Goodbye Provence!

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Now, at this point, let's first answer the frequently asked questions:
1. No, we don't have photos of the low-flying penguins. The Mistral sent them zooming past us at supersonic speed during the night.
2. No, we did not buy red wine in a 5-liter cardboard box at Netto in Port-St-Louis. We were informed that a Hessian had drunk it all.
3. Yes, Zappa is currently working hard on his first brochure 'Small treatise on the preparation of the most delicious gourmet cuisine for the discerning Maître du Camping on the single-flame stove with special consideration of regional culinary art' - pre-orders will be accepted soon.

After the successful hike to the mouth of the Rhone, we resist the cold north wind for one more day. But there is no chance of an afternoon at the beach with sunbathing, the Mistral freezes our blood and lashes the sand into the tiniest crevices.

So we end our trip to the sea and head to the nearby Alpillen. The small limestone mountains, with heights between 300 and 500 meters, look a little bit like the real Alps under the clear Provence blue sky and with their white hilltops, hence the name.

According to the Office de tourisme, one of the best olive oils in the world is produced here, and tourists are attracted by picturesque small towns and numerous hiking trails along the rugged limestone cliffs and countless groves of gnarled olive trees. Blooming thyme and rosemary attract bees to collect honey, and the refreshing scent of mint entices you to pluck a leaf here and there and let it melt in your mouth.

We can see that the concept is working well now with the beginning of Holy Week. Sporty travelers can be observed participating in many outdoor activities. Hiking, e-biking, road cycling, mountain biking, climbing, golfing, and gliding are the outstanding activities.
We enjoy the sun and join in, at least for hiking.

But the end of our journey is approaching quickly.
I'm glad we chose to travel with the caravan. The temperatures are around 3°C at night for the entire time. And even in the sunny south, it takes until noon for the thermometer to climb to 20°C. As soon as the sun disappears behind the horizon, the temperatures drop quickly and significantly. It is very comfortable and cozy to be able to retreat into the little castle, even if in Provence it is usually enough to light the heating in the morning for the fragrant coffee.

Furthermore, I enjoy filling the garden sprayer with warm water after breakfast and celebrating a delightful shower in the equally warm caravan. This way, we are not forced to visit one of the few rivers still filled with water and then even find access to the cleansing wetness. Even if Zappa is once again the hero in the Alpillen and steps into one of the many irrigation canals filled with crystal clear mountain water, which actually brings the precious water to the vegetable gardens of the Crau, for holistic body care in the cold morning wind.

Not to mention the luxury that the caravan offers us despite all the rattling and clattering in the raging hurricane. The Mistral repeatedly blows out the gas flame of the heating stove and rattles and jolts the moving home, but I can't imagine how he would have played along with us if we were only traveling with the Kangoo. Finding a spot in the wind shadow was more than hopeless anyway.

It is always a challenge to find a parking space with the long vehicle. And not just on market days in small Provençal towns, where we sometimes come up with the idea of spending the night in front of the Boulodrome late in the evening, only to realize on Wednesday morning that the market bustle in the middle of the week outside the season is not so wild after all.

Even supermarket parking lots can become a cause for concern. More than once, the caravan is parked in the loading or exit zone, or motorhomes are completely locked out by height barriers. Then we drag our purchases through the countryside for kilometers. But now, movement has never hurt anyone.

We are happy to have had a wonderful trip and to have met some fans of old rickety caravans, especially in France, who stand by the roadside waving and beaming with joy.
Maybe it will be completely rebuilt and restored after all...?