I love Provence. I do. Time spent there is the best way to come back to life after a hard year at work, dealing with real life. Even if it’s just for a romantic weekend in May, the blue sky, gentle heat and sprawling markets are enough to make me feel I belong there.
But it’s the summer heat I crave. The sky is still blue, the markets are even larger and there’s the added bonus of the swifts swooping high and screeching their little heads off. I do love that sound, it’s one of those little things.
Forget the madeleines, it’s the sounds of summer I hear when I think of my little corner of Provence, near Carpentras. I bet you thought I would mention the cicadas, didn’t you? Well, of course, they’re part of it, but it’s the swifts I like best. Go figure.
A summer in Provence: all the clichés are there, but they are also so real. Figs so ripe they explode like grenades, fresh goat’s cheese from the Mont Ventoux herds and lavender honey from the little man in Gordes. Breakfast on the terrace with that nice pear jam (yes, really) from the girls in Flassan. That’s of course after you’ve walked to the village to buy bread and croissants. Just because, you know, it’s the holidays, and you deserve it after all.
Oh, how it all comes together…