Our time on the boat was suddenly winding down and we were looking forward to being on our own again. This last stop in Passau was just half a day, and given the size of the old town along the river that seemed enough.
We had an hour and a half, maybe, of a delightful tour. I am struck by how very local our guides have been…I grew up here, went to university here, now have a job where I talk about a place I know so well and love. Our guide, a young woman dressed in dirndl (and sneakers), explained the meaning of the placement of the bow on the overskirt. Married (or unavailable), widowed (or a waitress!), open to a relationship, and one other I cannot recall. Handy, I suppose.
The tiny peninsula of the old town is as picturesque as most every other small town we have visited. Because of the surrounding three rivers, though, serious floods have been a problem for centuries. Currently the part of the city that is especially vulnerable is where artists and other artistic folks live, and of course they are loathe to move. As in Cesky Krumlov the high water marks are unimaginable. In 2013 the water rose 42 feet.
After our tour David wanted to walk down to the tip of the peninsula while I hung out on the boat. It was getting hot. Several hours later the boat moved on to Vilshofen where we disembarked the next morning and hopped on the train to Munich.
When the boat arrived in Linz we saw nothing of the town as we were hustled aboard comfy touring buses. One group headed to Salzburg, Austria while we were off to Cesky Krumlov, a medieval town across the border in the Czech Republic. We had little memory of how we had made the decision and even less about our destination. It turned out just fine due to excellent guides (one on the bus, one in the town), a yummy lunch, and a pleasant afternoon walking around a very small old town.
The drive through Austrian farmland…rolling green hills, immaculate farms and small villages…took two hours that seemed much shorter. Our guide was a great storyteller and taught us a lot about the days of soviets right across the border and the evolving relationship between Austria and the Czech Republic.
About 45 minutes into the drive we passed Hallstatt, a tiny farming village, very pretty. We were through it in a blink. Our guide explained that a Chinese official, some years ago, had been touring the area and fell in love with the town. He returned to China and oversaw the building of a replica village that, unlike other European town replicas in China which are basically housing developments, is more or less a museum (and apparently a wedding destination). Well, it has generated a steady stream of Chinese tourists who come to see the real thing. Unfortunately like idiotic tourists everywhere they fail to distinguish between a real live place with real live people living real lives, and a museum. There are many tales of Chinese walking into houses assuming they are museums as in the Chinese replica. She told a personal version—a friend of hers whose husband was startled in the bathroom—and the bus driver who lives in Hallstatt was nodding along. It seemed far fetched, right? And yet we saw tens of Chinese tourists in nearby Cesky Krumlov, so it was believable.
Our guide also explained why there were so many Vietnamese restaurants across the border. During the Viet Nam war when North Viet Nam was a more rigid communist country it was much easier for North Vietnamese citizens to travel abroad to other communist countries and places like communist Czechoslovakia welcomed the tourists…and many stayed.
A happy result of the Austrian-Soviet Czech border is the wildlife-rich two kilometer wide swath that the soviets had enforced to keep people from crossing over to Austria. It is now a protected green belt.
We had been instructed multiple times that we must have our passports for this particular outing, and we did of course, but at no time were they of any use. I guess it´s a just-in-case deal but we were a bit disappointed that we crossed the border and back with nary a border guard interaction.
It is truly lovely country. Our guide pointed out the tiny “dachas” that had been built in soviet times and were used for free by Czech citizens. Now they have been built out, added onto, and are year round homes for the most part. They are cute and Russian-looking.
Although it looks like an aqueduct it is a bridge between two parts of the castle.
Suddenly we arrived and we were out of the bus walking into the town. It is fairy-tale like, with twisty streets, unbelievably uneven cobblestones, a small river running through, and a bit of an artsy feeling.
Our town guide was an extremely droll man who made the driest jokes among a densely informative spiel. It was a lot of fun. He also told us where to eat, where to walk…and we had several hours to explore. One of their local products is pencils of all things, because of nearby graphite mines. Makes sense. After the tour and a delicious lunch David and I walked literally the entire town. Then back on the bus for a gorgeous drive into Linz and our comfortable boat.
Such a pretty restaurant with fantastic food. The slices on my plate are mosaic bread dumplings. I was sure it was too much food but ate it all.
One of the unique architectural features on many buildings is a 3-D effect of the stucco (?) by scratching the surface to make it seem faceted. Hard to explain! Here is an example.
A now deceased sculpter left his mark all over the town. He made a lot of things that look like over sized fat fingers and hands.
A bench next to the river. Door to an art supply store.
It is a fun, funny, friendly and pretty little town. Glad we went!
A small fair, all locals. Except us!The line on the building is the high water mark of a flood a few years ago. Ridiculously uneven street surfaces made walking a bit annoying.
