Last day—and hotel transfer day as we had an early morning flight back to SFO from Charles deGaulle airport. We knew trying to get there on time would be stressful day of, so David had booked a night at the Hilton Express. What a lovely hotel! There is a kind of courtyard area between all the onsite hotels with a teeny green park and very respectable playground which I imagine could be a life saver for families traveling with smaller kids.
Our plan worked just fine. We took an Uber to the hotel right after breakfast, observed rush hour would have been impossible if we weren’t a day early, checked in—our room was ready—and then took the B train back into Paris which dropped us a block away from our last museum, the Musee de Liberation of Paris. Fascinating and sad—this was not the end of the war and the destruction and sheer horror of being occupied by a fascist army was difficult to absorb. Highly recommended if you are able to manage it emotionally.
We got on the Metro and headed to Au Pied Du Cochon for our last big meal in France. It was a fitting end…and my bonus was we were a few doors down from the enormous kitchenware store E. Dehillerin and I actually had a few things I needed. Plus one impulse item, the square bread pan with the slide on lid for making certain breads and other fun foods. We got back on the B train in the midst of rush hour and some train system problems, but after three trains one arrived with “room” and we squeezed in…back to CDG and our last night in the Holiday Inn Express.
Interior of Au Pied de CochonRazor clams entreeMarrow entreeBoeuf fondant–didn’t know what fondant was but probably the best beef stew ever.Profiteroles for dessertYeah, profiteroles were good.A little meringue for a last biteInterior of E.Dehillerin is somewhat intimidating
Thursday was the first day we had no museum timed tickets, no things we had to go see, just an open day and thank goodness for it. It was lovely to dawdle over breakfast and hang out.
We did have assignments, though. Our wonderful daughter had given us, as she did in April, a list of skin care items only available in France, and two fun things that she hoped we could track down. One of the fun things was at a store “Merci”, which was noted in France as “the hottest concept store in Paris” and I’d say from the activity around the store (tourists were photographing the outside of the Merci used bookstore/coffeeshop as we walked up) yes, it’s hot. Concept store is a phrase we have seen around Europe which seems to describe a store that is not built around one particular consumer category (clothing, household goods, coffee beans) but is the more eclectic kind of store that is so common around where we live. Merci is anchored by its clothing, but has housewares–very trendy and cute–lots of accessories, handbags, etc. We were the oldest people in the building.
Our assignment from Merci was to find a tote bag, apparently something that went viral and comes in a bunch of colors and is not expensive. Sure! Then we agonized over the colors but settled on brown with the name Merci in dark blue. As we were ringing up I asked the (of course lovely and sweet) young woman at the counter where we could get the skin care stuff. When she saw the list she said any “Pharmacie” would have it all. Super! Our other assignment was to find a Kutjen store–tiny boutique stores that sell cashmere things. One of them is in Le Marais, so off we headed to our favorite wandering- -around neighborhood. We were, it turned out, on the edge of Le Marais so decided to walk.
Within two blocks we found a a pharmacie and though it didn’t look very big what the heck. The store security guy was an older man who was able to point us to a particular brand we were looking for, and as we pulled things from the list he appeared with a basket. So nice. We had one last item we couldn’t find but the young woman at the cash register knew exactly where it was. We also grabbed a few more tubes of Homeoplasmine, a magical skin irritation ointment that for some reason only exists in France. It’s pretty great. We crossed the 100 euro mark and got our tax refund forms, and off we trekked to find the Kutjen store.
Again, tiny store, super nice people working there, and they had exactly what our daughter had requested. It was delightful.
It really does help you explore and enjoy a new place if you have a quest or two! We would never have gone into these stores, never would have had such pleasant interactions, without a list of stuff we had to find. I recommend having a few of these for the times you don’t have plans and want a little guidance in your wandering.
Onward
After our delicious falafel lunch (see post on restaurant notes) we thought we’d better at least walk by the Eiffel Tower, so took the metro out to the banks of the Seine and a lot of people taking pictures. We stood there for ten minutes, looked up at the tower which is so big and quite ugly, watched tourists, and that was that. But, wait, isn’t there something else we could do or see in a drizzly late afternoon? Notre Dame! We hopped on the RER (the train) and were there in a few minutes. Stood in line 10 minutes and we were in. WOW. So glorious, clean, light…it was just fantastic. And at the last chapel there was a plaque that this was where Charles deGaulle and his generals came the day Paris was liberated for a singing of the Magnificat. We learned more about this at the Musee Liberation de Paris. It’s so cool to learn how things unfolded back in the day when the US was a hero.
By the time it was evening and we were back in our hotel we decided to return to Poni, where we had eaten our first night in Paris, and had another very good meal. What a great place. As I paid the bill I mentioned we had been there a few nights earlier, and the man said of course he recognized us and pointed to the table where we had sat the first night. “Bonne nuit!”
