Fountain 47 outside the town gate Banon 23 August

It was one of those scorching days where the lavender oil vaporizes and sits heavily

 in the air mingling with whatever else is there: dust, onions sauteing in olive oil, 

diesel from an old, flesh coloured Citroen. 

In Banon it merged with the acrid smell of melting tarmac.

Louise's sidestand sunk into the oozing black. I had to run and find a large flat stone 

to displace some of her weight before she toppled over.
Then we'd have to stand around waiting for a "big strong man" type of person to rescue us.

A fallen motorcycle has the same pitiful demeanor of a beached whale.
 

The streets were virtually empty. 

It was lunchtime and I was one of the mad dogs and Englishmen out in the midday sun.

 (and wearing my leather motorcyclist's trousers to further prove the point.)

(( Noel Coward's  "Mad Dogs and Englishmen"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2YvYiWtovM

or/and

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXxL2K3_-4c ))

 

And then I came upon this notice.

          

One open window revealed a single room museum of rural life to be viewed

 only from this external vantage point.

Through the other window one looked into a dim and surreal world of extraordinary beasts.

 

 Town gate and wall.

Up a steep but firmly cobbled road 

the fountain in the niche is a welcome sight for the 

weary and long traveled.

Although now mostly ornamental, I gratefully refilled my bottle.
I leaned against the shaded wall, drank the contents and
refilled it again for the next leg of my journey.