Our destination in the upper leftThrough the townThe town gate
We woke up Saturday, April 12, in Durnstein, a ridiculously picturesque Austrian town. We had signed up for the hike to the castle ruins, which seemed, when we chose it months ago, so doable. That was before we entered the lazy period that started when we got on this boat. As we looked up at the destination we gulped, but, committed, we laced up our shoes and joined our little group.
It was 8:30. The guide promised we would be back in an hour and a half and off she went, the group hurrying to catch up. It was a cool, sunny morning and the weather inspired us all as we walked up a steep cobblestone street the width of a small alley, crossed the main street (wide enough for a car, cobblestone of course) and up and up we went.
This town has 150 permanent residents and only they are allowed to drive into the old part of town. The new town is maybe .2 of a mile to the right. I hope I got those facts right.
Anyway, soon the hike got serious with steep stone steps that required close attention. The guide promised 3 stops to take photos and it was some work to catch up in time to rest a bit before we were off again. It was hard work. But the cool air, the many many wild flowers, the views, and our common determination to get to the top propelled us all.
It was worth every huff and every puff.
UpAnd upFlowers everywhereAnd up…the Danube waaay down thereJust below the ruins
At the top we learned that Richard the Lionhearted had been kept prisoner there, waiting for a ransom to be paid. He wa alowed to hint, go into the town, and live a nice enough life as one could when one is not allowed to leave and return home. Having seen this place I now want to learn more about the details of this fellow’s life.
David coming down from the tippy topHad to get a few more flowers inWhen we came down it was hard to believe we had climbed up!
Because we all wanted at least a half hour to see the town itself we hurried down a different route that was fairly steep but without steps. Thank goodness. Suddenly the guide stopped, excitedly pointing to the side of the trail. It was an emerald lizard, a good luck symbol. The lizard rather deliberately walked away into the vegetation. She was indeed bright green. Neat!
The nicest chocolate maker. She was from Ukraine, talked a mile a minute in German saying her German was poor. We switched to French. Adorable doggieJust a gate and flowersWe got back in time!
In the town I rushed to get to the chocolatier’s store, only because I had a tradition to keep, buying chocolate in as many places as I could—only chocolate made locally. I had a great time tasting and choosing a poppyseed chocolate and another with apricots and almonds. This area grows apricots that are prized throughout the region…you cannot buy them in supermarkets and they are controlled by the government the way champagne is by France. So of course I also bought a very small jar of preserves. One must support the local economy.
Many of us went up top to watch the valley glide by.
The boat left at 10:45 and many of us went up top to see the Wachau Valley. The Danube runs between steep hills, almost mountains, gorgeous and peaceful.
After lunch we left for a boring, too long tour of the Melk Abbey. No indoor photos are allowed as there are still 21 monks living there. The guide was wonderful but we had to stay an additional hour with little to do while the boat moved on to Ybbs where we were driven to meet it by the tour bus. Not our favorite afternoon…but the morning was amazing.
Melk Abbey courtyardMelk AbbeyView of the town of Melk Not the Danube
I read later that the restoration of the Abbey, completed in 1996, was financed largely by the sale of the Abbey’s Gutenberg bible to Harvard. Seems interesting enough to have been mentioned on the tour. Oh, well.
We arrived in this small (450,000) capital city on a cloudy morning with the same considerable windchill which ebbed and flowed throughout the day.
The walking tour was one of the best ever because our guide had all the requisite traits: she knew the city and its history, she was by turns serious and respectful and funny, and she gave me a recommendation for a restaurant that served a superb version of a Slovakian specialty, halusky. More on that later.
Because our guide, Jana, had lived half her life under Soviet rule she could share many insights and family stories about those dark times and about how life had changed since the velvet revolution. Jana plus the exceedingly picturesque old city (barely a city!) made for a great morning.
Jana introduced us to Bratislava by stating the two unequivocal advantages to living in her town. One, no traffic. It was rush hour and we were at a major intersection with barely a lane full of cars. Two, it is located at the intersection of three countries—Hungary, Austria, and Slovakia.
Soviet times
Standing just a few yards from the boat Jana pointed across the Danube at a woods with a large hill behind on which we could see a transmitter tower. The tower was in Austria, and the woods at the edge of the river were not at all dense. Jana explained that the soviet government had mowed down the trees and shrubbery and placed several rows of barbed wire and high voltage lines to prevent escapes. (According to wikipedia 400 Bratislavan citizens were killed trying to escape during the years Soviet Russia ruled Slovakia.). But the Austrian tower transmitted television, though often jammed, and Jana asked us what we thought her grandmother’s favorite tv series was. Dallas! Her grandmother was really pissed when jamming made her miss an episode.