Hottest concept store in ParisLe Marais L’As Fallael’s eggplant entreeWe saw several carousels in random placesGleaming restored Notre DameWe saw more about this at the Liberation museum The scale of Notre Dame…where work continues on the exterior
When we were on our food tour way back on Monday our guide recommended a particular falafel place in Le Marais if we were in the area again. Falafel sounded awfully good, and the restaurant was a few blocks away. It was great! Not only was the food perfect, no one yelled at me (a la New York Jewish places, for example). It was jammed, a little crazy, but we were seated right away and it was all “Bonjour!” and “Bonne journee.” Tables were literally inches apart so we ended up talking to the older man and his elderly mom at the next table. They were from Quebec, on their way back from a gorilla excursion in Africa. She is still travelling at 87!
Stray from your list
Feel the vibes and leave if you do not feel comfortable. One of our last evenings I got out my list and we headed to a recommended place. Walked out…just didn’t feel friendly. We kept going and wandered into Comptoir des Archives, a casual, kind of jammed small bistrot, and immediately felt good. I had duck confit and roasted potatoes which were both delicious, as was David’s veal stew with rice. Small wooden tables, some jostling to get seated, and a great meal.
Marches couverts
If you visit one of the marches couverts and want food to eat there, do not be shy about asking for help (after saying “bonjour” of course). You may have to muscle your way to a counter, or ask where you can sit with food from the pasta place, but do not hesitate. They are happy to feed you and these are friendly spots where spontaneous conversations are the rule. While at Marche Couvert des Enfants Rouges we met a wonderful woman from Brazil (now a Parisian), an insanely good looking couple from Florida who were working their way home from southeast Asia, directed a lost tourist to where you could buy a glass or bottle of wine. The boys from Florida summarized their trip as “Loved Cambodia, hated Viet Nam.” Anyway, one of them had been Netanyahu’s makeup guy at a television station in Israel. “The guy is a total asshole and NEVER goes out without makeup.” Explains a lot about his relationship to dear leader. The terribly nice woman from Brazil who took our picture and even though she understood English did not let me resort to it. “Only French!” she demanded. Such fun.
Jammed and fun falafelComptoir des ArchivesDuck confit Our Brazilian amieMmmmmmMarche des Enfants Rouges
From the metro stop to the museum was a walk in a large park. Almost there!
Oooh, this was a delightful surprise. I have in truth seen enough garden and water lily Monets in my lifetime and was unenthusiastic thinking it was all Monet. Yes, there is a large Monet collection but the special exhibit was L’Empire de Sommeil…an entertaining collection of paintings from many eras of people sleeping. We loved it! The accompanying book was too heavy to bring back so I am ordering it when I return, I hope. This is one of the museums a bit off the path and you do not need a time of entry ticket–just show up. So glad we did.
So poignant.pre-Rafaelite romanceThe painter’s wife and newbornA miniature—the collector’s bedroom
Le Bois, our lunch find
Hungry after such a wonderful dose of art, and the lovely walk through the park, we happened on Le Bois. Best hamburger of my life…David was more restrained and had a Caesar salad with smoked salmon. Lunch was in full swing, and the noise level climbed as more conversations launched around us. The service was great. Very warm and welcoming. Sated, we decided this was the day to explore Montmartre so we hopped on the metro and headed to the LaMarck station.
Montmartre–lovely and insane
While our hotel, which we were very satisfied with (Joyce Hotel, an “Astotel”), is at the bottom of Montmartre we had yet to explore the hill itself. Famed for its artistic history, it’s vineyard, some cool clubs, and the enormous Sacre Coeur at the tippy top, it is also a climb, with stairs, winding streets, more stairs, and even a funicular. I can imagine in the summer this place is almost unnavigable, but in the fall it was manageable and had a few nice surprises.
David’s research was great, again, as he knew there was a metro stop way up, perhaps even at the top of the hill, LaMarck-Caulaincourt. Well, it’s not quite that high, but high enough that instead of a few stairs or short escalator there is a continuously running elevator which goes from the metro platform up two stories to a street level exit. We emerged and were immediately confused about where we were and which way to go. Google maps are great…but sometimes getting your bearings takes some concentration. We wanted to wander enough to see the pretty spots, then check out Sacre Coeur, and perhaps wander all the way down to our hotel.
We walked by the famous Agile Lapin, a small club–it was named at one time A Gill Lapin (Gill was the owner) but it devolved into its current name. La Maison Rose, the vineyard, and zig zagged up and up, finally reaching the touristic insanity of Place du Tertre (jammed with artists doing caricatures and more serious portraits) and around to Sacre Coeur. It was wild how block by block this small area changes completely.
