Our last day, we took a stroll around Aix en Provence before grabbing a bite at Maison Nosh for the final time and beginning our journey to Les Gorges du Verdon, referred to by many as Europe's Grand Canyon.
Much like the drive from Marseille to Cassis, the route was a visual feast, and therefore it took us forever to reach our destination. We were taking our time with the lavender fields, the mountainous terrain, and Lake Sainte Croix, stopping frequently to step out of the car and take photos.
Our third day reinforced what we learned the previous two--three days just isn't enough time even with the smaller itinerary we created. If we were to do it again, we would stay overnight near Les Gorges du Verdon, so we would have an entire day to devote to it.
Once we got closer to the canyon, we had to make a decision--did we want to take the northern or the southern route, the northern route being the more unnerving of the two with steep drops and no guard rails.
As I was already queasy from the long drive, we chose to meander along the southern route and while the road itself was less intimidating what opened up before us was anything but.
I felt as inconsequential as dust.
I stood before the work of gods. Not my God. But the kind that have, for a long while, been extinct, the pagan ones you read about in stories, in mythology--fickle, erotic, wine-loving, jealous types. The sky changed too quickly from a steady river blue to a gun-powder red. And the long, empty road became more pronounced along the cascading canyon-side.
I suppose, with travel, there is always an uneasiness, a tendency to trip and fall into the larger thing, to be overwhelmed by it. The universe seems less stable, less predictable than it does when you decide to just stay at home. You can't rely on the same rules, the familiar roads, your old pair of eyes. Much like your socks, everything ends up with holes.
And you realize, just how much light there is and how it has been waiting all this time to pour through.
We were not completely alone. A clunky, familial motorhome came rambling down the road, carrying an older couple who stopped just paces from our own feet to flash great, wall-demolishing grins and talkative eyes.
