I’m walking the Via Domitia. Well, not all of it. That would be silly, not to say overly ambitious as its 778k long. It was the first Roman road linking Italy and Spain by means of Southern France. Don’t start all that ‘what did the Romans ever do for us’ business though: they didn’t construct it, but merely paved the mythic route traversed by Heracles. If you like.

My journey begins at the antiquities of St Remy de Provence where parking charges don’t allow for anything under 24 hours. Could be a long stretch with one small bottle of water and no snacks to hand. Long time Donald followers might recall that the mausoleum and triumphal arch beckoned entry to Glanum: a relatively recently discovered Roman city that time had forgotten, to the extent that passers-by might have wondered what their purpose was.

At the top of the blog is a picture of a donkey in the olive groves which I took more years ago than I can remember. Today I took the opposite way, through other olive trees to catch a different perspective of St Paul Mausole where Van Gogh was holed up after the debacle down in Arles. The other snap shows part of the little mountains of Les Alpilles that he was so fond of capturing.

It’s practically autumn. The deafening chatter of the summer cicadas has been silenced. Where does a cicada go after summer? Some say they burrow deep into the earth where it’s warmer; others claim they die within the first two years of life. Whatever the truth, today they’ve been replaced by innefectual grasshoppers making the most of dry grasses and, on this random patch of unwanted plums, by one or two enormous wasps gorging themselves to the point of drunken oblivion.

Not sure these snaps require explanation and you’re out of luck if you want me to tell you what the plants are. I’m just trying to give you a feel of the walk and the little tracks I took along the way. It wasn’t a huge yomp, but it always takes me ages as I like to look and take in what’s on offer.

Further along the way, and I’m out in the open now on the foothills of Les Alpilles with spectacular views of La Montagnette and Mount Ventoux. The latter is famous in the wider world for being a particularly high point up which sturdy cyclists in the Tour de France sometimes wander. In the past, those on bicycles weren’t so healthy; often stopping for a quick cognac to wash down their amphetimines, thus giving a different understanding to the concept of speed. I’m actually above the Domaine de Metifiot which is looking splendid in the midday sun. Look at this fellow:

My journey continues past all sorts of interesting features. This has to be the absolutely best time of year for walking in Provence: the temperature is around 25C, so manageable. The skies are as clear as is possible. All is at peace in my little world. And you wonder why I’ve been returning to the paradise I discovered 16 years ago?

Coda: reader, I’m sorry the photos are so large. I’m only ever inspired to post on my blog when in Provence and always forget how things work. Still, hope you enjoy my ramblings.