Agile LapinWhat a great shop!Working vineyardSacre CoeurLa Maison Rose
After emerging from Sacre Coeur we wandered down, down, and within a few blocks it was tranquil again. I had been looking for a local artisan store to buy earrings for our beloved dog sitter, and suddenly we were in a village-like section where I found La Fabrique du 18, the perfect place to find-and I did-the perfect earrings for Roni. As I was completing the purchase I asked the proprietor if she knew of any place that sold authentic, all wool, made in France berets for children. We had been looking everywhere but all we found were made in China. Her response? “Around the corner.” Literally around the corner was a small shop, Laulhere, that sells ONLY made in France berets and knit caps, and the woman ushered us to the children’s section where we found one for our granddaughter in a bright dark pink. Adorable.
We continued to wander down, through the former red light district, now full of musical instrument stores and lots of young people, Pigalle. We passed countless tiny food options–like kiosks built into the buildings, some just takeaway, some with two or five seats–and found ourselves a half block from our hotel. A lovely afternoon. We celebrated by going to a restaurant at the end of our block, Le Comptoir Boutary, which was spectacular. I looked it up afterward to find it is consistently rated five stars and Michelin listed. A lucky find. We drank an entire bottle of wine with dinner and were glad it was only half a block to our hotel.
Boutary version of boeuf tartare was magicalYes, drank this entire bottle.
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.”
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.
This medieval city, with its circling wall, lovely walking streets, and hospitable people grabbed us from the first morning as we set out for coffee. We had arrived late Tuesday after about 24 hours of travel, easily settled into Hotel Cloitre Saint Louis, and after a quick, delicious, albeit Italian, dinner we fell into the very comfy bed and slept 10 hours. Wednesday we quickly found a sweet little coffee and pastry place, Le Saint Chocolat, and enjoyed our breakfast of croissants and coffee so much we came back every morning this week.
Let‘s be clear, the food here is spectacular. It can’t be that a glass of champagne (for me) and a beer (for David) makes that much of a difference! Our first lunch, at unsung Petit Grand, was delectable. Our supper of soup and tartines (open faced sandwiches) perfect and in a little place right out of a French movie. The lunch in Avignon Villeneuve (across the Rhône), where we sat outside in the little square and talked travel and politics with the folks sitting at the next table—the man so happy to have a chance to speak English and sigh about the turn of events in the US (“This sure isn’t the America of 1945 that saved us from the Nazis, is it?”), and the food scrumptious. Lunch today might have topped them all, but that might also be that for me speaking French is beginning to flow and it made the food—the creamiest of carrot soups and baked goat cheese with honey for David, pate en croute and beef tartare for me—even better. Yeah, great eating that is frankly superior to typical American food in a tourist-y city, ooh la la is all I can say and yes, they say that here.
Yesterday we stopped in the Office de Tourisme to ask about getting a bus to Villeneuve-Lez-Avignon, the “new town” across the Rhône, and the very cordial young woman told us to get off at the Office de Tourisme there and noted that it was market day. We did, and there was the market, right across from the bus stop. Now, we consider the Grand Lake farmers market in Oakland to be pretty darned good, but this one put it to shame. Just watching the French talk, laugh, buy (and everyone seems to reuse containers—glass jars handed over to be filled with olives, bags to be filled with bread, little containers to be filled with humus), and laugh and talk some more was enough entertainment. Drooling over the produce—and the seeming endless array of olives, too—was fun and it made us hungry for lunch. There was even a stand that squeezed fresh juice on the spot.
Though I could have gone straight to a restaurant David was more rational and suggested we head to the castle that we could see from the market.
This small town overflows with history and we marched through a lot of it in the one day we had. The gradual climb to the castle was lovely.
When we got there we thought about whether to buy a ticket but went to the billeteria to see what the deal was. We were quickly convinced to buy 2 twenty euro multi-site tickets and started with the “abbey” and its gardens. Alas, the website for this amazing place is really awful and the information about the restoration in the early twentieth century is buried. The fascinating parts to us are the purchase by a lovely painter, Gustave Fayet, a woman for whom he bought the abbey, Elsa Koenerle, who made it her lifelong work to restore the abbey and especially the gardens with her lifelong “close friend” who lived with them, Genia Lioubow. The gardens are gorgeous, even in their very early spring state. We wandered for at least an hour before walking back down to the square for lunch.
The abbey ground floor where they all lived is now a gallery of Fayet’s painting and drawings. They are lovely. I include here only one, a portrait of his wife and baby.
The next post will cover a few of the museums in Avignon and Villeneuve-Lez-Avignon. After several long days I am heading to bed.
Inescapably Rational 