This is the lovely Anais. Fifteen years ago, when I first discovered Provence on my sabbatical year, Anais was my French teacher…and she was excellent at her job. Now, she’s my dear friend and a tourist guide around Les Apilles, which she’s also top notch at. A woman of the earth, Anais knows everything about flora, fauna and nature in general; being in her company is always super interesting and even a comfortabe walk, such as the one she took me on this morning, is an education in itself, although we must always speak French!

We parked opposite this field. It’s unusual to see cows in Provence, I remark. They’re bulls, she corrects me. It’s a farm that raises bulls for leisure (not so leisurely for the bulls), and for eating (even less enjoyable for those guys). I knew that…just testing.

And we’re off, traipsing around vineyards that produce award-winning wine at the foot of the Alpilles. Beaucoup des brownie points for providing a view. I know you don’t like hill walking, she says, so I thought of a walk that woud be flat for you. She’s so kind: will you be ok in those shoes, she asks, inspecting my Clarkes sandals which allow an appealing view of the toes Madame painted the other day? It’s all I have, I tell her. I could mention that I also possess a pair of flip flops, but who knows what that translates as so I keep this information to myself. Anais tells me about the wine and I tell her that, when I’m here, I only buy wine that’s been awarded a medal by some committee or other, and has been bottled by the proprietor of some joint or other. The former condition is pure snobbery on my part; the latter is something I learned some years ago – if it’s not made where the grape is grown, then it’s a mixture.

This is the Northern Canal of the Alpilles. It’s not overly attractive and there’s some tricky footwork to be undertaken in navigation, but it’s nice to see water. Apparently, it’s covered in dragonflies in the spring and the locals used to swim in the water when the summer heat became overbearing. I’m appalled at this news, feeling it doesn’t look too inviting. The practice went on for years until a dreadful accident occurred whereby a small child was sucked into one of the underwater absorbers. No-one swims there now.

This may look like nothing much to you, but the churned up ground shows where wild boar have been roaming. Anais says there are two creatures around here which frighten her: boars and hornets. I recount a story whereby, many years ago, Beverley and I had taken her dog, Hugo, for a walk around the glider aerodrome which is close to hand, and had been chased by a swarm of hornets. Glider is a new word for Anais and she duly locks it away in her brain for another day. Are there wolves here, I ask? Bien sur, my guide replies. And eagles; sometimes, it’s possible to see the eagles flying alongside the gliders. Be fair, this is another world n’est-ce pas?

Now, we’re wandering through ancient olives, always with the little mountains in the background. In another weasel, I wrote about Jean Moulin who parachuted into the Alpilles here in order to try to contain the various and disparate groups of men and women fighting in the Resistance during WW2; and who was tortured and murdered for his troubles. Today, whilst turmoil continues in the wider world, it’s hard to reconcile those times with the peacefulness here, broken ony by the noise of a solitary tractor trimming the overgrowth on the side of the canal.

Eventually, we arrive at the Chapel of Romanin which, despite being rather large, is completely hidden from roads, tracks and paths; we’ve had to take an unmarked path across the olive groves to reach our destination. The base was built in the twelfth century and the rest of it has been added to and dismantled over the years. We can’t gain entry but, brushing the foliage aside, it’s possible to see the interior which, in the French tradition, is covered in graffiti. Why do they always do that I ask? Anais has no answer but explains that this is why all the beautiful chapels are rarely open to the public. It makes me sad.

But llittle else about this walk has disheartened me. It’s the end of October and way back we discarded our coats in the warmth of the sunshine. Yet again, my French has improved, almost by chance, and I consider myself so lucky to have a friend who gives everything for the enjoyment of others.