At the top of one of many hills we found a rather uninspiring looking campground with the rather appealing name of arc en ciel. Do we, currently homeless, grab this opportunity or do we risk the unknown as the day gets old?

We took the uncertain road beyond and I’m glad we did. Ochre coloured buildings and rolling lavender fields lay on the otherside of the hill, the Provence I had been seeking. Of course everyone else was too, and I was able to crop tourists out of my memories much more efficiently than Dylan. I marvelled at the ocean of purple ahead whilst he raged at the disrespect of tourists climbing the fence and running about someone’s livelihood. These marvels aside, our decision lead us finally to the best campground we had ever stayed in. A pool, a campsite by the river and a lovely owner who gave us a bowl of free plums from his tree to eat while inside Frenchmen roared as they watched the world cup semi finals. After such a long day this hodgepodge of tents and campers, packed with Germans and their lapdogs was an Eden.

The next day we made our way towards Avignon, our exit point from Provence and for me the end of our journey. The Alpes would be a moment of reflection whilst Dylan ran and then we would be working on Le Tour and it would all be over. Until then my eyes feasted on a country that was only echoes back home.