WHAT RHYMES WITH ORANGE?
A few days ago, I did what I often do over a cup of tea in the morning. That is infact to open up a map on the dining room table and mull over the options for a day of travel and adventure. A paper map, if you will. A paper map to most people today would probably cause them to cock their heads to the right with a look of bewilderment. Who in today’s tech-dominated app-based world uses such an inferior tool? Well, I do. I step back in time every day because I love a little bit of old school. After a short period of deliberation, I chose to visit Orange. Orange is just over an hour’s drive north of my home. A journey not just of mere miles but a leap through layers of time, seasoned liberally with that peculiar French flair for making even a simple road trip feel like a passage through a living museum, where every stone and corner bakery has a story to tell, often with a slight disdain for the English-speaking visitor. But let us not get ahead of ourselves.
Our adventure begins in the Luberon, that part of France where during most of the year, the sun douses the landscape in a light so perfect, photographers wonder why they bother anywhere else. The Luberon, with its vineyards and ancient hilltop villages, is the sort of place that doesn't just whisper but sings its invitation to wander and explore. It is here we start, with a Romanian-built SUV, a map, and a sense of expectation so palpable it could be bottled and sold as 'Eau de Adventure.'’
As I mentioned earlier, the drive to Orange is not long, but in France, distance is measured not in miles but in distractions. There's always a village that wasn't on your map, a vineyard that beckons with the promise of a perfect bottle, or a view so stunning you're obliged to stop, stare, and open your camera bag. French roads are a conspiracy against direct travel, which I wholeheartedly approve of.
Arriving in Orange on market day is like stepping into a painting by a French impressionist artist who is so good at capturing light and life. The sun is indeed out, casting a gentle warmth that makes the early March chill scamper away, sort of embarrassed at its own impotence. The market sprawls with a confidence that only centuries of tradition can bestow. Stalls burst with colors, smells, and sounds, sending frantic messages to your brain, causing utter delight.
The food, It's a symphony, a ballet, a high-wire act of flavors and aromas. Cheeses that wink at you with the promise of untold delights, olives that have soaked up the essence of the Mediterranean sun, bread that crackles with the sound of a perfect French morning. And the fruits, so fresh they seem surprised to find themselves out of the orchard. It's all here, a feast for the senses, where the biggest challenge is not what to buy but moreover how to stop buying.
But Orange is not just a market. No, that would be like saying the Louvre is just a museum. The Roman amphitheater looms with an imposing grace, a relic of a time when entertainment meant something a tad more visceral than scrolling through Netflix. Its ancient stones hold the echo of a thousand cheers, a monument to human ingenuity and our enduring love of spectacle. Walking its tiers, you can't help but feel a connection to those ancient spectators, a shared thrill that transcends time. It's humbling, and yet, curiously uplifting.
Wandering the streets and alleys of Orange is an exercise in time travel. Each corner turned reveals another layer of history, another story waiting to be discovered. Buildings wear their age with a dignified elegance, their facades telling tales of generations past. And through it all, the city's daily life flows with an easy rhythm, a reminder that while we marvel at the past, the present has its own charms.
The market, with its riot of colors, its cacophony of sounds, and its dizzying array of scents, is the heart of it all. Here, food, housewares, and clothing mix in a cheerful jumble, a testament to the French ability to elevate shopping to a form of high art. It's not just commerce; it's a celebration of life's daily pleasures and how.
The day passed in a blur, a delightful assault on the senses that left me exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure. As the shadows lengthen and the market packs away, there's a sense of having been part of something special, a communal experience that binds you to this place and its people.
And so, as I bid adieu to Orange, with its ancient stones and lively markets, its food that sings, and its history that whispers, I can carry memories of a day well spent. It's the kind of experience that makes me want to return, explore those streets and alleys again, lose myself in the market's embrace, and feel that connection to the past once more.
I hope that you enjoyed this trip to Orange. As always, if you have a moment, please leave your thoughts or comments in the box below the last image on this post.
Live well!
M.
All images included in this post were captured with the Leica Q3 in raw (.DNG) and processed with Lightroom Classic, a testament to the enduring power of light and lens to capture the essence of travel.
