Pottering about in Provence

Ah Peter Mayle! How many people have read your famous tome, A Year in Provence, and, enchanted by the descriptions and tales of life in southern France, made the pilgrimage to experience it all themselves?

My dog-eared copy, along with Mayle's splendid hard-cover Provence, produced in collaboration with photographer Jason Hawkes, were the bibles we used to draw up an itinerary for our own Provencal odyssey.

A hire car and central point from which to explore were critical to the equation.

We chose St Remy-de-Provence as our base and booked a bed and breakfast with a pool to provide a cooling antidote to the Mediterranean summer days.

St Remy proved an ideal choice - not too big and bustling, not so small as to be lacking essential visitor amenities such as a friendly tourist information office, and with enough boulangeries, bistros and cafes for five days of culinary adventure. Our accommodation, the Mas St Joseph, was also perfectly placed for strolls into the town centre.

St Remy is a melange of the old and the new, the rustic and the chic, shaded by plane trees with the jagged peaks of the Alpilles in the background.

There are ancient Roman ruins nearby, Nostradamus and Vincent Van Gogh have historic connections and Princess Caroline of Monaco has a house in the district.

The town is on the tourist trail but is a sufficient distance from the coast to avoid the hordes that swarm over the Cote D'Azur in summer. We saw little of the busloads that descend daily on centres such as Aix and Avignon.

We spent five days in St Remy venturing out each morning to explore: Arles and the Camargue, Avignon and the Pont du Gard, Aix and Mt St Victoire, the Cote D'Azur. Wednesday is market day in St Remy - morning is best before the day heats up - and it's well worth setting aside the time to experience a Provencal market.

The town is transformed with produce and art and craft stalls lining the street, buskers at every corner and endless samples of cheeses, smallgoods, preserves and confectionery to taste.

And when it's time to rest, there's always a cafe to sit at, coffee and croissants in hand, to watch the passing parade.

We also set aside a day to explore the medieval hilltop villages referred to in A Year in Provence, mapping a trail that took in Robion, Maubec, Oppede-le-Vieux and Menerbes. If time permitted we would go on to Roussillon and Gordes. And perhaps even Les Baux-de-Provence.

The drive was largely on quiet country lanes and proved a good starting point for a week navigating the French roads and getting used to the signage. But it could take a lifetime to get comfortable with the kamikaze local drivers. When combined with roadside ditches and tree-lined avenues, it makes defensive driving de rigueur.

Our mid-morning stop in Robion was a delightful introduction to the timeless hamlets bordering the Petit Luberon, a regional park in the Luberon mountain range.

We parked the car in the main square with the requisite town hall, church, bell tower, shady trees, fountain and cafe (this was an architectural mix that was to be repeated at each village) and set off to explore the cobblestone streets with their ancient stone houses, shuttered windows and dozing cats.

Provencal locals tend to batten down in summer, knowing they will be under siege from visitors, and Robion is off the main road and tucked away at the foot of the mountains, so we had the rare opportunity to wander the streets alone, the only noise provided by a cacophony of cicadas, the signature sound of Provence in summer.

The massif of the Petit Luberon provides a soaring backdrop to the village and our stroll took in a quarry amphitheatre, gardens, spring-fed fountain and paths zigzagging up into the hills.

Our next stop was Maubec, with its ripening vines in the valley, cafe overlooking the vista and stone houses ascending, terrace fashion, the hill.

Maubec is the home of the local wine co-operative and the grapes are brought here to produce the red and pink Cotes du Luberon. Our meanderings gave us our first views over the panorama of Provence's vineyards, valleys, hills and villages.

Oppede-le-Vieux was seen from the car, twice. Attempts to find parking proved fruitless, so we had to be content with driving up the hill to the village and through its picture-postcard streets, a camera aimed through the car window.

While I took in, albeit briefly, one of the prettiest village squares we were to see that day, my guidebook informed us that the village had grown up around the castle which first belonged to the Counts of Forcalquier.

Over the centuries the castle changed hands and the villagers moved downhill, leaving behind the little church of Notre-Dame- d'Alydon at the very top of the old village.

Menerbes was an important stop on the itinerary. We found one of the bakeries frequented by Monsieur Mayle but alas it was closed - "perhaps Madame was making her toilette", the author records in A Year in Provence, commenting on the erratic trading hours.

Built of pale golden stone, Menerbes sits fortress-style atop a narrow hill in the heart of vineyard country. The approach was breathtaking, round a bend and there it was rising high and imposing above the valley floor.

We stopped for lunch - roasted aubergines, capsicums and cheese on bread accompanied by a green salad, finishing off with a glorious cup of coffee and margarita ice- cream cones - before continuing our wandering. Menerbes' hilltop position provided many stunning vantage points from which to photograph the countryside.

By now we were becoming familiar with the geography and with the aid of our map it was fun locating where we had come from and where we were heading.

Our friendly restaurateur had suggested Bonnieux and Lacoste as villages worth visiting but we were keen to see Gordes and Roussillon. Knowing that fitting it all in, in one day, was going to be difficult, we headed north-east instead of east.

Roussillon is the most colourful of the Provencal villages, sitting as it does in the heart of a giant vein of ochre. That's the scientific explanation for the red, yellow, orange and rust-hued buildings but there is a local legend of love, lust and bloody revenge that's far more compelling.

The village of Roussillon is a beautiful ochre colour / Pictures: Harry Gough

Roussillon is a photographer's dream, presenting itself in different shades depending on the light and time of day. As well as the winding streets, with their shops and cafes, there's also a painterly landscape of cliffs and quarries to explore and one could spend the better part of a day taking it all in.

Gordes has an Acropolis-like aspect, magnificently placed on a hill with beautifully preserved buildings and photographic panoramas at every turn. But this was July and many other visitors in their vehicles were also there to see the sights, so once again finding a parking spot for our hired Peugeot proved an issue.

After a few circuits of the town and a stop or two to capture the late afternoon sun on the honey-coloured facades, we continued our journey.

By chance, we had saved one of the most spectacular villages in the region for the last.

The European summer's long days provided the extra light in which to squeeze in one last stop - the historic medieval fortress village of Les Baux-de-Provence, not far from St Remy. Les Baux sits perched on a rocky spur overlooking the Baux Valley.

Parts of the village are carved into the cliff face and the steps and paths lead you from one discovery to the next. Here an ancient well and mill; there a castle that's still lived in, doves cooing on the window ledges.

On another level, a charming courtyard showcasing sculptures; a cobblestone square; an ancient church, bells pealing; a quaint shop selling mouth- watering biscuits. And, like a jewel atop a crown, the citadel with its breathtaking views.

The hills surrounding Les Baux are a warren of caves. Some are yawning caverns just off the road and provide the chance for more adventures when the fortress views have been admired and the villages streets traversed.

We managed one cave exploration before the deepening blackness as we ventured further and further in propelled us out. It was now also after 7pm, twilight, and time to call it a day.

And what a day it had been, we concurred, as we headed home to our hotel and a refreshing dip in the pool.

It was now also after 7pm, twilight, and time to call it a day. And what a day it had been, we concurred, as we headed to our hotel.