Upper left, the Neolog memorial; lower right, the drop of blood in that little hole in the gold decoration
The Neolog Synagogue that survived both world wars was torn down by the Soviets in 1969 to make way for a road, which now runs so close to the beautiful St. Martin’s Cathedral that it is now suffering damage from traffic vibration. There are reminders of the lost synagogue around the central historic district including a memorial on the site and information placards posted nearby.
St. Martin’s Cathedral alongside the Neolog Synagogue before the Soviets destroyed the synagogue.
St. Martin’s Cathedral has a soaring interior with very little interior decoration where frescoes were destroyed in the several fires that were started by lightening strikes. These interior fires started at the back of the sanctuary and were extinguished before reaching the altar, which remains filled with frescoes and elaborate carved seats, each with a symbolic animal (creature?) representing a sin or virtue.
On one side wall there’s a curious Habsburg relic, a recent gift of descendants of the Habsburg emperor who abdicated in 1918. The gift is gold, like a decorative frieze, and sits inside a large, carved wooden something-or-other. The curious part is in the center, a small round hole that holds a drop of the last emperor’s blood.
Walking through the renaissance
The streets of old Bratislava are narrow and treacherous with cobblestones that are themselves awfully uneven. The old town is so small you are through it in minutes. Our guide explained one street has been used over and over as a movie set because all of the buildings are owned by the Catholic church and hence there are no commercial signs. She told us a funny story. She was leading a tour and as they came around the corner onto this particular street a gate opened and out walked two tall men in full Nazi uniforms. Jana and her group stopped and gaped. “It was surreal,” Jana said. I’ll bet!
Many buildings date from renaissance and guide pointed out the distinguishing feature: enclosed balconies facing the street with windows on front and the very narrow sides. The side windows were a security feature…one could see from inside if a bad guy was sneaking along the wall toward the door. Only bad guys would approach by scooting along the wall instead of approaching directly from the front.
On the left, a renaissance building with side windows in covered balcony
Live and learn.
Bratislavan treat
Our wonderful guide Jana had stopped outside a restaurant that had photos of their traditional dishes to point out that we shouldn’t leave without eating the most delicious of local foods, halusky. Dumplings (along the lines of spaetzel) in sheep’s cheese with bacon on top. At the end of the tour I asked her to recommend a restaurant where we could find a good version and she have us a name and pointed it out.
One of my problems on the cruise is lunch is at 12:00 and dinner not until 7:00. Consequently I am hungry in the afternoon and the snacks on board are cookies, fruit, one day donuts…all sweet. So this day i counted on walking back into town to try halusky. We braved the windy cold and spatter of rain. Wow. So delicious. We also ordered potato pancakes which were unlike anything I have eaten. Thin like crepes, buttery, with a very faint sweetness. It looked like a lot of food but we ate every last bit.
Halusky and potato pancakes, and the view from inside the restaurant.
We left this beautiful peaceful town thinking it would indeed be a nice place to live!
Budapest is a beautiful city. Like Prague, around virtually every corner is another deco or nouveau building, a small green park, or a monument with an unrecognizable, to Americans, statue on top.
It is also infected with plenty of American shops, pizza restaurants, kebab shops. I suppose we should no longer be bummed by Starbucks and McDonalds and Burger King, right? And yet…
We arrived several days before our Danube cruise started, fresh out of France and perhaps a bit hard to please on the food front as a result. Our visit was also handicapped by incredibly cold and windy weather that arrived our first morning. Nonetheless we layered up and headed out and about.
Public transportation
Line 1, the yellow line, oldest in Budapest
The metro is great, with the added attraction of the oldest line (yellow) with white and brown original tiled stations, quite small, and low ceilings. According to our guide it was the 3rd major underground system in the world after London and Istanbul. It is not many steps below ground and supposedly because it is not in a tunnel it is technically not a subway. The cars have leather straps (!), low ceilings, and the most terrifying door closings I have experienced. I tried to capture them on video but it does not do them justice. Ding, ding, ding and the doors close, slamming violently the last few inches. I bet they would take a limb off, easy.
Between the metro, the bus system, and electric streetcars you can get anywhere and quickly.
Advice: From the airport skip the cab line and head right for the express bus 100E, which barrels into Pest and drops you right in the center.
As we lined up for that bus, pretty tired from walking at least ten miles across the Munich airport (very slight exaggeration), we were taken aback by a twenty-something man who was almost aggressively asking us a question in incomprehensible English, over and over. We stepped back, alarmed, as another young man at the door to the bus asked if we were over 65. Uh, yes? No charge for public transportation! The insistent young man who had been pressing us a moment before looked down, saw he didn’t have his ID badge around his neck and immediately fumbled to get it out of his jacket pocket. He had been asking us “How old are you?” Poor guy.
