The Water of the Hills
I left Arles and headed into the hills, to the 11th century castle at Les Baux-de-Provence then to the ruins of the Roman aqueduct that once supplied the city of Arles and past the archeological site at Glanum. I crossed the Durance River and entered Luberon, thinking of Jean de Florette and the paintings of Cezanne, heading for the village of Lacoste—home to the Marquis de Sade after his writings scandalised Paris and he had to flee. I stopped occasionally in little villages, perched on the hillsides, and to look at rock climbers on the dramatic bluffs—at one point I found myself stopping for a huge flock of sheep being marshalled down the road by a weather beaten shepherd and his dog.
After lunch to Aix-en-Provence, I checked into the hostel that was putting me up for the night and walked through the winding streets to the studio of Paul Cezanne. The studio had been saved after the artist died and is now a museum; not an ordinary museum though, but a mock up of what it was like when Cezanne lived and painted in it—“Do not look for artefacts” the sign read “look only for Cezanne.”
Dinner: farfalle with red pesto and goat's cheese (cooked up in the hostel kitchen and desperately in want of seasoning).