Travelling to Provence with my family in late July, 2012, I thought my longtime dream of walking in the lavender fields was finally going to come true.
And indeed it was a longtime dream. I had grown lavender at my Southern California home in my teenage years. I still grow lavender in my Massachusetts garden today. On one of my computer screens at work, I have a screen saver of an extensive lavender field with an abbey in the background. I have no clue where the photo was taken, but could hazard to guess that it was in the lavender fields of France.
Arriving in the ancient city of Aix-en-Provence, I promptly encountered stands selling lavandin (lavender oil), lavender flower and lavender wands among stands of wine, olive oil and honey on Cour Mirabeau. In fact, the scent of lavender permeated through the whole city in summer. I purchased two bottles of lavender oil (50ml for €5 in retail, what a bargain!) and two items of lavender bouquets wrapped in colorful ribbons into balls and hot-dog shaped wands (that is the only way to describe these items). Striking up a conversation with the lavender wand vendor, I asked her where the lavender fields are.
"They are near Pertruis, but I am afraid that they have cut all the flowers just last week." The nice young woman apologetically said.
"No way!" I was aghast. "I read that the flowers are in bloom in late July."
"It is true that the flowers are out from July to first part of August, but this year, everything is early for two weeks, so they already harvested the flowers." Darn global warming!
"Is it possible that there are still some flowers left?" I was persistent.
"I am almost sure that they have all been cut..."
"So where can I see the lavender fields?" I must have sounded crestfallen.
"In pictures, or in gardens." The French shrug.
Unable to give up my idea, I suggested to my indulgent husband that we should take a drive to the Luberon region, stopping in the town of Apt. He was game for it. So we packed up our chirpy young daughter into the rental car and drove out to the Luberon one sunny day.
Why the Luberon?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luberon First reason: A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle. Like so many people in the world, I have fallen victim to the charm of his Provence, particularly the Luberon, so of course I had to see it. Incidentally, while having lunch at Les Deux Garcons one day, we sat next to a friendly Swedish lady whose family owned a house in Bonnieux. "Peter Mayle, he is a kilometer down the road from us," she lightly mentioned, probably used to people asking her about her local celebrity. Second reason to visit the Luberon: lavender. According to my tour guide, there is an expansive lavender growing region surrounding the town of Apt, including a distillery in Castellet. So even if there is no flower, I figured, I can still visit the distillery.
Driving in France is an adventure of its own. The French drivers are of a special breed. While they follow road signs, which are very clear, they are always in a hurry and show no remorse of passing by some slower-moving tourists. Usually the speed limit is 90 kilometer per hour (kph) or 56 miles per hour on the highway, but can slow down to 70 kph/44mph in mountain roads. On autoroutes such as A7, the famous Autoroute du Soleil, speed limit is 130 kph/81 mph. As with the speed limit in the United States, drivers follow it as the
minimum speed, and often pass slower cars on whiny two lane highways.
Unfortunately this drive to Apt was full of mountain roads and hairpin turns, something I never realized. I had always thought that lavender bushes were grown on flat lands, not in the valleys surrounded by mountains. Yes, mountains. Had I paid more attention to my map and guide books, I would have realized that Luberon is not just a name, but the name of three mountain ridges connected with the southernmost part of the Alpes.
Driving out of Aix-en-Provence, we went north on DN7 with my husband behind the wheel and in no time were gallivanting on some scenic country lanes lined with allees of plane trees. The sun was brilliant, the air warm and arid, and the scent was full of fresh vegetation. The mountain rose steeply in front of us and we gallantly climbed up its height in our little Peugeot. We took one hairpin turn after another, narrowly avoiding cars gliding downhills towards us. We passed the large village of Loumarin, known for its chateau and music festival, also the small village of Bonnieux, tugged somewhere high in the mountain, and came very close to Apt. The land began to flatten out indicating we have reached a plateau. Right before Apt, I saw a sign on the right: "Castellet", then "lavender distillery". "Take a right!" I yelled excitedly. My husband took a sharp right, probably leaving skid marks on the pavement. Not a half kilometer after the turn, we began to see fields full of neatly planted bushes that had been closely grazed. Lavender bushes, I thought, and for sure, they had already been harvested.
Nevertheless we drove on and within one minute, I saw shades of pale purple in the fields.
Eureka!
But this lavender field looked abandoned and neglected, nothing like the rows of wavering lavender bushes in my screen saver at home. I was a bit disappointed, but, this was a beginning. We drove on a bit further and the view did improve.
And finally...
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| Field of my dream! |
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| Harvested lavender fields near Castellet. |
We parked the car to the narrow shoulder of the road with a screening halt, almost driving into a ditch. Before the car was fully parked, I had already jumped out of it and run into the fragrant lavender field, like one of the numerous bees being drawn by lavender's powerful scent.
And there I was, for five of the best minutes of my life, feeling the sun beam down on me, the bees hum around me, an occasional breeze caress me while inhaling the sweet clean scent of Lavandula and gazing out at the sea of purple. My little one and I frolicked in the lavender field, careful not to harm the plants and irritate the bees, while my husband snapped photos of us.
It was a beautiful day.
