Provence, FRANCE
Jean-François Bizalion Jean-François Bizalion

Provence, FRANCE

La Vallée des Baux

Blindfold me, I would still find my way. Let’s just say that I know my way around. And no one should go around without eyes wide open in this particular stretch of Provence. La Vallée des Baux et la plaine de la Crau form together an unique geology and botany wonder shat is it like?... Shrubby.

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Alentejo, PORTUGAL
Julien Bizalion Julien Bizalion

Alentejo, PORTUGAL

Out in the Alentejo

Shrubby oak trees, defining geometry on the soft hills along a swingy road. Cows, beige coats and curvy eyelashes standing still, by the barbed wire fences. Once again, minimum directions heading East in the search for our grower-supplier of a prize-winner biodynamic extra virgin olive oil, five hours South-East of Lisbon.

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Catalunya, SPAIN
Julien Bizalion Julien Bizalion

Catalunya, SPAIN

A Revelation In Catalunya

It was the late seventies and at eighteen-years old, my cousin and I were riding the later wave of the hippy era. We had graduated from High School and I worked on minimum wage in July to finance the trip. And the more tramps we looked the better it was.

Planning then was minimal. Better yet, no super highways with multiple lanes. 

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Sicily, ITALY
Jean-François Bizalion Jean-François Bizalion

Sicily, ITALY

Lost in Sicily, Found in Olive Country

Land in Catania at 8PM, pick up a rental, drive 2.5 hours to Centuripe, pitch dark, have an address to go but a non functioning GPS, no directions, no service. Daughters are exhausted and are asking when we're gonna eat?. Hell no, how would I know? We drive up a narrow road along the cliff. Giant rocks have tumbled across the road.. Result of heavy rains.Through the windshield daughter spots a pizzeria, dim light from inside. The town is dead, silent.

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Attica Megara, GREECE
Julien Bizalion Julien Bizalion

Attica Megara, GREECE

From New England I long for Greece

I may have chosen to live in Massachusetts, but my telescope is pointing to Greece.

I think of these white adobe troglodyte white homes anchored on the hill side with a view of the golf of Corinth, stepping out on a terrace with a slice of bread loaded with feta and olive oil and honey. A quick run down the long stairs to a dive in the chilled salty water, thus no shower needed, no towel either because it’s warm on a rock under the sun. 

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