PROVENCE RIVERS: VERDON, VAR, TINÉE
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| The V shape of Verdon gorges |
The mountains North-East of the Sainte-Croix lake may not be very high, they barely reach an elevation of 1500 meters, but their peaks stand over a thousand meters above the bottom of the valley which conveys to them the allure of proper mountains. Difference in elevation matters! This is precisely what is striking about the Verdon gorges, they are several hundred meters deep and sometimes only just as wide. The nature of limestone rock made it easy for water to carve its way through deep inside the bedrock. What is more the water rushes powerfully through the gorges, challenging permanently every obstacle on its course. This gives the gorges a wild aspect, with trees uprooted on the river shores and neatly polished pebbles banks where the river is wider thus with weaker current.
The gorges have appeal and it is only at the beginning of the 20th century that access to them was mapped, starting with the opening of the Blanc-Martel path as a result of the collaboration between Isidore Blanc, who served as a guide, and Edouard-Alfred Martel, an adventurer and speleologist who contributed to the exploration of many caves and their surrounding environment. His name is also present in the Tarn gorges in the Cévennes. At that time, cave exploration started being organized as a sport. In 1895 he founded the Speleology Society to harness exploration initiatives and document them. Nowadays, the Verdon Gorges are a touristic and sport highlight in Provence. Rock climbing, canyoning and trekking are among the things to do there.
We approached the gorges from Moustiers Sainte-Marie, going up to the Ourbes pass with a superb view on the Sainte-Croix lake and large lavender fields on the plateau West of the lake. From there we left a forest of fir to descend towards La Palud sur Verdon, a small village located in an altitude valley nearest to the gorges. On the way down, along a path that was stony, absolutely narrow and steep we came across two motorcycles. The guys riding them were wearing integral suits. Not an inch of skin was visible. They were, mercifully, in control of their machines and stopped their engine for us to pass. Obviously they were doing it without permission. We slept in a place called "Perroquet Vert" and run by a rock-climbing couple who came many years ago to La Palud because of rock-climbing and because of the wild beauty of the place.
We actually started the Blanc-Martel path from the refuge of La Malîne, it is one of those chalets dedicated to the purpose of supporting people to explore more remote parts of a national park. It is a hostel with dormitories, built exceptionally in a location where it would not be authorized to do so. The team running it is usually composed of people passionate about the environment to which they dedicate a large part of their life. It happened that some of them would be run by couples with children - probably just over the holidays.
From La Malîne, a path leads all the way down to the riverside. From there, a bridge enables to cross the river to join the path of Imbut which is the most remote part of the gorges. But it is also the beginning of the Blanc-Martel path which we followed all the way to a breathtakingly beautiful spot called simply "le point sublime", the sublime spot. It is were the gorges open dramatically in a narrow V-shape. Along the way, la brèche Imbert is another fantastic place were a two-hundred-fifty-two steps iron staircase has been built in a rock crevice to descend one hundred metres lower along the cliff.
We were really happy to gulp down a liter and a half of water in a café at the point sublime before continuing upwards to Rougon, a tiny village overlooking the entrance of the gorges. The Miel et Abeilles crêperie was where we hired a room for the night, in an old house next to the crêperie which had a garden/terrace with an amazing panoramic view that had a glueing effect on us. Actually locals came very late for dinner, allegedly to avoid the heat. The village had another place with rooms and food, that was also a grocery. In the morning we had breakfast at the same spot as we had had dinner. The owner, Christine, was chatting with a man, both of them sitting on the little stone wall that averted from falling into the precipice behind. It seemed to be the place every regular customer would aim for. Not least Timi, the black cat of an English couple, who appeared when the couple was coming for dinner and sought to be caressed on that very wall. The man chatting with Christine was coming every weekend and every holidays, as soon as he could, to his family house to enjoy the serene beauty of the spot and escape the madness from the Riviera where he was working.
We continued our journey following the path of the Verdon river towards the town of Castellane. To do so we climbed the hill overlooking Rougon to reach a valley in serpentine that had been carved by the river. We had picnic in front of a small chapel dedicated to Saint John, that had been renovated by a group of villagers from the area. The bird-eye view improved substantially the taste of our food. The sky was dramatic with dark clouds on the horizon. We discovered Castellane from a distance laying at the feet of a rock, 185 meters tall, on which a chapel with a Virgin Mary holding her son in the arms dominates the whole area. It was built around the time when the Moors attacked the region at the beginning of the 9th century and destroyed the settlement of Salines. Its inhabitants took refuge on the rock of the Chapel. The name Salines comes from the proximity of salt deposits that have been mined since the time of Antiquity.
