The Flavors of the Alpilles

We are still thoroughly recovering in the wonderful landscape of the Alpilles.
With every step, the air is filled with the scents of wild herbs, rosemary, and thyme, and especially the fragrance of the small-leaved mountain mint, which spreads its aromatic scent everywhere.

Olive groves, where the fruits are just beginning to turn dark and black, alternate with small vineyards, where the leaves are slowly turning yellow and red. In between, there are always almond and apricot trees and steep, white cliffs that deceive us with their alpine harshness.

If you're looking for absolute peace and relaxation, you are exactly right here. No phone, no internet, only at selected places with an outstretched arm. Or at the boules courts in the villages. We spent half a day watching the players, as a phone call with my little brother was scheduled. Very relaxing.

Almost every morning, we stock up on fresh fruits and vegetables from the region at the small weekly markets in the surrounding villages, along with small rounds of goat cheese and wonderfully fragrant bread.

We ladies especially love Monsieur Persil, who has his regular spot in the market hall of Saint-Martin-de-Crau.
Not only does his appealing appearance, which reflects long stays in the fresh air, a robust character, and a sensitive touch with the smallest, most delicate plants, charm us, but also his delightful personality keeps us returning to his stand.

No matter how many eggplants are in the bag, no matter how large the bright green lettuce has grown, we always pay five euros. And to top it off, Monsieur gives away a bunch of parsley, wonderfully fragrant, exuding an incomparable aroma, lush green, giant-leafed smooth parsley.

Last Friday, Monsieur forgot to hand me the superb little herb amidst the hectic crowd and Zappa immediately sends me back to the stand. Because without this parsley, he no longer wants his salad!
So I go once again to the best vegetable vendor in the world and ask him for 'un peu de persil' and hear the entire assembled ladies around me sigh: 'Pour moi aussi - for me too!'
Yes, this small bundle of greens makes us indescribably happy!

After that, there's still a café au lait in the PMU or the bar or the tobacco shop with intense views of the hustle and bustle and the social gathering, and then I desperately need my midday nap.

But today, the Mistral is once again picking up full force. All mist and dust are blown away, and an indescribably ultramarine blue sky shines above us.
The cunning north wind shakes, rattles, and tosses our Mistral, making the caravan rattle, creak, and bang. It almost feels like being on Captain Stoffel's sailboat in rough seas. The deck wobbles, rumbles, sways, and heaves, and the walls scrape and rumble. Always keeping an eye on the horizon, I try to calm myself.

We are not skipping our little hike into the depths of the Alpilles. We start off on foot. But who would have thought that the hills, which are only 300m high, would present such steep ascents? We are quite out of breath, also because the stiff wind keeps blowing in our faces. You can't joke around with the Mistral.

And so it happens that we can barely make the last meters to the summit of Opiés. The wind is howling around our ears and noses up here, and the path, sprinkled with small gravel stones, can only be navigated with sure footing. But the Mistral seems determined to keep us from the last elevation, puffing and wheezing and nearly knocking me off my feet. We fight against the gusts, as who wants to be thrown off course right before the finish line?

With the last of our strength, we tackle the nearly 20 percent steep ascent against the hurricane.
Zappa insists on taking a photo once we reach the top, but I am jostled, shaken, and nearly knocked over. And of course, I am asked to smile again and again until the shoot is perfect!

No way! At this point, I am completely wiped out and freezing like crazy. And the worst is yet to come: going down the steep descent on the slippery gravel with a hurricane at my back! I can already see myself getting blown down the slope to the sea, hurting body parts I didn't even know I had, and suffering from an indescribable and unbearable slope and wind panic for the rest of my life.

But Zappa, my hero, possessive of strong nerves, a constant cool, and a forever rescuer in need, gives me invaluable windbreak, so that we manage the seemingly insurmountable steep ramp into the abyss safely and without wounds.

My goodness - another adventure! But it's slowly time for some calmer days...