Le Marché

The market at L’Isle-sur-le-Sorgue is known for its antiquities.  This lovely town attracts antique hunters from far and wide, and on Sundays, along with the antiques are sold all manner of other items—fabrics, food, spices, toys, bag—all amid the waterwheels and contained mostly on the island in the center of the town.  The crowds were thick but civilized.  And we covered a lot of territory, picking up “des nappes” (tablecloths) and a purse.  I have a thing for woven bags and have, so far, resisted the urge as there are many of these in our spare bedroom at home that I use now and again.  Oh, but it’s so tempting.  I see a few that are just different enough from the ones I already have.  I am committed to being strong.  

We enjoyed a coffee where we sat inside at the window in order to accommodate the three of us without the discomfort of wending our way with backpack and packages through other tightly-packed tables on the plaza.  We wanted to visit the church, which we attempted to visit a few days ago; but, it being Sunday, there was a mass going on—as there was the last time.  L’Isle-sur-le-Sorgue is either very Catholic or our timing is really bad.    

We waited around to be seated at a table on the river at a restaurant called Bellevue, sure as time passed that others were being seated though they had arrived after us.  Though the maitre d’ was cordial, the waiter wasn’t so much.  After we were finally seated and observed the couple next to us—seated at the same time despite their later arrival—served, we finally gave up and left, telling the waiter and maitre d’ that we had waited too long for any service.  It was not a stellar moment, though such things happen everywhere.

Instead, we drove to Cavaillon to, if you don’t mind, Flunch.  For those of you who consider such a choice just too bourgeois—or perhaps plebian, oh well.  But we were able to eat quickly and easily and enjoyed WiFi besides.  With the help of one of the staff who was most generous with her time,  I gained full access to my e-mail and the internet in order to check communication with family and friends and to download the Nikon d80 manual as things are not working as swimmingly as I’d like in the digital arena.

We drove back toward Lagnes through Fontaine-de-Vaucluse and found it too crowded to stop.   But it’s so close to Lagnes, we can return at a more convenient and less crowded time to hike to the source of Le Sorgue and wander through the town.   

Back to the house for a bit before  Phil and I drove to a nearby golf course in the direction of Fontaine-de-Vaucluse while Cindy took a walk along the canal beside the house.  We agreed to meet for coffee in Lagnes’ center.  

Cindy arrived before we did and took a walk around the old chateau at the top of the hill upon recommendation of an elderly gentleman who spoke no English.  He knew his hand signals, however, and Cindy understood the meaning and enjoyed the walk, meeting us at the café.  After a libation, we joined her on a stroll back up to the ruin and met up with the same gentlemen with sun-browned skin and an enormous smile.  He invited us to see the bories near his house, which Cindy had already photographed.  Little stone hives lining the outside of his house and across the path at the base of the chateau—all doubtless fashioned by him.  The view from the path was wonderful—across the valley through the clear autumn air.

Lagnes is not in the guidebooks, so I don’t have much to say about it.  But it’s quaint and compact with few amenities, but just enough for comfort.  And it is close to other towns that have more plentiful services.  So to any readers interested in the area who arrive by car, I highly recommend it.