In the Middle-Age, Castellane earned a tax on transhumance: every cattle crossing the Verdon on their journey from the lower flatlands to the alpine pastures attracted a fee. Crafts were important in the subsequent centuries with faience and textile. The city went through a lot of turbulence from both religious and territorial origin.
Nowadays Castellane has earned itself a reputation for rafting on the Verdon. Many camping on the outskirts of the city are thriving on it. Regularly, water is released from the Castillon lake, a few kilometres ahead, based on the amount of water received from snow melting in the surrounding peaks. This year it snowed a lot, increasing the amount of water to run into the Verdon. It is apparently in the Castillon lake that the Verdon gets its green colour - we were told that the colour comes from a particular algae.
One thing was obvious in Castellane, summer was in the air, it was teeming hot during the day and holiday-makers were enjoying wearing as little clothes as possible. Flip flops, a mini short and a t-shirt was more than sufficient to go for dinner. It was a similar flair as in Moustiers but I felt Castellane was matching the summertime demand better because, besides restaurant and bars, 80% of shops were offering summer clothes. The town is pretty with its squares enjoying the shade of plane trees.
We approached the gorges from Moustiers Sainte-Marie, going up to the Ourbes pass with a superb view on the Sainte-Croix lake and large lavender fields on the plateau West of the lake. From there we left a forest of fir to descend towards La Palud sur Verdon, a small village located in an altitude valley nearest to the gorges. On the way down, along a path that was stony, absolutely narrow and steep we came across two motorcycles. The guys riding them were wearing integral suits. Not an inch of skin was visible. They were, mercifully, in control of their machines and stopped their engine for us to pass. Obviously they were doing it without permission. We slept in a place called "Perroquet Vert" and run by a rock-climbing couple who came many years ago to La Palud because of rock-climbing and because of the wild beauty of the place.
We actually started the Blanc-Martel path from the refuge of La Malîne, it is one of those chalets dedicated to the purpose of supporting people to explore more remote parts of a national park. It is a hostel with dormitories, built exceptionally in a location where it would not be authorized to do so. The team running it is usually composed of people passionate about the environment to which they dedicate a large part of their life. It happened that some of them would be run by couples with children - probably just over the holidays.
From La Malîne, a path leads all the way down to the riverside. From there, a bridge enables to cross the river to join the path of Imbut which is the most remote part of the gorges. But it is also the beginning of the Blanc-Martel path which we followed all the way to a breathtakingly beautiful spot called simply "le point sublime", the sublime spot. It is were the gorges open dramatically in a narrow V-shape. Along the way, la brèche Imbert is another fantastic place were a two-hundred-fifty-two steps iron staircase has been built in a rock crevice to descend one hundred metres lower along the cliff.
We were really happy to gulp down a liter and a half of water in a café at the point sublime before continuing upwards to Rougon, a tiny village overlooking the entrance of the gorges. The Miel et Abeilles crêperie was where we hired a room for the night, in an old house next to the crêperie which had a garden/terrace with an amazing panoramic view that had a glueing effect on us. Actually locals came very late for dinner, allegedly to avoid the heat. The village had another place with rooms and food, that was also a grocery. In the morning we had breakfast at the same spot as we had had dinner. The owner, Christine, was chatting with a man, both of them sitting on the little stone wall that averted from falling into the precipice behind. It seemed to be the place every regular customer would aim for. Not least Timi, the black cat of an English couple, who appeared when the couple was coming for dinner and sought to be caressed on that very wall. The man chatting with Christine was coming every weekend and every holidays, as soon as he could, to his family house to enjoy the serene beauty of the spot and escape the madness from the Riviera where he was working.
