FROM THE PITTS TO THE RITZ





































 So we left our slum in Le desert and headed to L’isle sur La Sorgue and it’s fair to say that Russell the mussel (not muscle) had lost complete faith in my accommodation selection. 

We took our bags from the gite  to our car in the municipal car park and as we walked passed Chez Barmy where we had a couple of frothies last night, we spy 3 ‘rubber stoppers’ hanging around the front entrance. We stowed our luggage in the car and Russell headed back to our accom to return the parking accreditation . On his return Russell is giggling like a school girl because he saw 6 coppers throwing old mate Barmy into the back of a French divvy van, with the staff watching scratching their noggins. Would love to know what he’s done . Surely they can’t be pinching him because he closed way too early on a Sunday night when I wanted a sip. 

Anyway, we arrived at L’isle Sur La Sorgue soon after midday after having a brekky stop with Fresh orange juice in a can! And Apricot Danish/French pastries . 

Mild panic crept in when we found the apartment we had booked but didn’t know how to get access. Greater panic smashed me when I couldn’t find my folder with all the access details . Searched high and low in backpacks, cases, the boot but couldn’t find it. Russell headed back to the car and returned with the folder. Mental note “never use a black folder that blends in with the carpet on the floor of your rental car”. We phoned Fabrice, whose number was in the hard to locate folder and he What’s Ap’d me the entry codes. 

We wandered up the stairs and Russell’s cried out ‘oh no, we have a problem,,,,it’s a double bed’ . Then, to his delight he opened the door to the second bedroom and that had an en-suite ! 2 beds, 2 baths, fully equipped kitchen, lounge and tv. Sadly neither of us have the tech ability of a 6 year old so we can’t work the Telly. 

We left the apartment for a sip and a nice charcuterie plate and bought some stuff for breakfasts and some beer. Also grabbed a bottle of Chateuneuf du pape and some pringles and went and watched the locals playing pétanque. An old bloke was having a chat in French to us which we didn’t follow but the young bloke that looked like a young Randy Orton never missed. These blokes were amazing. 

Back to the apartment,  just to salivate about it again , and then out to dinner. 

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