Google maps were reliable for walking and taking public transportation, with few of the dead spots in many other old cities. So in spite of the windy cold we got around easily.
Disappointing
We love museums, primarily art and history. We found Budapest museums underwhelming. The fine arts museum, which is on Heroes Square (which is magnificent) is only mediocre and the building itself terribly confusing. It seemed in each era the examples on display were not the most impressive. Admittedly we have been to a lot of art museums but I do not think we’re jaded, we just had no wow moments, no revelations. But it is very well regarded and maybe we weren’t in the mood.
Heroes SquareHistorical Hungarian leadersFine Arts MuseumOne half of the Ethnography Museum
In retrospect we wish we had gone to the ethnography museum instead. First of all the building is amazing from the outside (see photos below) and lots of people were walking up to the top. For us it was way too cold and windy to try. A missed opportunity. And second, given the bits of Hungarian history we picked up a few days later at the national museum, an ethnographic history would have been fascinating. Quick, which language is Hungarian most closely related to? Yup, both the Finns and the Magyars came out of Siberia.
Our last museum experience worth mentioning was the National Museum, all about Hungarian history. Best part by far is on the second floor, 1703-1990. Lizt’s piano, which had been Beethoven’s! And the fascinating era from World War I through the velvet revolution. Well laid out, sufficient English signage, moving and just interesting.
Beethoven’s, subsequently Lizt’s piano!!
When we got there, tired as all get out, we decided to take the elevator up and walk down. We asked where it was at the entrance and were told to see a particular woman who motioned for us to sit down. We did. After perhaps ten minutes we didn’t begrudge given how tired we were, she motioned for us to follow as she led us through locked doors, a warren of hallways, finally getting into a freight elevator to the third floor where we were escorted back out to a public area. We said thank you and went on our way.
Our Hotel
Beautiful in the daytime too.These bronze figures are all over the city. This is right outside the hotel.So Zsa Zsa, darlingNight view from our room
We stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel, right on the river, and we thrilled to the view both day and night. Our room was big and dead quiet, bed comfy, and we almost caught up on our sleep.
Food
We had paprikash and goulash several times. Delicious. I think perhaps the cucumber salad that came with veal paprikash our last night was a highlight, as was the “onion” soup David ordered. It was the bright dark green of very fresh spinach, maybe, thinner textured than a cream soup, and wow what a flavor. The English translation in the menu was “Ramson’s onion soup.” Oh! Ramps, a beloved spring wild onion found in eastern US. it was a revelatory dish. This great meal was at Elso Pesti Reteshaz, also known as Strudel House. And yes, great strudel both savory and sweet.
David and I raise the average age in Simon’s
A funny and yummy meal experience at the other end of the spectrum is Simon’s Burger. It is a love letter to American smash burgers and that cuts both ways, right? But we were tired of finding places to eat, we were hungry, and it was close by. Everything is in English, though the clientele is young and Hungarian. We raised the average age by a decade and the place was packed. We had medium hopes that were way too low. The burgers and fries were terrific, perfectly cooked and hot, and the ambiance so entertaining, we were very happy we went.
The concierge sent us to A La Maison, a ten minute walk, for breakfast because it was open at 8 unlike many of the coffee houses. Huge menu, delicious variations of eggs benedict, a few oddities to Americans like Hungarian French toast (savory, served with grated cheese on the side), pretty darned good coffee and fresh orange juice. Heaven for me.
Jewery
The Jewish quarter is known as the party district due to lots of “ruin bars” and a funky feel. It also has a lot of Jews and several large synagogues. One of these also has the Jewish Heritage Museum (somewhat boring) and a devastating photo exhibit about the demise of Budapests’s formerly large Jewish population at the very end of 1944, and the cemetery of mostly unidentified victims buried in perhaps a dozen mass graves ringed with the gravestones of the small number who were identified. Also a courtyard dedicated to Raoul Wallenberg and other gentile heroes who saved Jews from the Nazis. Worth seeing and facing but personally I couldn’t manage all of it and ended up leaving to cry in the synagogue.
Known and unknown buried together
Surprisingly interesting for me is the Robert Capa museum of his photography and his life. What a life. He was a very famous war photographer starting in the Spanish civil war through both world wars. He took a break of a few years, managing to squeeze in an affair with Ingmar Bergman and friendships with Steinbeck and other men of letters, then returned to the French Indochina war where he died in 1954 when he stepped on a land mine. It’s a grueling experience to see his work and read about his life and worth every minute. The Capa museum is on the edge of the Jewish Quarter, so if you are visiting I advise you to pace yourself.
Miscellany
The enormous, somewhat touristy Central Market is worth a trip if only to buy eleventy-seven kinds of paprika. I also discovered the butchers are happy to sell you 4 little slices of salami to scarf down on the spot.
