Bonnieux in the Luberon

Somebody told me about this wondrous hanging village that unveils itself like a bride as you exit the serpentine road through the Luberon. And indeed I almost crashed my car. The road itself from Lourmarin to Bonnieux is an ancient road that cuts through the Luberon and divides it to the ‘small Luberon’ and the ‘big Luberon’. I drive through this dense cedar forest which was planted back in 1862 under Napoleon III. As I exit the gorge a vision of wonder befell my eyes: Bonnieux nesting on a hilltop, like something out of an old film.

Animals low, men high

I parked my car and looked around, unsure of where to go. Beneath me the lower village, above me the upper village. If I go down, I will have to climb a lot to the upper village. If I go up, it’s down and then up again. Either way, I thought, how stupid, in these villages it’s always up and down. In Provence, in case you are new to this business, it is known that in old buildings “livestock lived low, and men high”. I will start with the upper part.

Bit of a background

I start to walk up along the remains of the old city walls. The office of tourism is closed for renovations so I start to google a bit of history….

In the first century, Bonnieux’s territory was crossed by the Roman road (via domitia) which connected Spain and Italy…one of the most important roads in Western Europe. 

After the collapse of the Roman Empire against the invasions, the inhabitants took refuge on the old oppida. In the Middle Ages, the Bonnieulaise community lived under the protection of the lord, on the site of the primitive castrum surrounded by ramparts (today Castellas) belonging to the powerful family of Agoult. The territory then passes to the Counts of Toulouse, at the same time as the Comtat Venaissin.

OK I think, as usual for this area- Romans, lords, counts, powerful families…

The upper village

I enter a gate and start to climb old stairs until I finally arrive at the old church. In the twelfth century, church Saint-Sauveur was built; this building was enlarged and transformed over the centuries. Today, it is a classified Historical Monument.

From 1274, Bonnieux became a pontifical land administered by Rome or Avignon. Bonnieux had a very special status, outside the kingdom of France. The blazon of the commune is the reflection of this prosperous period. But successive plagues and wars of religion decimated the region.

Taking in the views I think about what a curious time this was. So many wars. The village resembled nothing of its clean and cheerful streets that I see today. I enjoy the old upper village empty of tourists or facilities catering to tourists. The local residents seem to have lived here forever and I wonder where do they work and if they don’t, how do they do ?! (And can I do there same?!)

Five centuries of Roman administration (apart from the short episode of the popes in Avignon) shaped the original character of this place where, from the eighteenth century, the congregations abounded. Bonnieux becomes French by the annexation of the two states of Avignon and Comtat Venaissin in 1791. 

The lower village

I decide to explore the lower part of the village which does not disappoint with it’s overhead passages and old old houses made of small stones. It is my dream to buy some old house like this, perhaps it used to house livestock, renovate it and create a crazy loft overlooking the Luberon mountain. It’s not out of reach and still be cheaper than an apartment in north Tel Aviv.

Some alleyways hold tall slender buildings (if we may call them this) which obviously were some sort of watch towers guarding one of the gates to the village. You can see some remains of the original gate arches. This type of house from the middle ages is called a ‘house tower’. I continue rolling my way down to a lovely plaza full of cafes which are unfortunately closed at this hour past lunch time and before dinner. As I previously said, this is not a touristy village and we are also outside the tourist season so don’t expect cafes and restaurants open at all time. Nobody pays attention to me as residents go about their usual business on this lazy Saturday.

I’m starving and there is nothing to eat here. I try my luck at the new church, maybe divine intervention will reveal some open food place. Alas, I resign to French siesta hours and drag my feet in defeat back to my car.