I NEED TO RECORD RIGHT NOW the principle features of our stay this autumn (it is 2026) because it was spiritually very different from previous sojourns in the Vaucluse area and because the context of the time spent in PACA84 was so different, far more so than we anticipated beforehand I think. You see, when you are coming down here to your own gaff, you do so with a modicum of trepidation, tempered by the instincts associated with returning to your bit of the scene. Which is joyful.
Trepidation because, well how many roof tiles might have been dislodged by inclement weather in our absence sort of thing, and where will the wall salts have got to, did the terrace drain stay clear of leaves, who is parking in our bailiwick?
Obviously, all that has fallen away, no longer issues, not our problem, phew. Here’s the thing though: these aspects of our association may no longer register with us now but with that relief has comes a void, and a sort of unearthly feeling of looking in on to where we were from outside somewhere. In short, unsettling displacement, back to being just visitors, no longer intertwined with the community of which we were so recently a part (or so we felt – and were accepted as such). Damn it, we paid taxes.
So that is a big part of why, although we went to see the Germans and the Danes while they were in Sablet, we did not visit the village specifically. Neither did we find it possible to call on the good people who were our neighbours there, something I regret a bit but as the dumb-no-speaky-French, without much chance of deviating from this situation, largely Mme Melling’s decision and which I respect entirely – because I understand the discomfiture she feels about our changed status. In fact I largely share it.
So we weren’t hanging around Sablet. So what did we do with our four weeks?
One thing we did was close our Banque Postale banking and savings accounts. Four visits to the office in Vaison that was, honestly a charade. All falling on Mme Melling’s shoulders of course, she being my Minister for Finance in Fr. She spat tacks, wrung her hands in frustration, tried to provide compliant paperwork that our own banks in Blightey just don’t produce anymore, copies of passports, brain scans and collar sizes, etc etc. But she won through: we no longer have financial assets in the République: we no longer pay out for that singular priv. But we did end up with rather a lot of €50 notes, most of which we found uses for as our four week stop trickled away. While all this was going on, operatives took the roof off the post office building, did something, then put the roof back on again. Mme Melling took a pictoral note: (see above). The account closing process didn't fully end until we were back in the motherland!
And of course we were billeted in Villedieu, a village we are fond of and which might have ended up being where we bought our Fr pad, if such a thing had been on offer when we were looking… Our last gasp, after locking and leaving 1rueFB in November 2025 was the Villedieu Café du Centre…we return to the friendly and welcoming C-du-Centre, are greeted with pleasure and the handshake of association at our return, we eat there and generally show up to refresh on fairly regular occasions. The setting under the trees, around the fountain is just about our favourite café and but a step from our accommodation. Tick! I vote it café of the year yet again, at least in Vaucluse – although Jean-Claude’s idea of a grand crême is somewhat at variance with ours, it’s the so called foamy ‘milk’ [long life] that ruins the bev. Choose something else I beseech you. Or be specific: ask for a double expresso with lait très chaud, that might do it.
Inevitably, I think in retrospect we could not avoid some echoes of a farewell tour. We hope to be in these environs again next year but are not sure what the context of that visit may be. Mme Melling likens our return to this patch of Vaucluse and Drôme as ‘coming home'. I know entirely what she means but I can’t quite couch it in those terms. But if I now report here what we did this autumn it will come out a bit like, a lot like, what we did in 2025, when the writing (concerning 1rueFB) was going up on the wall.
So, just for the record then – but don’t expect anything particularly original in this post (no change there then–ed), probably the last of its kind. This will just comprise of my daily notes with pictures for the most part – so you can stop right here and go-give the oven a good going-over instead…reading on will get you no further on, of that you can be sure…
OK well we certainly went up to Durban and into the domaine vines thereat, because it is so singular up there, where, yes we'd both liked to have lived for a spell. Without a doubt. And we first came up this road, possibly on foot, in spring 1990. When we were holidaying in Bédoin. St Hilaire, the chapel on the ridge overlooking Beaumes-de-Venise and across to Durban was still just a ruin, now of course a fully restored building. This time we walked a bit and simply stared, listened, breathed it in. We missed out on St Hilaire lest it proved my undoing. (I don't think terroir should have an 'e' on it on either the snaps herewith but I've reached that pointe………)
The Durban upper vineyards under the gaze of the Dentelles: probably my top area. We had it to ourselves, a privilege. And never tasted a drop of the wine from up here, we priced it once… It is in the Beaumes-de-Venise spectrum of fine wines. oh well, there you go. Incidentally, the group of buildings just left of mid-field (above), is not Durban, but a development of the farm seen in the 1990 snap that has been evolving most of the last ten years. Very nice too, if you've got it, them folks must have so why not live up here? We only came by once this autumn, more's the pity. But this is the place (below), A bit further up and below the road (down a track) … as I often say, we'll take it, we'll take it (but it seems to be taken, long term, ah me, too late too late …)
Oh dear! What is this? It looks like… yes it is……
S T U M P S
We've been looking back at the views we have had, where we have felt at home and where we are no longer at. The views are as familiar, as refreshing as ever, the places and things as intriguing – but we have relinquished our ownership of them.
Now we recall them as visitors again. Tis a pity.
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