Hungarian specialty chocolatiers are amazing!
As you bus from center city outward the beautiful buildings gradually step down from maybe 7 stories to 5 to 4 to 2. All of the nouveau/deco eras, all gorgeous.
If you manage to learn even 3 words of Hungarian, especially thank you, you will always get a smile.
Most people who mention the government are scornful of Orban and sadly baffled by you-know-who. Oddly coincidental Netanyahu was landing for a visit as we landed Saturday.
The photo below is a soviet era statue, very very large on the hill in Buda. After the velvet revolution it was draped in a white sheet for three days…our guide said it looked ghostly. Then the sheet was removed and it was renamed Lady of Liberty. Cool, huh?
We had just a day or two left in Nice and we were happy to take my aunt’s suggestion to see the Ephrussi-Rothschild villa and gardens in Villefranche-Sûr-Mer. Hurrah, again, for a fully functioning public transportation system.
I would compare the ride, which was close to an hour, to the delightful bus ride we took through Kyoto our last day in town in 2024. So interesting, so lovely, the time flew by. The bus dropped us at the entrance to the villa grounds and we walked up the hill in the morning sun, bought our tickets and walked through the very early spring gardens…not a lot was blooming but the views, the great weather, and the ever changing garden designs were delightful. After an hour or so I was, of course, hungry and we walked through the villa itself to the restaurant. In a minute we were seated in the soaring, elegant room, only a few tables occupied. The host, a handsome young man, was from Portugal and we had an extended conversation when he asked where we were from, where we had traveled, and when we mentioned we loved Mexico he said he‘d been there because his dad married a woman from there and they now lived in Cancun. We turned to the menu and soon were drinking a half bottle of rose and devouring our customary French lunch. We’re getting used to this high class life.
The villa itself is rather small with human-sized rooms, though the art is a bit one-note. Nothing to knock our socks off but the film about the doyenne of the villa and grounds was pretty interesting (we’d have liked more details on her apparently strange marriage) and it’s always fun to watch old black and white films about rich and famous strangers.
We walked down to the bus stop and this time we knew how gorgeous the views were and could get a few photos. I post them for you to enjoy and daydream over.
Wrapping up our time in France
We didn’t feel we had fully enjoyed everything in Vielle Ville so determined to spend the morning there and the afternoon at the Archeological Museum next to the Matisee Museum. We really love Roman stuff.
The old city is just a few tram stops away from my aunt’s and thus we arrived fairly early in the morning. We hadn’t made it down to the actual seashore the other day. This time we got off at the Opera stop and walked directly there. Well, almost directly, because I had a mission to have a few specialties of Nice that somehow hadn’t yet touched my lips—socca, a chickpea savory pancake, and pan bagnat, basically a Niçoise salad in bread—a truly appealing sandwich, no? Within a few blocks we passed a boulangerie and I ducked in to see wonderful examples in round, thick buns. We figured we would see them again so walked on, but within a few blocks David indulged my sudden need to turn back and buy two. We continued to the “beach,” a rocky shore not at all crowded at the early hour and definitely off-season, and enjoyed the sound of the surf on the rocks and the few bikini’d women, a few dogs, a few families—a pleasant scene.
We had wanted to see a particular cathedral that we didn’t find our previous time in the old city. David, whose phone has the eSIM and hence manages a lot of out maps and lists (I can get on line when we are together and he opens his hot spot) checked his saved map and we left the beach to find the cathedral. As we walked along I spied an intriguing store and, calling out to David I would need a minute, went in without waiting for his acknowledgment. After a nice conversation with the woman and making a purchase I went back out…no David. I figured he had continued on to the cathedral so I opened my phone to looks at the saved map. Well, it had a picture of where the cathedral was, and lots of streets, but not a single street name. Unconcerned I kept walking. No cathedral, no David—but I did see Bistro Antoine where we had eaten a few days prior. I went in, found our waiter, and showed him my phone. Where was this cathedral, please?
Waiter: “Hmmm. A droit, en suite a droit…je pense…” (to the right, then right again, I think).
I follow his vague directions but see no cathedral and no spouse. But I brighten up when three gendarmes walk toward me.
Me: “Pardon, ou est ce cathedrale (I show the picture on my phone) parce que j’ai perdu mon marie!” (Pardon, where is this cathedral because I have lost my husband.)
Gendarme, looking at his colleagues: “Hmmm.”
He takes out his phone, punches away, looks vaguely around, points in a direction up the street, then “Voila!” The cathedral was a half block away. And there was David, too. We laughed, went into the cathedral, and while it was beautiful there were an unusually large number of gruesome paintings featuring martyred saints and the like. We spent five or ten minutes but left as I announced how hungry I was getting.