We continued our journey following the path of the Verdon river towards the town of Castellane. To do so we climbed the hill overlooking Rougon to reach a valley in serpentine that had been carved by the river. We had picnic in front of a small chapel dedicated to Saint John, that had been renovated by a group of villagers from the area. The bird-eye view improved substantially the taste of our food. The sky was dramatic with dark clouds on the horizon. We discovered Castellane from a distance laying at the feet of a rock, 185 meters tall, on which a chapel with a Virgin Mary holding her son in the arms dominates the whole area. It was built around the time when the Moors attacked the region at the beginning of the 9th century and destroyed the settlement of Salines. Its inhabitants took refuge on the rock of the Chapel. The name Salines comes from the proximity of salt deposits that have been mined since the time of Antiquity.
In the Middle-Age, Castellane earned a tax on transhumance: every cattle crossing the Verdon on their journey from the lower flatlands to the alpine pastures attracted a fee. Crafts were important in the subsequent centuries with faience and textile. The city went through a lot of turbulence from both religious and territorial origin.
Nowadays Castellane has earned itself a reputation for rafting on the Verdon. Many camping on the outskirts of the city are thriving on it. Regularly, water is released from the Castillon lake, a few kilometres ahead, based on the amount of water received from snow melting in the surrounding peaks. This year it snowed a lot, increasing the amount of water to run into the Verdon. It is apparently in the Castillon lake that the Verdon gets its green colour - we were told that the colour comes from a particular algae.
One thing was obvious in Castellane, summer was in the air, it was teeming hot during the day and holiday-makers were enjoying wearing as little clothes as possible. Flip flops, a mini short and a t-shirt was more than sufficient to go for dinner. It was a similar flair as in Moustiers but I felt Castellane was matching the summertime demand better because, besides restaurant and bars, 80% of shops were offering summer clothes. The town is pretty with its squares enjoying the shade of plane trees.
The walk from Castellane to Soleilhas took us five hours mostly uphill except for the last kilometre to descend from the pass to the small plain where Solheilas is nested. By now, our legs are much less sensitive to going up and down. We did not stop too much along the way, only to admire the countless yellow and pink flowers. We weren't sure what to expect of Soleilhas, except that it had an Auberge (restaurant and hotel) which we thought would be decent because it was affiliated, or had been affiliated up to recently to the "Logis de France" quality label. We had also read that there might be a grocery store. In a nutshell, it looked like a village well alive. We entered through the long road that traverses it, and saw the grocery store which was closed. On the city hall notice board, it was announced that the grocery store would officially open on March 29th, 2018 so we were confident that the grocery business existed. On the door of the grocery store, the opening hours were given except for Monday, and we were a Monday. Would we find it open in the afternoon? The neighbour opposite the grocery store wouldn't know but said we should try coming after 4 PM.
We made our way through the village in search of the Auberge which we soon found on the other side of the river. Next to the door was a signboard "open". The door was actually materialized by a curtain of colourful strings hanging one against the other to keep flies outside. It was, if I remember well, representing a tropical scene, very unlike Solheilas. As we were about to enter through the curtain, the owner rushed forward to open it, saying that the curtain didn't like backpacks because the strings would entangle themselves in them and the whole thing would break or collapse. The risk of involuntary destruction had therefore swiftly been avoided! We checked-in and ordered lunch in the garden. Coffee was served inside as a storm was making its way forward with large drops of rain.
Around 6pm, after a well deserved siesta, the storm had moved on and we decided to go for a round in the village to check on the grocery store. We were happily surprised to see a small group of people seating on the store's stone steps, smoking cigarettes. The shop's selection was impressive albeit the vegetables. We could at least stock-up for the next day's picnic. The grocer, a lady in her late fifties had recently moved to Soleilhas. She wore a large orange cotton dress revealing a large but manicured tattoo on her left shoulder. She had long hair hold together by a piece of cloth, clear eyes and a nice tan. Her features and body language expressed general appeasement, but also indicated that she had led a completely different life before. It was obvious that grocery was new to her. She was overwhelmed with giving back change. I was rattled at her business survival prospect in the village. The next morning we saw her smoking in front of her shop in a white lace dress enjoying the morning sun.
Off we were, taking advantage of the shade to climb up the hills south of Solheilas. Sweat was nonetheless inevitable as temperature rose quickly. Flowers were made translucent by sun rays and still sparkling from morning dew. It was another glorious morning. We stayed at a relatively high altitude going through forests before plunging into a water stream gully towards La Sagne, a small village at mid height of the hill slope. We crossed the water stream and continued with a steep climb under the hot sun towards the hamlet. Sweat tasted salty. On the hill above La Sagne the landscape changed a bit with pine trees and bush. Ubraye was revealed through an opening in the foliage, surrounded by rocky mountains. It looked perched on a small hill in the valley of the Bernade river. We had picnic on a bench, in the shade of the sole tree in front of the church, and contemplated the rocky landscape as we munched in silence.
