Ganges, Herault. A familiar town for me. A town I could - and often did - walk to from the Chateau of a warm afternoon, through the sweet-smelling garrigue, and the tall grass meadows, and the grape orchards. Sometimes, among the low hills between, you could hear the low clanking of sheep bells as a shepherd guided his flock through the rocky terrain nearby. Sometimes, in spring, I could hear that sound through the open shutters of my bedroom. I think that there is no more soothing sound...the distant clanking of sheep bells, combined with the scent of the lavender water with which my grandmother sprayed the egyptian cotton sheets.
I love this children-crossing sign...isn't it sweet? I'd put this on the wall of my daughter's nursery if I could.
Another marvellous sign. This, like so many of the little villages in the region, is a town suspended in another era, tranquil amid sun-sparked dust motes and the smell of crushed thyme.