A room without walls

I’m on the road early. To get onto the GR4, I trek through Vaison old town, which is gorgeous. Then I’m trucking through woods and GRPs until I’m on the main thoroughfare. Not that there’s anyone else on it.

Spectacular views, plenty of sedate forest paths, quite a lot of loose rocks. I replenish my vittles in Maucelene and press on. The descent from the chapel to Les Alezards is brutal. The fountain is dry, but a couple from Avignon let me refill my water.

Plodding up the road, beside cherries and lavender, I’m feeling fair done in. I begin the ascent that will take me over Mont Ventoux, but I want to stop. There’s no space for the tent, but no need either. It’s warm and dry and blessedly free of biting insects.

I unroll my bedding, feast on ryvita and tomato and cheese (brique de brebis this time), and go to sleep listening to Desert Island Disks (Daniel Kahnemann).