Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, not far from Arles, is rightly famous as the birthplace of Nostradamus, and as the place where Van Gogh painted the unforgettable ‘Starry, starry night’.
The vieille village and the shops there are terrific, and we have always enjoyed our visits greatly. For anyone interested in Gallo-Roman history, nearby Glanum, with its well-preserved Roman ruins must be visited, and the bookshop at the site is stocked with numerous hard-to-find books on Roman history, culture, and architecture. Saint Rémy also has a wonderful shop run by a charming artisenne who crochets superb beaded garments, indicating, I suspect, that like other picturesque villages in France, this one has some seriously rich inhabitants.
For us, though, St Rémy will always be remembered as the site of an extraordinary sporting and social occasion…
Guided by the excellent Sunflower Landscapes ‘Western Provence’, we turned off from near Glanum to drive to the Barrage de Peiroou, our starting point for a walk up to Les Baux. We didn’t get far along the side road into the pine forest, as the track was surprisingly busy, and soon it turned out to be blocked off for some mysterious activity ahead. After parking the car, and shouldering the day packs, we set off, anyway, wondering what could bring so many jovial French families with all their splendid Gallic picnic accoutrements to this spot.Round the bend we found the answer. We had happened upon the day of Le Grand Prix du Lac, a downhill road race for adults and children in superior go-carts (billy-carts, we would call them in Australia). The French call them vehicules sans moteur, and this was to be a heat for the Championnat de France.
The grassy clearing, obviously in use as the ‘pits’, was full of busy people with trailers, elaborate tool kits, and every imaginable kind of wheeled speed machines. Some were wooden, obviously homemade and somewhat agricultural in style, others highly streamlined, technical and menacing. All bore the obvious signs of devoted care in manufacture, preparation, and paint finish, and all the drivers and mechanics were giving the last-minute adjustments their full attention.
And so, heading past the earnest officials with their sophisticated electronic timing system at the finish line, we walked on up the hill to the delightful lake in a craggy cleft of the Alpilles. The lake had originally been part of the water supply for the Roman settlement.
All the way up, bends were protected in traditional motoring style with hay bales, and family groups were popping corks and settling down on the picnic rugs in the best viewing positions. Everywhere were happy families bubbling with anticipation of the excitement to come. The drivers, youths and veterans alike, dressed, of course, in immaculate motor-racing suits, set off on their runs, cheered on by enthusiastic spectators. Clearly this was an occasion for an abundance of joie de vivre.
And so, after our visit to the lake, we returned, stepping off the road every few minutes as the drivers swished their go-carts down. The drivers hurtled by in race after race, propelled silently by gravity, greatly encouraged by the applause of the crowds. This was serious ‘green’ fun, making no carbon emissions, but clearly demanding large quantities of the finest of wines and foods as fuel for the spectators. How envious we were, and how much we wished we had a ’proper’ picnic, rather than our very ordinary muesli bars, water bottle, and piece of fruit as refreshment.
The Grand Prix was in many ways, an absolutely typical minor French festivity; as full of esprit as village festivals we have encountered right across the countryside from the Camargue to the Italian border. The French seem to have have a genius for such manifestations. They value the cultural significance of social ritual, fellowship, food and wine, and know how to have great fun, at least in our limited experience, without any of the edge of belligerent drunkenness and menace that so often characterises Anglo-Saxon outings.
Looking back, it now seems like dream, but we do have our diary entry and our photos, and there is a club website, so it must have happened! Christmas is a good time to sit indoors with guidebooks and maps planning next year’s excursions, and in my opinion, you couldn’t ask for a better autumn outing next year than a picnic at Saint-Rémy on the day of Le Grand Prix du Lac.
I’m sure the Saint Rémy Tourist Office will be able to assist you with the date, which has not been set at this stage.
Steve Craddock
Link to the club website