I had scored our pan bagnats but what about the socca? Happily on our way out of Vielle Ville we spied a counter which sold lots of Nice delicacies including socca. As the young woman packed my order “pour apporter” I noticed a big tray of petits farcis…little stuffed tomatoes, onions, and zucchini. I added them to our picnic.
My rudimentary French again came to our rescue when we couldn’t find the bus stop. Two cordial women in turn steered us right to the correct spot.
The park was perfect, pan bagnat and socca and petits farci were scrumptious, and we loved the small museum filled with Roman artifacts, complete with a meadow out back filled with Roman ruins.
By the time we got back to my aunt’s apartment we didn’t want to go anywhere or see anything. We rustled up a supper of scrambled eggs with our fellow houseguests, Ronnie and Arthene, and collapsed into bed.
We ate our picnic with a Roman arena in the background!Roman ruins behind the museum. So cool.
i cannot end this last post from France without addressing the sad fracture in our relationship with the Europe that survived World War II largely due to our help. Many Americans died. Many more Europeans died, lost family, friends, communities, almost everything. They have not forgotten—no, they have not let themselves forget—what happened and what we did, what we lost, what we sacrificed.
One of many subtle memorials to the people who died in WW II.
You cannot go too far in many places in France without seeing a memorial or a simple plaque like this one. Here fell Jean Badino, a human being, on August 28, 1944, for the liberation of France. Do not forget him. Do not forget that a war was fought here, right here, for our country.
We arrived in Nice by car and I missed the exit so we ended up driving a bit more through the city up in the fancy hills. So very pretty—everything looks like it came right out of a movie in the 1960s. Large buildings with wrought iron balconies that would be complete with a young beautiful blond woman in a flowing scarf leaning over and calling “Jacques, I’ll be right down” as she scoops up her miniature poodle and ducks inside.
The view from my aunt’s apartment
We didn’t see any blonds with poodles but we have enjoyed the lovely scenery, fantastic food, and the mix of old and new. It is by far the largest city of our trip so far and though I’m still going to hold out for a little apartment in Villeneuve, this place ain’t at all bad. Best of all, it has a museum devoted to Henri Matisse, my favorite painter, which I sopped up. Fortunately for David he is also a fan so he also enjoyed it and tolerates my over-the-top delight.
If he’d stuck with Impressionism he would have been grand!
The museum is here because Matisse and his family donated many many drawings (so many of those that they are rotated into public view), paintings, sculpture, photographs, lithographs, paper cutouts. To watch his progression as an artist from his very early self portrait drawings to his impressionist paintings to his exploration of techniques to transform the flat canvas to a multi-dimensional experience to his abstract cutouts…wow. I wonder if I could convince David to go back before we leave Saturday morning.
We left fully satisfied and walked down the hill to the Chagall Musee. En route I of course got hungry for lunch and we ducked into the only restaurant we passed and had an overwhelming fun lunch. I asked for the “Hamburger au poulet frite”, otherwise known as a fried chicken sandwich, which came with the predictably yummy fries. David had the “Cesar salade avec poulet frite” which looked delicious and which he finished down to the last little piece of lettuce.
Of course we were a bit tired by the time we got to the Chagall museum. We’ve seen plenty of Chagall, and David said he was not that into him because “too many goats.” So we had a contest—first one to see a goat wins. I won—third painting. We wandered the collection which is displayed in airy, spacious rooms and enjoyed it enough but our eyes couldn’t absorb any more and we walked home.
Home is my aunt’s enormous and comfortable four bedroom apartment in the thick of the commercial area, super convenient to the tram, to a large and fantastic Monoprix department store—though all we can vouch for is the overwhelming grocery, boulangerie, prepared food section. Every morning I take croissant orders and am there a bit after 8am, selecting the same assortment (butter croissants for me and the two other friends of my aunt spending the week here; a GIANT pain chocolat for David, and the ‘round thing with raisins’ for my aunt). After three days of buying more or less the same things from the same somewhat dour woman, this morning I said “A demain!” (See you in the morning!) and got a big smile and “Oui! A demain!” I think she might be tired, not dour.
After the museum overload we took the tram, right outside the apartment, to Vieux Ville, the old city. It is not separated from the rest of the city—no wall or gate that we saw—but it reminded us of the old cities and towns we’ve visited thus far. A few touristy shops and restaurants, a crowded plaza outside the old Cathedrale, but the same delightful narrow back streets and assortment of enticing places to eat lunch. We ended up at Bistro Antoine and oh oh oh. When I commented to the woman at the next table (she’s from Cyprus) how delicious our lunch was she said well of course, it’s been recognized under some designation or other by Michelin. We left so happy and full, but managed to eat the three beignets we had picked up at the open market. I mean, you cannot let fresh baked goods go uneaten.
