Finding Monsters in Beaucaire and Tarascon
Beaucaire and Tarascon. French towns on either side of the Rhone that are similar in some ways and very different in others… […]
Beaucaire and Tarascon. French towns on either side of the Rhone that are similar in some ways and very different in others… […]
Without hesitation, a small, round parcel of chestnut leaves tied with raffia was placed in our hands and we were told to give it just the gentlest of squeezes. The sides yielded effortlessly with a squidgy promise of runny insides. […]
Aux Deux Anges sits on a pretty little square behind the main street in Forcalquier. It has an appealing chocolate box frontage and an atmosphere of warm… […]
Tarascon Castle is a grand example. It still looks impenetrable, towering above the Rhone to keep a watchful eye on its neighbour and rival, Beaucaire… […]
with a hot air balloon sailing across a golden, early morning landscape of foot friendly hills and dales we set off on a lavender trail. […]
Le Terminus is clearly a Sunday lunch venue for locals and we were surrounded by couples, friends and families. The couple with the dog next to us chatted to us… […]
By the time the amuse-bouche (a complimentary appetiser) arrived we had adjusted to the MEO scene and were more relaxed, helped by a pastis aperitif… […]
The old centre of Arles is relatively compact, subsequently it’s easy to get round nearly all the highlights on foot in a day.
These are our pick of the things to see […]
Le Bistrot de Pierrerue is located in the tiny village of Pierrerue just outside of Forcalquier in Provence. It’s a Bistro de Pays, a type of high quality village pub. […]
Passionate about the land, the grapes, the flora and fauna that make up her patch of Heaven on earth, Anne’s enthusiasm for what she and Françoise are trying to do here is contagious. […]
I am a figure on a Monet canvas, my world exists at the whim of the Master’s brush. To my left lie the water lilies, their violet and sapphire hues flooding the room as the walls, floor and ceiling rush in a tide of brush strokes and crescendo to the sound of Debussy’s Clair de Lune. […]
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