It's time to talk about my other homeland. There's much more to southern France than what I will briefly mention here, and of course I always focus on the wilderness areas more so than the urban spaces. Take my word for it - there is something for everyone here.
The Pic Saint-Loup is nestled comfortably in one of France's best wine-producing regions
There is a mountain near my mother's village, nestled among wineries, called "Pic Saint-Loup." A "pic" is a peak (as in, a mountain peak), and "loup" is a wolf. If you squint hard enough, you can imagine the mountain's silhouette as a howling wolf. OK, maybe you have to squint *really* hard for that to happen. Still, it's a fascinating geological feature that actually dictates a lot of the weather in the area.
Every time we visit Pic Saint-Loup we are required by the law of the Brunis to climb up to its peak as the sun nears the horizon. Traditionally, since we tend to visit in the summer, we get up at 4:00 and hike up to see the sun rise. This time, though, it was the end of December, and 4:00 sounded awfully cold. We opted to go watch the sun set instead.
A farmer works his vineyard in a tractor late in the afternoon
Getting to the top is a short and straightforward hike with only a little bit of climbing near the summit. Once you're there, you get a glorious view of the entire countryside. It's fun to watch the life bustle in the villages from so high up - tiny cars winding their way through the mountains, a tiny tractor working its way through a vineyard, and a herd of cows mooing but just too far away to hear.
From the top of Pic Saint-Loup, everything looks smaller
Every time I climb this thing I am reminded of my late uncle who once took me up to the top of a nearby mountain in Saint Guilhem. I was quite young, but still an adventurer - I had a (fake) goatskin water canteen and a walking stick always ready by the door. On this occasion, I began filling up my water canteen in preparation for the hike. My uncle calmly informed me that there was no need to carry water because there was a water fountain at the top, so I could save some weight by filling up at the summit instead. The fact that I believed him and emptied my canteen again still makes me laugh. Talk about an abuse of the fact that children look up to their elders! (Don't worry, he brought plenty of water with him and shared it with me at the summit in between fits of laughter).
Every flat piece of land in the area has been converted to some sort of vineyard
The wineries around Pic Saint-Loup play off of the mountain's name pretty heavily, with a lot of their wines named things like "Le Grand Mechant Loup" (The Big Bad Wolf) or "Loup Garou" (Werewolf). We toured several of the wine cellars nearby and learned quite a bit by talking to the wine makers. Because we like you guys, we'll tell you a little secret: this is one of the best regions in France for wines, it's just overshadowed in terms of popularity by big names including Bordeaux and Burgundy. This means you can get great wines here (just as good as a reasonable Bordeaux) for a fraction of the cost!
Sunset over a winery near Pic Saint-Loup
Wine is like water in France. We finished a couple of bottles a day in our household of three, and my mother thought we were being overly reasonable. I once made a deal with my mother over a soccer match. France was playing against the Netherlands in the 2008 Euro cup, and the Netherlands are my favorite team. Since the French team looked pretty strong, I figured it would be a low scoring game, so I promised to open a bottle of wine for the two of us to share each time the Netherlands scored. Besides, this was a good way to get her over to my side instead of cheering for the French! We were both happy when the Netherlands scored their first goal, my mother was happy when they scored a second, and my liver started crying when they got their fourth. Thankfully my mother decided to be reasonable, too, and we didn't open the last bottle.
Their feeding interrupted, a pair of flamingoes peers cautiously at us
If you wander south and along the Mediterranean you'll find several national parks with a more marine atmosphere. One park in this region, La Camargue, is well known for its swamplands filled with bulls, horses, rice, and flamingoes. We stopped by for a day trip, but the area is bigger than we could cover.
Walking along the larger swamp beds gives you an idea of their scale - they sometimes have waves like a sea would!
My French grandmother lived near a less imposing swamp, and the salty stinkiness that sticks to the back of your throat as you walk along the black mud beaches took me back to the late afternoon walks with our Dalmatian mutt "Gaston." A nice walk was one in which we would throw sticks for him and watch him chase the birds. A less pleasant walk was one in which he decided to dive into the reek so he could bring some back home with him.
An egret hunts for fish along the shoreline
With little cover from the ocean, this area is prone to very strong winds. Tall grasses sway and birds struggle to fly where they intend. If you're unlucky, the winds will carry a fly right into your open mouth as you shout to be heard over the howl. That never happened to me, I swear. But I do happen to know that the flies are also a little salty.
Tall grasses sway in the wind over much of Camargue
Further east, the coast becomes a little rockier. The stereotypical Mediterranean cliffs and blue waters take over, and near Marseille you will reach the Calanques (coves). They look almost like rocky hands clawing their way out of the sea, towering up above the waves up to, in some cases, close to a hundred meters. You can spend days here wandering through the "fingers" and discovering little hiding spots, but again we only made a day trip of it.
Rock formations in Calanques cut through the Mediterranean's famous blue hue
We saw the sun set over the coves as sailboats cruised in and out of the nooks. The sky was perfectly clear, and we could even make out the archipelago of Riou in the distance. Sunset is a great time to visit. The craggy rocks turn golden and produce dramatic shadows over sailors heading back to a busy port. The heat is not so bad, either. I found myself wishing I had brought our tent so we could camp out for a night or two and finish exploring the park. You would need a couple of days to see it all, especially if you hope to visit the archipelagoes.
A sailor returns to port after exploring the Calanques nearby
It's a small miracle that my ankles are still intact given my proclivities when it comes to rocky terrain. I used to run along the tops of the rock dykes as fast as I could, eager to get far out from the beach on my own little island to look for critters in between the rocks. My mother called me crazy and would turn away when I took off, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop me anyway. She was right, of course - those rocks become crazy slippery when they get wet, they sit at odd angles, and missing a step likely meant leaving your foot in between the rocks while the rest of you carried on. I still skip along on these things and other rocky areas to this day, though not quite as recklessly (I think), and my old nickname of "the mountain goat" has stuck with me ever since.
Some of the rock formations are really high - and really pointy
Any place can be special, it just needs some fond memories. I encourage you all to go out and make some fond memories of your own, no matter where you may be. These are the things that keep us smiling through the hard times!
