On Saturday a few of us from Abroadco, Risa, Megan, Erin, and Gray, headed out at 8:30 am for a grand adventure led by George...a tour guide who arranges great 20 Provencal trips for the students of Aix. Originally this weekend I had wanted to visit St. Tropez and was sorely disappointed that the trip got cancelled. Thankfully George came up with a nice alternative: Moustiers. While "Moustiers" does not immediately draw the same kinds of connotations of glamour, excess, and leisure that St. Tropez does, the region in Haute Provence definitely has its draw.
First off, we stopped at one of the many lavender fields dotting the countryside in that area. The colors were fantastic! Rows upon rows of the purple plants separated by yellow dusty earth, dotted with twisted trees, framed by blue-gray mountains and a vibrant sky. I was so infatuated with this place that I almost got left behind when I realized that the people surrounding me were a French family and not the hoardes of Americans I had arrived with. Scary!
Next we stopped at the little town of Moustiers where the "pseudo triathalon" began. We decided to climb an endless semblance of a flight of stairs to the top of a craggy hill/small mountain (to me it definitely felt like a mountain) to see this tiny little church and its surrounding views. Was it worth it? Questionable. After a few moments rest we half slid/half shuffled our way down the smooth worn steps to the bottom where my legs were shaking and generally taking on the properties of jello. Excellent.
Next stop I thought I was in for some relaxation: we pulled up to an aqua-marine lake housed in a ring of towering mountians! beach? swimming? This is more like it. Then part II of the triathalon set in. I was somehow convinced to join in swimming across the lake to a low cliff where we proceeded to rock climb to the top and jump off. In theory this sounds incredbly fun. in actuality I was worn out and my ears were filled with water...for the rest of the night...then came part III: since Risa and I were worn out by the long swim over we decided to walk back to our home base on the other side of the lake. This sounded like a good idea. Then we realized half-way through that the pavement was scorching hot. To avoid burned feet we then sprinted like fire-coal runners back across a bridge and down a black tar road to our towels. We half succeeded but our feet definitely suffered. For the rest of the day we finally took it easy and just lazed about in the sun.