Dogs in restaurants…why not?In Nice, so of course nicoise olives.Indescribable lemon (the white stuff) that the waiter said was not a gelatin but it was smooth as silk.I had to have tartare one more time!
We walked along the waterfront a block or two and took the ascensuer (elevator) up to the top of the Colline de Chateau, walked around the chateau ruins, wandered the gardens (we wander a lot!), explored the Jewish cemetery, then walked back down super tired to the tram and hopped on. In a few minutes we were home.
In this lovely hilltop garden is a memorial to those who saved Jews during WWII…”that their courageous acts will never be forgotten.”
We decided we could live happily in Villeneuve-Lez-Avignon. We have added Arles to this category.
We arrived very early, so early that many Moslem families were racing to the mosque for the end of Ramadan, we think. There is a very large Moslem population as a proportion, it is believed; France does not collect religious affiliation data. We wandered hoping to find something open on this brisk Sunday morning—coffee and croissant first thing have become our routine. We did, and then spent two hours wandering instead of the one hour we’d planned.
There are a few cool Roman vestiges, including an arena which, as in Nimes, is used for events, and what was called a theater but is now just bits and pieces in a pretty setting. Cool to see nonetheless. This is the town where Van Gogh spent a lot of time, and there are posters of his paintings in the places he painted. Not much has changed!
We walked and wandered, then it was back in the car for the drive to Nice. We knew we’d have to figure out the toll road situation and I was a bit apprehensive. Our recent trip to Chicago taught us that sometimes you have to have that darned transponder in the car to get through a toll gate. But here they took cash or card, and we sped along. Even though we were on the highways the drive is plenty picturesque and fast (130 km/hour in some places). We arrived early and met my aunt. We had a week in Nice staying with her in her spacious and beautiful apartment ahead.
Late Thursday afternoon we took the bus to the TGV station to fetch our rental car. I had booked a EuropCar because none of the US companies had an option for English on the French site, nor did they allow a return to a different city. Our plan was to rent in Avignon, tour around outside the city, then return the car in Nice. EuropCar was perfect, had lower rates, and the young man who handled the rental was a pleasure.
It was well after 3 so we drove directly to Pont du Gard. This is one mammoth aqueduct, built in the first century CE and in use until the fourth century. If you want to be amazed by this engineering feat go to Wikipedia or watch a film on YouTube. It ran for 31 miles, weaving around hills and adjusting the slope over the course of the run as needed. At the last section the slope was incredibly shallow. The concept and execution, not to mention the guts, to embark on such a crazy project is unimaginable. It turned out we were very lucky to go in late afternoon when the shadow of the mammoth structure was visible on the downstream river. We walked across and back, trying to imagine the now gone third set of arches which were taken down in order to use the stone for buildings nearby.
Looking westLooking east with the sun behind the bridge
Uzes and Nimes
Saturday we drove to Uzes and Nikes. Uzes is a very small, and sadly getting smaller (now around 8500) town whose market day we wanted to enjoy, so that was our first stop. Less than 45 minutes away and so friendly, we had a lot of fun. First on the list was coffee and a croissant and walking down the main street only 10 yards or so brought us to Le Vieux Cafe. It was chilly and windy, yet there were 10 or so customers sitting outside. Let me take a moment to say that the French sit outside to drink and eat in weather that is way, way too cold for us Americans, and there’s not a gas heater anywhere. In we went and within a few minutes a man swings by, “Bonjour madame, bonjour monsieur, voulez vous un boisson” and 60 seconds later we had our café crème and croissants. Delicious.
We took the first side street and were enveloped by the market. The wind was fierce (gusts up to 48mph) and it felt quite cold but the crowd and the bustle of the weekly market kept us moving and somewhat warm. That wind. Every now and then an umbrella fell over, branches were falling, and the trees in bloom were shedding seeds that were everywhere on everything. And it was fun. We decided to put together enough food for an evening meal because I insisted every day that we take advantage of the custom of a big lunch—and the lunch specials that every restaurant offers and we planned to do a lot that day—I could already imagine not wanting to budge once we got back to the hotel (I was right about that). And, I confess, it is just fun to buy things at an outdoor market where everyone is in a market mood, I have a lot of questions I can ask in my rudimentary French, and who can resist the cheeses, the breads, the olives…
Le Vieux Cafe, so old and filled with stuff that appears to have been there for a few generations.One of the MANY honey displays. There are stores everywhere we’ve been that sell only honey.Uzes is such a lovely little town. I couldn’t resist taking a picture of the herald on the roof.
