Fountain 37 The Market Square Castellane 11 August

 

The fountain in the market square

A boy kicks around a football. His shirtless father runs to return it. 

The tattoos on his chest rising and falling.

Behind the fountain, high on the cliff, is the Chapel of Our Lady of the Rock, 12th century.

Inside the chapel are the votive offerings that have been left as thanks.

136 engraved plates

21 bridal bouquets 

a given array after a vow to Our Lady, dating from 1757

a given array after the cholera epidemic in 1835

a table given by a released prisoner, dated 1875 

a table given after a smallpox epidemic, dated 1870,

a table given by a person who escaped a shipwreck in 1896

I first visited Castellane a couple years ago. 

I had thought I was "lost" in a fog high up in the middle of nowhere. 

Following the empty, single track lanes which were cut into the side of the cliff, 

it grew cold and started to rain. I had very little fuel or food. 

                          I had to guess which road to take as it was all too small for my map

 and the sun was buried under thick cloud. 

Expecting to be left for the vultures to pick at my bones, I suddenly came into Castellane. 

It was bubbling with people. The sun was raising steam off the pavement and the drenched campers. 

In the frenzy of my reprieve I bought something at nearly every bakery. Had I known about the Chapel of the Rock, I would have left votive offerings for Our Lady for her succour - mini-pizzas, olive and herb bread, flaked almond sticky buns, chocolate Chantilly cream cakes.

This year's visit it was blue skies and a white hot sun.

I parked up by one of the clusters of motorbikes. Streams of Harleys rumbled past, driven by smug, big chested men in sunglasses. It felt like a motorbikers' catwalk, and although Louise is far more beautiful than any of the mere machines that passed us, I felt inadequate. I can't do the "cool" look.

Five or six youngish Italian men, obviously enjoying strutting in their tight leathers, pointed at Louise and laughed. I presume at the enormous load that is strapped to her. When they saw me, modeling the latest "we are not amused" look, their struts melted into awkward tiptoes.