Chapter 3

“Another day in paradise, huh Timbo?” is what Bret said to me as soon as we hit the trail yesterday at about 9:38am, give or take a few minutes. We wereleaving Beaumes-de-Ville headed for Carpentras and it was our earliest start yet. Back in Amsterdam I had bought a flask and just the night before I was saying we should pick up some Cognac for so we’re not carrying the flask around for nothing. Just like that, Bret produced the first bottle of Cognac of the trip. We decided to take a swig off it just because we could and we had nothing to do but walk, but those tiny swigs add up and by the time we reached Carpentras we had finished off the bottle (in our defense it was a small bottle and not too long of a walk).

The day’s walk took us along a canal for about 10 kilometers. It was beautiful and flat and we made a rule that we can only drink on the trail if we are beside a canal. Drinking and climbing mountain passes is probably counter-productive we agreed. As usual, we were walking along olive groves, vineyards, over railroad tracks where the canal became an aqueduct, and all the while wisps of happy cottony clouds reminiscent of Bob Ross brush strokes filled the sky. Maybe the clouds weren’ t happy; maybe it was our heads swimming in Cognac. Because of the intense beauty, sights, sounds, and scentshere in Provence, it is almost impossible not to be present and in the moment.

When we reached town, we found a park to eat our lunch of bread, cheese, fruit, and a chestnut spread we bought because it looked interesting. I never know what I am ordering on a menu herebut I haven’t gone wrong yet. If something has “Provence” in the title, I usually get that. After lunch we headed to our campsite and for the first time since we have been on the road, we chilled out for the afternoon.

That night I headed into town to find an Internet cafe but couldn’t find one so I just walked around and eventually met up with Bret. We wanted to go to a Pizzeria where we could sit outside. Turns out the one we chose would not let us sit outside because of the Mistral and they weren’t serving Pizza. The waiter gave us a look which got Bret fired up. Bret wanted to interview him and let him have it, but as it turned out, it was merely a communication breakdown and we had one of our best meals yet. The waiter spoke broken English and we asked him what he was doing in Carpentras. He told us he got lost here. I thought that was interesting because Bret and I are having the time of our lives and in a sensefinding ourselves, and here isthis guy is who just wound up here one day. It made me think life is very much like the GR4 trail we have been following throughout the wine region. You have to keep your eyes open on the road for the trail markers, however sometimes you lose the trail and get lost for a while.

We finished dinner with a Cognac and found our way to a free concert where we did some pretty good candid filming. After that we did some more filming at a carnival full of agressive young teenagers. I was doing most of the filming just holding it in different places so it didn’t look like we were filming. We are getting more and more bold in our filming and learning new things every day. Walking through the crowd of a familiar carnival scene, except foreign because it was in France, Bret said, “This is a pretty crazy game we’re playing, huh Timbo?” refering to the filming.Many statements Bret makes ends with, “huh Timbo?” or “know what I mean?” It is as if he is looking for reassurance and yet he isn’t. He is a pro at this traveling thing and truly an independant character.

When we finally reached the campsite, we were locked out, along with two Dutch couples. They were not as much fun as some of the other Dutch we have met, or maybe they were just tired. Bret and I thought it was pretty funny and were cracking jokes the whole time. It wasn’t as if we could even climb over the fence because it had barbed wire running along the top. “It’s like we’re at a refuge camp,” Bret said. This did actually get the Dutch folks to break out laughing even though some of them were trying to contain it.

I’m pretty sure people think we are insane just walking from town to town. Then when we are at camp, every one is curiously observing us. Perhaps the funniest thing is when we are cruising around our camp at night with our headlamps on. No one seems to have these so we look like U.S. soldiers in Iraq about to storm the bathroom. We met one couple in their mid-50s the night before at a wine tasting who took a liking to us and wanted to see all of our gear. “How cozy your little tents are!” Jane from England said. Her husband Bob was a civil engineer and had tattos all around his neck and up his leg. He seemed like an unlikely chracter to have that much ink. Bob and Jane were a hoot, have lived all over the world,and all along the canal yesterday we were retelling their stories in their emphatically British way. I don’t know if we are discovering something new and off the beaten pathor doing something that only older folks do but we are generally the youngest people at these camps. The only people younger are the kids traveling with their parents.

There is so much that has been happening every day and somuch hilarity that ensuesthat it is frustrating not to be able to get it all out on this blog. It is also quite a challenge to type on a French keyboard but I am actually starting to get used to it. I guess you’ll have to wait for the book version of the story to get all the details, or hopefully parts will be filled in with video on the Jack Will Travel Web site.

Chapter 4