambles.
It's been a labour of love - and lots of fun. "I remember pointing out the chastity plant to one of the elderly villagers and she replied, 'It's a bit late for that'!" chuckled Geraldene.
I left Geraldene and drove across the mighty Rh - and the Autoroute du Soleil that leads to Marseille a couple of hours' away - and into the Dr region. The countryside started gently with numerous vineyards and countless olive groves, the trees growing sur banquette on terraces.
But then it became mountainous as I skirted the pretty market town of Nyons up to the village of St-Ferr nestling in a valley filled with Spanish broom, hollyhocks, poppies and apricot trees.
Monsieur Clement pointed me to my little chalet at Le Pilat campsite just beyond the village and beside the blue carpet of his lavender field. Centuries ago,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], lavender escaped from Persia or the Canary Islands and, carried on a wind, settled on this pocket of France.
Next day at the Distillerie Bleu Provence in Nyons, I discovered how important this flower is to the region. The manager,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Monsieur Soguel, explained how it's been harvested here for countless decades to supply the perfume industry and, more recently,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the aromatherapy market.
Years ago crews would be formed at harvest time,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], rather like the hop-picking teams in Kent. And the old methods of distillation persist: large bunches of lavender are placed in huge stills and the oil they produce is drawn off.
In the past much of this oil would find its way to the soap factory,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], in nearby Nyons. Built in 1720,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], it was only re-discovered seven years ago. Two adjacent olive mills date from 1780 and 1850. The area now makes up a fascinating museum.
Though soap production here became unprofitable,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], amid huge competition from factories in Marseille,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the olive oil business still thrives in the area, as a walk around any local market will show.
Alongside bottles of Extra Virgin oil,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], stallholders will be stirring vast pans of paella, others will be spooning exotic spices into little bags, or ladling glistening thyme- and garlic-scented olives into tiny tubs.
I packed a little pot of the latter and a bouquet of dried lavender in my case before wending my way back to Avignon,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and boarding the train to London. When I unpacked later next day, the sweet floral smell instantly took me back to the Ard St Montan, and the soft olives of the Dr ensured my short trip to this magical part of France would last a good while longer.
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