Kids came rushing past in bathing suits, all wet, carrying water guns. So did the grand-father armed with a larger model. They soon ran back in the opposite direction to replenish their guns with water from the village fountain, as we later figured out when we went there to fill-up our water pouches. It was really a hot day. The village didn't have any shops, only family houses, most of which belonging to local families who use them for weekends and holidays. It was lunchtime and, as we resumed our journey, we saw two elderly men sitting in reclining chairs waiting, with a glass of pastis in hand, for their wives to finish preparing lunch and setting up the table on the terrace. Another climb was ahead of us to reach the top of the hill overlooking Saint Jean le Désert, a peculiar settlement with a chapel dedicated to Saint John that monks visit twice a year for a pilgrimage. The place has a shelter for travellers. We were now heading downhill towards Le Plan d'Entrevaux where we would spend the night in a private home. We were delighted to find a water stream we could drink from. We noticed the first cicada to its strident stringing work as we moved below 950 meters of altitude. I picked-up a few leaves of fresh thyme to munch. A very good way to forget thirst with a nice taste. Plan d'Entrevaux is located at the bottom of the Var valley which runs all the way down to Nice. It is an extension of the medieval village of Entrevaux which is built against a rock directly overlooking the river. It can be accessed through a drawbridge. The village has been fortified by Vauban and was key in the defence of Nice because of its strategic geographical location. It allowed to control the whole valley.
Initially we thought we would be able to walk along the Var to reach Villars sur Var, but there was only the main road to walk along and the parallel walking path didn't have either accommodation nor food supply, so we decided to take the train and ended-up in a bus because the train line was under maintenance. Things happen. From there started our longest and most challenging day of the journey. Between the heat, the intensity of the light, the steep nature of the terrain, we sweated so much that we had to drink abundantly and accordingly replenish our water supply every time we could. We arrived in Villars around 10.30AM after walking up from the bus stop to the old village, whose square was buzzing with morning coffee drinkers commenting the latest news. We left Villars to go towards Massoins, but a bridge had collapsed and consequently forced us to follow the road instead. Massoins was gearing up for lunch time, with the village restaurant getting their outside tables ready. A few French flags were floating in front of some of the houses as a sign of support for France at the soccer World Cup. More ups and downs took us to Tournefort where we took refuge in the children's park within a wooden hut to have picnic in the shade. We were overlooking the deep Tinée river valley which we needed to cross to continue towards La Tour sur Tinée. We had already climbed quite a bit of the opposite hillside when the path disappeared for fifty meters in a scree. A storm was brewing above Tournefort, large dark clouds had accumulated and the wind was cool. What shall we do then? Attempt to cross? No, we thought it too risky. Turn back and use the road a few kilometres away? That seemed like the only reasonable option even if that added another ten kilometres to the journey. So we did and did not regret it. A few kilometres before La Tour a man was kind enough to take us in his car. He was living in La Tour and commuting everyday to Nice. La Tour is perched at the top of hill with steep cobbled streets. The village square had flair with its colourful facades, the church and the yellow neoclassical city hall decorated with stucco in form of roman columns and window frames.
It was now time to think about how to get into the Alps.
Around 6pm, after a well deserved siesta, the storm had moved on and we decided to go for a round in the village to check on the grocery store. We were happily surprised to see a small group of people seating on the store's stone steps, smoking cigarettes. The shop's selection was impressive albeit the vegetables. We could at least stock-up for the next day's picnic. The grocer, a lady in her late fifties had recently moved to Soleilhas. She wore a large orange cotton dress revealing a large but manicured tattoo on her left shoulder. She had long hair hold together by a piece of cloth, clear eyes and a nice tan. Her features and body language expressed general appeasement, but also indicated that she had led a completely different life before. It was obvious that grocery was new to her. She was overwhelmed with giving back change. I was rattled at her business survival prospect in the village. The next morning we saw her smoking in front of her shop in a white lace dress enjoying the morning sun.
