There was no leaving the Provence without paying our respects to venerable Mont Ventoux. We were rewarded for our early morning detour with air like une coupe de champagne and grandiose, chiffon-layered views toward our next destination
and, in our case, happy nostalgic wanderings. Still, when we woke up on daylight-savings-fall-back Sunday, with our breath making clouds in the air, and “Madame le Camping” (think bathrobe, oversized pink scarf and Gitanes blondes) proclaimed with laconic logic: C’est le changement de l’heure qui fait ça (basically: setting the clock back brings on winter), we took our cue to wing it
Great desolate plains follow rolling hills and tightly shuttered towns. Once in a while, on our slow migration south along Spanish roads less taken, we discover a hidden gem, here Alcaraz
As did the next day’s breakfast spread of juicy bocadillos with sheep milk cheese and tomato paste, leathery green olives and steaming milk coffee, at a park rangers’ hangout – the only busy place we saw for days. I would even have taken a food picture, if we hadn’t dug right in- it being one of the “days after” of the 5/2 regimen we’ve been sticking to in spite of ourselves….