We decided to head to Nimes and assume we’d get there within normal lunch hours. We’d walked pretty much the entire town of Uzes anyway. Off we set, excited to see more Roman ruins—an arena, a temple, and a tower—and experience a different town. Well, wow, very different. We were surprised that Nimes was so big, much bigger than Avignon, at least the part within the city walls that we had gotten to know, and it made Uzes seem like a closet. We drove through this city, with wide streets and confusing directions, searching for a place to park that would be near at least one of the sites. Happily there is an underground parking garage adjacent to the arena/coliseum. We came up to the very big plaza to see the wind whipping water from a large fountain across the plaza in a cloud. We let the wind push us to the Office de Tourisme where we confirmed that the three things we wanted to see were within walking distance. “Mais, oui.” Off we set, but first, lunch.
The plaza the tourist office woman sent us to is clearly a tourist place—a small square ringed with restaurants, lots of outdoor seating, not too crowded but many people eating and talking. We were a bit dismayed, having avoided these settings as much as possible but too hungry to venture further. We entered one that advertised a gratin brandade (baked salt cod, usually with potatoes). We’d been so lucky regarding restaurants and feared our streak would end. Nope. It was still very windy so we went inside, and small tables close together were pretty packed. We sat and immediately the great table service we have found everywhere was here too. I made a comment to the woman at the next table in French—it was perhaps two feet from us—and she asked if I spoke English. The couple was traveling in their camper from Stuttgart on to Italy and we had a typical friendly conversation. David ordered what her husband was having (linguine with a baked Camembert that he stirred into the pasta, with a side of a small charcuterie) and I got the gratin brandade. Everything was delicious.
The brandade. So good. Potatoes covered with bubbling eggy salt cod.The arena here is used for events. They are repairing the clay surface.The view from Le Tour Magne, the last grueling stop on our Roman ruins trek. Yes, gorgeous but might have been my last tower!
Back we drove to Avignon, very very glad we had bought a supper at the market. We dragged ourselves to the room, scarfed down the baguette, cheese, and olives, and packed. We left Avignon the next morning and drove to Arles on our way to Nice.
We love museums. History and art are our favorites, and everywhere we go we spend hours in museums. Really. They are restful, mind-expanding, educational, and for us just plain fun.
I will now tell you about the museums of Avignon and tomorrow will add a bit about Villeneuve-Lez-Avignon. There are some great ones.
Our first day in Avignon we stopped at the Office de Tourisme and discovered there are four free museums—we visited three of them that first day. David and I are into Roman history and we had several day trips we had planned to see Roman ruins. And here we find out that there is a museum of Roman artifacts, Lapidaire Musee, a few doors from the Office de Tourisme. And free! We headed right over there and wow, what a lovely experience if you like Roman stuff.
A single soaring room filled, without feeling crowded, with all these amazing items that were excavated in Avignon, most in the mid 1800s. Best of all as you can see nothing is behind a barrier (except glassware and little ceramics) so you can walk right up and see things close. There was another couple in there with us and I said offhand to the woman “Incroyable, oui?” She nods yes and asks me if I am Spanish—doubtless due to my lousy accent. I say I do speak Spanish thinking that is what she speaks. She asks me where in Spain I am from. I say California, and ask her if SHE is from Spain. No, they are from France. Then we have a mish mash conversation, a melange of French and Spanish. We smile and laugh, then I hear her explaining to her husband what THAT was all about. Needless to say through this first week my French has come more easily and my accent has improved tremendously.
Anyway, get a load of this Roman mosaic. So beautiful.
Next we headed uphill to the Palais de Papes and across the plaza to the Musee Petit Palais. This is a relatively small museum, free, with an extensive collection of medieval paintings, virtually all religious as that’s what artists were expected to paint. The docents were wonderful (yes, I had questions) and were able to follow my French to my delight. But the best part for me was the ground floor exhibit that detailed what the profession of painter entailed in the Middle Ages. The artist who led an atelier with many apprentices was not just an artist and painter. He had to be a project manager, a teacher, a bit of a chemist—mixing colors was an art in itself in addition to a science—and a salesman. Of course! But I had never thought about it and led me to think differently about what art was all about in those days.
Finally, although we were warned it was boring we went inside the Palais de Papes. It is enormous..and we loved it. When you check in you get a tablet that, when aimed at a stand in each room, shows the room as historians believe it looked like in the day. Very cool, and surprising how walls, beams and ceilings were painted as well as the array of furniture. The tablet had loads of information about each room, how it was used, in some cases what it meant. When you get to the chambre de pape (the pope’s bedroom) the uncovered and restored tiles that cover the floor are breathtaking—and they let you walk on them! So neat. We failed to take any pictures inside so you’ll have to visit yourself. It is definitely NOT boring.
Inescapably Rational 