59 fountains

Everywhere is the rushing sound of water: the river beside the campsite, tactfully creating a drone over the intimacies of life, the lavoirs, fountains and open grilled drains. My ears have tuned into this siren's call as I wander through the narrow passages which smell of  garlic sauces, echo with cluttering with pans and draped with washing.

 

This instinctive commune with nature's abundance and generosity: drinking from cupped hands, placing leaves to spin in the current, splashing water over a sun-parched face, watering plants, bathing dogs, the maiden voyage of a red plastic sailboat, this is the life of water tamed and channeled into public spaces. Here it is overt: friend and ally, functional and aesthetic, meeting place, workplace, playground, source of life.

 

Lavoir in Le Place du Trois Fountaines

Barjols, has a strong pull for me and I always plan my journeys to include a visit. Originally a town with many convents, these were later replaced by leather factories, which are now either long walls of smashed windows or unpretentiously funky blocks of artists' studio-residences.

The requisite water requirements of the industry were easily met as Barjols meekly acknowledges 30 fountains. Le Place du Trois Fountaines, with its locals' cafes shaded under plane trees, is true to its name with three fountains and a lavoir within a 40 metre space.

                                                        In Le Place du Trois Fountaines