Pilgrim's Progress – Long Distance Walks in Europe and the UK

Provence is a country to which I am always returning, next year, next week, any day now, as soon as I can get on a train.

Elizabeth David – cook and writer

Quinson is a quirky little place. The front doors of every house in the village had sprigs of yellow broom attached to them. The impressive museum of Pre-history opposite the Mairie seemed out of all proportion to the narrow medieval streets higher up in the village. And there were house martins flying in and out of the village pizzeria with gay abandon.

After 45km of walking from Vénascle, I realized that it was going to be another beer and pizza evening – none of the village restaurants opened in the evening!

The sun shone for most of the day and very little of great significance happened. I didn’t get lost. The walk along the side of Lake Saint Croix waa fairly straightforward and much of the route followed tarmac roads.

Mid morning I did bump into a chap from Nottingham who was drivong his transit van around the south of France. It was his first time driving in France he told me. His friends had decided to go on a roadtrip around Norway apparently. He confessed that he wasn’t looking forward to returning to his job – he had been signed off work since last September so was presumably enjoying the delights of the south of France courtesy of the DHS!

Just before midday I reached the pretty village of Sainte Croix de Verdon, nestled on the banks of the lake. I ensconced myself in a café that was pumping out UK New Romantic hits from the early 80s and ordered a Belgian beer. It was extremely tempting to spend the next few hours lapping up the music and scenery and watching the world go by.

This area of Provence is renowned for its lavender. Sadly the lavender fields I passed weren’t yet in flower but the poppies certainly were and the sky was alive with the sound of skylarks singing.

I made it to Quinson shortly after 4pm. It had taken me 9 hours to cover the 45km from Vénascle. After checking in to the gite I wandered around the narrow streets of Quinson admiring some of the roses that were in full bloom outside some of the village houses.

And then it was time for (yet another!) pizza from the pizzeria opposite the Café de Cours, who terrace restaurant sadly didn’t offer evening meals.

The Quinson pizza must have been the sixth or seventh I have consumed since Menton.

Ah well, I guess it’s not that far from the Italian border! It was a long way to come for a pizza which is not exactly Provençal haute cuisine – Elizabeth David would be turning in her grave!