Aups

Friday 5 Sept -Tues 16 Sept

Aups is the centre of Europe, or at least the local abbot thought so back in the 18th century when he tiled his house with a map of the continent to demonstrate his mathematical theory. It wasn't far (44 miles from our overnight base at Frejus) to here. We pick up the keys to James's in the Grand Café, my feeble French retreating further in a rally of automatic 'si's' and 'grazie's' after 3.5 months in Italy. Feeling like a startled fawn, I stumble over my request for 'Les cles de Pierre' and get offered a Kronenberg by the barman but eventually we have the keys and are exploring the lovely town, full of fountains and sun dials, a shady square edged by plane trees. At bistro corner, where 3 roads and their cafes converge on the fountain, I satisfy my craving for omelette. James has emailed a list of instructions about the house, ranging from how to pump water up from the well to rebooting the solar powered battery unit. The power generated by wind and sun is not quite enough to keep things running at night so we have told people not expect electricity after sundown. Also, because of the septic tank, we have warned them not to move their bowels in the house if they can possibly help it... Head up to the house via the steepest incline you ever saw, (we'd plonked Vera halfway up at some caves). The treelined rock-edged road opens out onto a clearing at the top and the house sits, high in the heavens.

The house is built into the side of the hill so you go down the steps to the front door. There is a huge expanse of sky and the light is blue-filtered. We are not sure where the garden ends, divided into dry stone walled terraces and a planted mass of herbs, lavender, aloe, and olive trees. Two trees on either side of the house are each called peace and prosperity. (James jokes that prosperity died as soon as he moved in, but at least peace is thriving.) It is a beautiful, sunny, windy day and the wind generator whirrs forlornly into the hills. Call James and go through the business of switching everything on.

Inside the house is all stone and tiles, colourful cushions, curved hearths. A wooden staircase leads up to an attic bedroom, that opens out onto a sun room, and another huge terrace level with the higher back of the house. From here you walk across to the other outbuildings. To the front of the house you are in the circular chapel, marked on maps from Napoleonic times.

Before dusk, we bring stuff up from the van in a couple of trips using a handy wheelbarrow and make supper and light some candles. The wind keeps up so we are able to use an electric lamp and laptop, although when I turn on the kitchen light everything else shuts down.

Collect the hire car on Sat, a diesel, delivery-van of a Berlingo. Jon is aghast, we'd been hoping for something nippy after life in the crawler-lane. We stock up on go to the roast chicken, fresh from the spit, pate, bread and salad in the market and get some beer in the Intermarche. We are ready with the wheelbarrow but the Berlingo is high enough off the ground to make it up the hill without cracking the underworkings. It is a windless night, so there is no any electricity at all. J plays his guitar by oil lamp.

On Sunday we pick up Mum, Dad and Christine. It is great to see them again and does not feel at all strange or very long since I saw them at all. We slip easily into conversation, me sandwiched between M & C while Dad sits up front with Jon. Drop them to their gite, a km or so just out of town and later all have dinner at the Auberge de la Tour. Sit outside - it turns jumper cool and Dad, who is jumper-less puts a couple of napkins round his shoulders for warmth. They give us a little newsflash: Mum's purchase in Matalan where the shop assistant was a 'lovely girl', Dad's ingrown toenail. I am filled with love and warmth for my family as never before.

Drop them back to the gite and Jon tries to coax the car up the hill but with the cold tires it fails to grip on the road and there is a horrible crunching and it feels like it is stuck on the ledge at the roadside and it doesn't want to go any further and I suggest we leave it there overnight but the handbreak won't hold and t is impossible to reverse too, with even less purchase on the back tires and we are panicking a bit. I am out of the car J gives it another whirl and it is burning rubber like you wouldn't believe but going up. I chase up after it - I am scared in the trees with only a puny torch. J makes it to the top, relieved, but won't be doing that again in the dark.

In the morning we proudly examine the tiremarks on the path, then, after a mosey round Aups with MDC they come up to the house while it is still light. J gives mum a lift while D and I puff our way up and C practically runs it. Have spag bol and a singsong until the sun sets. M&D are wearing white blankets to keep the chill off. It is a bit like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. They bed down in the chapel.

On Tuesday we drive to the Gorge Du Verdun, Europe's widest and deepest gorge, 21km long of limestone piles divided by the river Verdon. It is breathtaking, at some points a sheer 800m drop down to the strip of acquamarine water at its base. The landscape enroute is beautiful, variously agricultural fields, to wild meadowland, to rocky cliffs. A Belgian couple in town advised that Moustiers-Ste-Marie was good place to start the gorge drive so we go there first and have drinks and orange icecreams (which were accidentally ordered in a lost-in-translation kind of way but which turn out to be very good). M-S-M is lovely, cafes and little squares sit huddled in the cliffs. J spots a humming bird in the geranium pots. It is only an inch or so long, looking more like a big wasp with a beak. Drive over a bridge where people are pedallo-ing and kayaking in the unearthly turquoise water. It is quite beautiful. Have a late lunch at Aguines. There are 4 dishes left on the menu so we order everything they have left and share the tarts and pasta between us. Later, Diane & John arrive, via a train from Paris where they'd been for a couple of days. They are attempting the hill in the dark in a Picasso but then decide against it. We go down with the wheelbarrow and have sausage and mash and a catchup on the terrace.

