Voila Vincent: Old mansions and market arches

From the Pont du Gard we drove north to the aqueduct source at Uzes. Here we picked up a town map, did our usual walking tour, and finished off with a beer in a boulevard bar while we watched workers scrub the streets spotless after a day of market stalls in town.

Uzes, now, is rather a sombre little market town with interesting patches of remnant buildings that show something of what it must have been like in its prime. Until the 18th century it was a thriving, cloth town, famous for serge and silk.

Thousands of townsfolk worked in silk mills, and wealthy cloth merchants had fanciful homes in the patchwork of clustered neighbourhoods that make up this small town.

Tucked away in these enclaves, Protestants had to hide their religious preferences or be shipped off in galleys. Catholics were proud of their Bishopric, until it was transferred to Nimes in 1790.

After this, Uzes began to feel the pinch. Much of the ancient construction that could tell more of its history and character has today been dismantled: the town ramparts have long been toppled to make way for boulevards, and dozens of old churches were destroyed during the religious wars.

There are charming tell-tale traces, though, that remain to catch the eye: stucco-scaled mansions cornered with storybook staircase turrets winding to the roof; a warped aged Capuchin Friary on the site of a Roman temple that is now functioning as the tourist office; and low slung market arches, close to the heart of the town near the market place-- the Place aux Herbes, which tells tales of the days of short marketeers shouting out their wares.

Not far from Uzes we camped in a straggly domain vineyard, where the grapes were so thick, dark and heavy on the vine we wondered if they might be overdue for harvesting – though they did begin the job early next morning. And, as is common all over France, there was a huge, albeit overgrown, vegetable patch; and, in the cool of the evening, most of the family came out to harvest the ripe vegetables stacking them in boxes in a van, ready to take to market in the morning. Another wonderful silent night sleeping deep in the Provence countryside.