Still More Rain

During my trip to Germany, it had been raining in Provence. Janet told me to quit complaining about the weather and to be grateful I’m not shoveling in Boston like her. I admit that I’ve been whining a little about the weather, but it really isn’t an exaggeration. I’m sure it didn’t make the news in the States, but the rain started causing real problems around the time I got back to France.

The Rhône had already begun to recede.

French military vehicles in the main square.

Note the water line.

L'Inondation

Situated between the Alpilles to the east and the Massive Central to the west, the Bouches-de-Rhône region is like a bowl. When the rains come, the mountains just funnel it all right into the Rhône. Consequently, the result of all that rain I’ve been mentioning is widespread flooding. I heard that the Rhône swelled to its 100-year high-water mark, while the Durance, usually no more than a stream, reached a 40-year mark. Thousands of people were without water and electricity. Schools were turned into dormitories to accommodate those forced from their homes. Railways and roads all over the region were underwater, and much of the Bouches-de-Rhône department was declared a disaster area. When I arrived in October, French television newscasts were covering the fires in California, but I wondered how much of this flooding made the news in the US. I’ve always found this to be an unfortunate cultural discrepancy when traveling. People always knew much more about what was going on in my country than I did in theirs.

It was interesting to watch the news and see places I had just visited a week before now underwater. As the weekend approached, I resolved to select a hike that would allow me to see some of the devastation brought on by the flooding. I chose a 15 km circuit originating from Boulbon, a village near the Rhône north of Tarascon. The first effect of the flood I encountered was the fact that I had a very difficult time getting to Boulbon. Almost all of the roads were closed because they were still impassable even though the rain let up three days before. I finally wound my way into Boulbon where the townspeople were busy cleaning up after l’inondation. The military had been called into the region to help. Pompiers (firemen) were going from home to home with equipment to drain ground floors and cellars. Families were trying to salvage household goods – furniture, clothes, boxes – by unloading them onto their lawn in the hope that they would dry in the sun. Debris left by the receding river was strewn all over the roads and orchards, and where there was once water there was now thick sticky silt.

Luckily the vineyards had already been harvested.

The guest house La Provençale tries to salvage its matresses. Guests next summer will be trying to figure out where that funny smell is coming from.

Another house that didn't fare so well.

A Poor Decision

My hike took me up the neighboring hillside, known as la Montagne, where I could get a good view of some of the areas that were still underwater. As I reached the peak of the ridge, I had the option to continue along the top as a shortcut or to wind my way down to the other side. Here’s a tip: When hiking in an area where there has been recent flooding, keep to the path that stays on the high ground. It must have been the lack of oxygen, but I took the longer route back down the other side of the ridge and found that the trail was pretty much underwater. After already hiking for two and half hours, I was past the point of no return so I plodded along trying to avoid the ankle-high water wherever possible. When it was time to climb back up the ridge, I found that the trail was actually a dry creek bed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t dry. Left with no choice, I finally took the plunge and started wading through the water until I got back to the high ground.

The château at Boulbon.

The "dry" creek bed trail.

Finally reaching high ground again.

The initial view of Frigolet

Another view of the abbey perched on La Montagne.

Saint-Michel de Frigolet

Finally climbing over one last ridge on La Montagne, one comes upon the fantastic view of l’abbaye of Frigolet. Once used as a school attended by Frédéric Mistral himself, Saint-Michel de Frigolet sits amid hills filled with wild thyme. In fact, the abbey’s name is derived from the Provençal word for thyme, feriguolo. The herb is a major ingredient (along with 30 other herbs) in a renowned liqueur that is made right on the abbey grounds. As with so many other things in France, la liqueur de Frigolet is a reputed aphrodisiac.