On Wed we all meet in the Grand Café on the edge of the marketplace. It has become such a great meeting point, loadsa tables outside, faded art deco inside. James arrives and we talk about his plans for the place, his neighbour who owns all the nearby land and who has him surrounded. Arthur, Rachel, and Kate have been on the same flight as Helen and all arrive about 8.30. Much drinking of wine into the small hours and eating D&J's delicious chicken-fennel stew. Everyone crashes - A&R&K in cabin and Helen and Christine a sofa each in the main house. M&D bed down on the chapel floor while J&D are in the mezzanine level. We are in the tent, erected just to the side.

Thursday
I am 40 I'm getting married! J brings me a tent breakfast of tea with 4 jaffa cakes, complete with candle and card, in which is a suggestion that we get hitched. I'd been thinking about the same thing myself. The months away had brought us closer together and convinced us that if we could spend 24-7 in each other's company then we could probably make a go of it. So I said yes! We all go up the gorge, 5 in James's car with John in the roofless boot to hold down the lilos. He gets a refreshing shower when it rains. And a drink of some wiper fluid. Have a bit of a swim first in the chilly depths of the lake and watch a fighter jet breaking through the air out of the gorge in a mountain training exercise. Amazingly the lake is manmade, with the valley being flooded in the 70s in order to provide hydro-electricity. Hilltop towns have been made coastal. We all go kayaking, which is stunning in such beautiful surroundings. The wind picks up and we are in the wake of many a pedalo so steering is difficult. J&C have paired up, with much swapping of places, careering into others and yelling of instructions echoeing throughout the canyon. A&R have Kate in the middle. D&J are going like professionals. We go out to the De La Tour again that night and I get given my presents and have a feast of l'escargot, steak and chips, then birthday cake with sparklers. Give a mini speech and make our engagement announcement. Everyone seems so pleased, much kissing and cheering. It all seems surreal, like one of those fantastic dreams where you are disappointed to wake up. It is, I think, the best day of my life. James has downloaded some music so we have a bit of dance back at the house. We are dosey-do-ing on the terrace until about 3. Much drink is taken, buckets are offered (just in case) but declined. My last memory is of James helping Helen take her contact lenses out, before I stagger off to the tent, Oates in reverse.


On Friday Helen has done the double, waking up to find both contact lenses have gone (ended up in the septic tank we assume). Unusual even on the drunkest of evenings to lose 2. H also hasn't seen her camera since day 1 so it is turning into an expensive weekend for her. The weather is turning positively autumnal. We go to a nearby town for lunch but don't swim as planned. Have a delicious barbecue round at the gite in the evening. Despite relative sobriety, we manage in the first hour, to break several glasses, smash a bottle, and throw a snail into the satellite dish, all in front of the gite owners who called in for a drink but whom James is thankfully diverting in conversation. We sign James's visitors book, each outdoing each other in the plaudits in case he wants to use us for an advert... Vowed to take it easy tonight but back at the house we are up until about 4, telling ghost stories that freak James out so he locks the door to the house before going to bed.

Sat dawns cold and windy after a night of the same. We all wake up perished under thin sheets while duvets lay piled up in the chapel. Unable to get into the house, we make our way down to the village to defrost and congregate at the Grand amongst the market crowds. D&J leave to go back to Watford. It is our last day and we pack the van, say goodbye to James. Have a pastis and a g&t in town before picking up some takeaway pizzas to take round to the gite. We have an early last night and crash on the floor. Aups has been absolutely brilliant, a real laugh. Thanks so much to everyone for coming over and making it great and to James for being the most fantastic, welcoming host.

Up early on Sunday and do drop-offs to the train station and airport for H, M, D and C. A, R & K leave a little bit later from Marseilles. Down poles at the campsite only 500m from Aups. Free internet and a swimming pool, although we'll hardly use the latter. There is a grey cat on a lead which the owners take for walks when it is not tethered to the van. It is perhaps common in France to raise cats as dogs? I am reminded of Di telling me of the rabbit she saw being walked in Lille. The town is quiet now and we sit and reminisce about the week. Last week's tourists have morphed into the hunting lot, all rednecky checked shirts and baseball caps. Wild boar are the main catch here, and the shooting goes on around the edges of James's place making evening strolls a bit hazardous. We have the remaining things on the menu during our 3rd meal of the week at the Auberge, thanks to MDC who treated us. Truly freezing at night now.

On Monday, after dropping off the hire car in Draguinan and catching up on laundry we hear from tenants that they are leaving on 5 October. It seems very close now until we will be home. We debate whether to go the coastal route but in the end we just want to get home and decide to go inland, up the east side through the Rhone valley. First though we are making a short detour south to Aix en provence.