Apt

Apt. It's the name of a village in which we overnighted. We stayed at a hotel slightly removed from the city center, so we had to walk a way through a spooky district just like in old movies where we were on guard for Jack the Ripper. There was a restaurant that was busy with patrons with one table available next to another restaurant that seemed like faster service. We opted for slow and had roasted duck breast and a half bottle of red wine. At the next table was a couple of touring Germans, Ulrich and Guido, eating beefsteak who spoke good English. I was eyeing their full liter of wine. We enjoyed hearing of their adventures, and had something in common with our choice of automobile - Citroen. Previously they had Ferraris but gave them up when they spent more time in the repair shop than the garage. They were very familiar with the area and recommended a diversion to the Abbey de Senanque where monks cultivate fields of lavender.

The next day we got up before sunrise realizing we were way behind schedule and lacking any map that showed the route to our friend's place. We told the innkeeper we wouldn't make breakfast and got a refund for that after much struggling with her sudden loss of understanding the English language.

Onward to scenic Gordes where we twice had the closest opportunities of the trip for utilizing our car insurance with flatbed trucks hogging the road. It was time for a quieting religious experience to gather our wits and the Abbey fit the bill. It was one way into the valley and one way out. The air was cool and heavy, almost choking with the fragrance of lavender. We strolled around the abbey thinking we were all alone when we heard chanting through the thick stone walls. We cautiously entered the church and listened to the beautiful harmonics of five monks for awhile.
Then it was back to the race for our friend JC's place. We almost found our way back to the toll road when we misinterpreted a sign to Lyon which actually directed one away from the main road to Lyon for alternative commercial routes. So regretably (to put it mildly) we were further delayed but had the consolation of seeing one huge castle somewhere on route D94.

Finally back on the toll road, at 130 kph we got our money's worth in time savings. At a rest stop we found a map that actually showed JC's village. I memorized the route and when we got within the village limits, Dix's memory took over to find the right back street to their place.