Day 8 - Arles

Olives

This was a day of frustration, especially since it was one of the highlighted days on our itinerary before arriving in France. This was the day we went to Arles, the scene of much of Vincent van Gogh's torment and also the scene of much of his triumphal and most brilliant work. For Sue and I, this was akin to a visit to Mecca.

That being the case, the morning visit to the Moulin de Mas de Barres olive plantation and mill was interesting but wasn't high on our priority list for the day. Next, we drove to Les Baux-de-Provence, another of walled village located high up on a hill for defence. There were the usual hilly cobbled streets, cramped with easy opportunities for tourists to spend and many cafes and places to eat. In the main, these places are quite reasonable and we again found a very good lunch (plat de jour), consisting of main course, desert and cafe for 15 Euro each. I was chuffed I was able to order the entire lunch in French ... well enough for the waiter to understand!

Before lunch, we had entered the Chateau Les Baux-de-Provence and watched a very funny pantomime, entirely in French but so well done we understood it completely.

Finally, we drove on to Arles ... but to almost complete anticlimax. Clearly, arriving at a place which had given rise to some of the greatest paintings in the history of the civilised world, was not enough to extend beyond a cursory explanation. Vincent was described as suffering from "manic depression" - a now outmoded term - and the basics of the story were all that were offered. We were set down with 90 minutes to walk the old town. Sue and I had requested guidance to any site of significance and even then, the best instructions came from a local. We eventually found a site, Espace van Gogh, without knowing what we were looking for, only to discover that it was the scene of Vincent's "Hospital Ward at Arles" - a painting of the garden at the centre of the a courtyard in the hospital where he was treated for his madness. We stood in the spot from which he painted ... the very spot. His vibrations were so strong I couldn't hold back tears. I seldom can when I I think on "how he suffered for his sanity" or how "he tried to make them see".


It was a moment of great connection.

Armed with a map after the event, it appeared to us that Arles was a place where a local guide could have been well employed for an hour and a short tour of significant places examined and discussed. The settings for "The Night Cafe", "The Yellow House" and Starry Night" are all here, among others. One less shopping stop wouldn't have been a bad thing.

On our way to rendezvous with the coach, we stopped into the Aussie bar, which was festooned in all things Australia, including car number plates and road signs. The barman was French, their was no Australian beer and there wasn't three old blokes sitting at the end of the bar discussing what ails the country. By walking in, we became the only justification for the bar's name.


We returned to Nimes by mid afternoon. After the near disappointment of Arles, we decided to take a quick spin around the town, that being our first chance to do so in a packed program. Fair enough, as we had chosen the program extensions, but again, planning to bring a tour group to such a historic town as Nimes and giving the town only a 15 minute walking tour, was a shortfall in the planning. Regardless, Sue and I and a fellow tourist, Charla, set off on foot for the Nimes Arena and a roman temple.

The Arena (Colosseum) was built in Nimes in 70 AD and later used as a fortified dependable centre of the town. In the 1860, it was converted into a bull ring, where fights are still held. A number of rock bands have recorded video clips in and around the Arena, including Dire Straits and Ramstein. Francois Truffault shot a move there in the 1950's.

Its very well preserved, with restoration work on going. I was left admiring the building prowess of the original architects, but found the current use of the building distressing.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

The evening was spent with a crowd in the back courtyard of our hotel for a night of jazz from a touring band. The tapas food, it was generally and loudly agreed, was insufficient to be called a meal but the red wine flowed and several woke worse for wear but glad of the experience. Tour members broke down last remaining barriers and let several remaining layers of hair down, Rapunzel like and found fun in due course.

We retired after shouting our fellow travelers. It had been a big day.

Day 7 - Avignon

We woke to another delicious day, warming the morning air which surrounded our breakfast and the prospect of another thirty plus day, soaked in sunshine and with clear blue skies as the backdrop to make even the most amateur photos shine.

The dining area for the hotel is half inside, half out and as it was last night, dining outside was a popular option. Once fruits and cereals and yoghurts had been ingested, you waited while the chef personally prepared an omelette to your specifications.

I either digress or digest.

We were back to the walled city of Avignon in the morning, built beside the Rhone when a skinny kid from the mountains arrived with delusions of grandeur and hurled a stone across the river to prove he was not only strong of arm, but cunning enough to attempt the feat at the narrowest point of the Rhone. They made him a saint because unlike Flip Wilson, God made him do it.

The construction of the draw bridge started in 1177 and took about eight years to complete and was a convenient way for collecting taxes from those wanting passage across the river. It is the subject of the most famous French children’s nursery rhymes.

“Under the bridge at Avignon, all the ladies are dancing, dancing” but the reality is that it refers to the prostitutes and gamblers of the area, who found a place to party under the bridge at Avignon.