Off we were, taking advantage of the shade to climb up the hills south of Solheilas. Sweat was nonetheless inevitable as temperature rose quickly. Flowers were made translucent by sun rays and still sparkling from morning dew. It was another glorious morning. We stayed at a relatively high altitude going through forests before plunging into a water stream gully towards La Sagne, a small village at mid height of the hill slope. We crossed the water stream and continued with a steep climb under the hot sun towards the hamlet. Sweat tasted salty. On the hill above La Sagne the landscape changed a bit with pine trees and bush. Ubraye was revealed through an opening in the foliage, surrounded by rocky mountains. It looked perched on a small hill in the valley of the Bernade river. We had picnic on a bench, in the shade of the sole tree in front of the church, and contemplated the rocky landscape as we munched in silence.
Kids came rushing past in bathing suits, all wet, carrying water guns. So did the grand-father armed with a larger model. They soon ran back in the opposite direction to replenish their guns with water from the village fountain, as we later figured out when we went there to fill-up our water pouches. It was really a hot day. The village didn't have any shops, only family houses, most of which belonging to local families who use them for weekends and holidays. It was lunchtime and, as we resumed our journey, we saw two elderly men sitting in reclining chairs waiting, with a glass of pastis in hand, for their wives to finish preparing lunch and setting up the table on the terrace. Another climb was ahead of us to reach the top of the hill overlooking Saint Jean le Désert, a peculiar settlement with a chapel dedicated to Saint John that monks visit twice a year for a pilgrimage. The place has a shelter for travellers. We were now heading downhill towards Le Plan d'Entrevaux where we would spend the night in a private home. We were delighted to find a water stream we could drink from. We noticed the first cicada to its strident stringing work as we moved below 950 meters of altitude. I picked-up a few leaves of fresh thyme to munch. A very good way to forget thirst with a nice taste. Plan d'Entrevaux is located at the bottom of the Var valley which runs all the way down to Nice. It is an extension of the medieval village of Entrevaux which is built against a rock directly overlooking the river. It can be accessed through a drawbridge. The village has been fortified by Vauban and was key in the defence of Nice because of its strategic geographical location. It allowed to control the whole valley.
Initially we thought we would be able to walk along the Var to reach Villars sur Var, but there was only the main road to walk along and the parallel walking path didn't have either accommodation nor food supply, so we decided to take the train and ended-up in a bus because the train line was under maintenance. Things happen. From there started our longest and most challenging day of the journey. Between the heat, the intensity of the light, the steep nature of the terrain, we sweated so much that we had to drink abundantly and accordingly replenish our water supply every time we could. We arrived in Villars around 10.30AM after walking up from the bus stop to the old village, whose square was buzzing with morning coffee drinkers commenting the latest news. We left Villars to go towards Massoins, but a bridge had collapsed and consequently forced us to follow the road instead. Massoins was gearing up for lunch time, with the village restaurant getting their outside tables ready. A few French flags were floating in front of some of the houses as a sign of support for France at the soccer World Cup. More ups and downs took us to Tournefort where we took refuge in the children's park within a wooden hut to have picnic in the shade. We were overlooking the deep Tinée river valley which we needed to cross to continue towards La Tour sur Tinée. We had already climbed quite a bit of the opposite hillside when the path disappeared for fifty meters in a scree. A storm was brewing above Tournefort, large dark clouds had accumulated and the wind was cool. What shall we do then? Attempt to cross? No, we thought it too risky. Turn back and use the road a few kilometres away? That seemed like the only reasonable option even if that added another ten kilometres to the journey. So we did and did not regret it. A few kilometres before La Tour a man was kind enough to take us in his car. He was living in La Tour and commuting everyday to Nice. La Tour is perched at the top of hill with steep cobbled streets. The village square had flair with its colourful facades, the church and the yellow neoclassical city hall decorated with stucco in form of roman columns and window frames.
It was now time to think about how to get into the Alps.
Images:
1/ The V shape of Verdon gorges
2/ Rougon: Christine's breakfast
3/ Castellane: the rock
4/ Solheilas
1/ The V shape of Verdon gorges
2/ Rougon: Christine's breakfast
3/ Castellane: the rock
4/ Solheilas
5/ Entrevaux
6/ La Tour sur Tinée
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| Rougon, Christine's breakfast |
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| the rock of Castellane |
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| Solheilhas |
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| Entrevaux |
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| La Tour sur Tinée |
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