Palais-des-Papes (The Palace of the Popes) was constructed over time during the 14^th century when the papacy moved from Rome to Avignon. It is an enormous castle which provided a safe home for a succession of Popes and a lasting reminder of the wealth and power the popes had at that time. We walked through great dining halls, cathedrals, enormous rooms where papal audiences were given, studies, bedrooms and other hutches in the ascending rabbit warren. Eventually, up on the parapets, we were dazzled by the view and then surprised to find a small café. The French are very civilised!

With its city walls, castle at its centre and narrow cobbled streets, Avignon is like a medieval movie set, except that its 1000 years of history are all real.

Sue and I ate in a lovely little café by the wall, where we once again managed to bridge the language gap. Where are these arrogant French we have been warned of?

Bought together as a group again, we moved across the valley to the site of the summer residence of Pope John XXII, high on a hill overlooking a small village. His chateau is in ruins now, with little more than one main wall standing but the view was staggering: to the west were the French Alps, tops covered in snow despite the summer temperatures and to the east was the beautiful Rhone River valley.

At the bottom of the hill, our group received a lesson in wine tasting at Caves - St Charles Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Appreciating wine is a very technical art and I soon learned that understanding the virtues of a good red is more involved than trying to put a good head on your claret. Three different applications of nose and as many of taste finally give you sufficient evidence to determine how good a wine is … apparently. Sculling s no longer a recognised method.

The evening was spent at the home of Benoit Maurin-Ducolibri, a Spanish and French speaking artist and restaurateur who only invites specific groups to his house. Sue and others donned their costumes and swam in the early evening heat, before we all sat about in his courtyard for a meal he personally cooked. We were amazed at his artwork, soon to be exhibited in Australia and we entertained each other with lively conversation until forced to return to our hotel.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

In the late evening, rain fell for the first time in the tour – fat drops slapping on the round tiles and rushing to form rivers which fell in so many water falls from the variety of roofs to the white pebbled courtyard below.

Paris to Nimes

The Pont de Gard

After four days of jetlag which induced head spins and lethargy for most of my waking moments, it was a pleasure to wake this morning with a clearer head. Even my sense of humour had returned!

After three days in Paris, we were heading south with our Insight Tour.

Leaving the hotel at 8:30, we made the short journey to Gare de Lyon and a longish wait with limited seating among a crowd where everyone looked like a pick pocket to my inexperienced traveler's eyes. Sue found a chair and I perched on the pavement beside her as we talked to a couple from London about their travels. After an hour or so, we were advised of the platform for our high speed train south and managed to walk almost the entire length of the train before discovering ours was the first carriage we passed.

The trip to Avignon is a fast one – 580kms in two hours and forty minutes – so taking pictures from the windows is fraught with potential failure, especially when a TVG passes you in the opposite direction and you fall back into your seat swearing.

Our only stop was at our destination. Avignon, is a two minute stop for the TVG, which speeds on to Marseilles once those two minutes have elapsed. As a result, we were all on our feet for the final minutes, readying ourselves for the leap from the train and the following commando roll. As we crossed the Rhone on the railway bridge, Sue and I took no chances and were ready to spring past the elderly in front of us.

Aboard a coach again, it didn’t take long to reach the Pont de Gard, a remnant of a Roman aqueduct which stretched for 50kms from the source of the water at Uzes to Marseilles. Construction began on the three tiered bridge over the Gardon River in 20 BC and yet, more than two thousand years later, it still stands as impressively as the day the ribbon was cut. The large blocks and glorious arches make for an appealing sight and the area is extremely popular among Parisians during August, which is their summer holiday break, akin to our January.

It was a hot 35C and a rude shock after the air conditioned pampering of the train and coach but the walk was short and rewarding. Roman architecture never ceases to amaze.

On to Nimes, our base of operations for the next three nights, despite our desire for showers and cool drink, we left the coach short of the destination and went for a half hour orientation tour. If the cathedral near the centre of town had impressed us from the coach, it was nothing in comparison to what was still to come.

Standing on a wide footpath, we gathered for orientation and a word of advice for those of us who habitually get lost or left behind as to how we might find the hotel. There are some in our group who might be justified in pointing that particular bone at us.

Maison Carree

As the coach pulled away, there stood a Roman colosseum! Better preserved than its larger brother in Rome, Arenes-Nimes still hosts bull fights and music concerts. Large stone blocks and arches … so you know its Roman. Standing almost beside it is the Maison Carree, a temple built by Marcus Agrippa in 16BC and dedicated to the memory of his two sons Lucius and Gaius, who both died young. Corinthian columns and more huge blocks of stone. The combination of the two huge buildings in the centre of Nimes and the Pont de Gard on the way from Avignon, were an unexpected influence we had been ignorant of. Standing beside a 2000 year old building when you come from a country which has only been a nation for little more than 100 years is staggering.

TODAY'S PHOTOS

We all dined together at the hotel. The three couples at our table – American, Kiwi and Aussies – exercised détente. Perhaps more red wine and stories of how you met and fell in love should be compulsory at diplomatic talks. It served us well.