This region of France is centered around the Three A’s:
Avignon, Aix-en-Provence and Arles. The
biggest market in the region is in Arles on Saturdays spring through fall. We wake up early and make the 30-minute
drive. It’s rainy on and off and we stop
into the first café where we can sit indoors.
It’s a little Spanish place and the coffee is the best we have had in
France, big American cups.
Arles is another ancient city, chock full of Roman Empire
influence. The market is enormous, 10
times the size of the market in Nice and much more culturally diverse. Italian, Spanish, Greek and other nationals
mixed among the French vendors. We get a
small quiche and a pastry from a baker and munch as we walk. We get a generous serving of Paella out of a
5’ diameter pan from another and find a park bench to enjoy an impromptu picnic. Back in the market we find the linen vendor
Mandy has been searching for the entire trip.
We pick out the quintessential French tablecloth.
Marketed out, it’s time for a new adventure. Arles is the city where Van Gogh spent quite
a bit of time (and also where he did the ear thing…) We start the seek-and-find known as the Van
Gogh Path, a map marked with the locations where the artist did some of his
most famous works. The first one we find
is L’entrée du Jardin Public (Entrance to the Public Garden). The place is marked with a copy of the
painting and a description of the work.
The setting is largely unchanged, and Mandy was breathless and
confounded, being transported through time.
We continue on to see Le Jardin de la Maison de Sante a Arles (The
Asylum Garden at Arles), the courtyard garden, and Le Café le Soir (Café
Terrace at Night), the legendary café scene.
At each we have similar reaction to the first. The square where Le Café was painted is full
of energy, party atmosphere, the bars and restaurants exceptionally
energetic. We realize why. It’s bullfight day. We stop to take it all in over a Pastis, a
traditional low alcohol afternoon drink.
And beer. A couple of beers.
Yes, a real bullfight.
Being held in the ancient Roman coliseum in the middle of a walled
medieval city. Sometimes, things make it
on and off the bucket list in a single day.
This will be that day. Get some
good tickets figuring this will probably be our first and last. It’s raining steadily and getting colder, so
we buy some warm, but decidedly French clothing. At the last minute we find some lifesaving
plastic ponchos at a souvenir shop.
Properly outfitted for a bullfight, if there is such a thing, we go
in. Built in 90 AD, the Arles
Amphitheatre was capable of holding 20,000 spectators for events such as
chariot racing and bloody hand-to-hand gladiator battles. And it’s still in use today. And walking in may be the coolest thing we
have ever done. The seats, as you may
have guessed, are just long stone blocks.
Numbers painted on each show your place.
We are packed in incredibly tight, sandwiched between French locals and
German tourists. The Germans try to push
everyone in an already crowded row down further. We Americans intervene on behalf of the French. (Déjà vu? You decide…) As we settle in, we realize we have no idea
what the format of a bullfight may be.
Do they still kill the bull? Yes,
yes they do. All of them. It never ends
well for the bull.
There are three matadors competing, and as you would expect
the star goes last in each of the two rounds.
After the brass band plays the opening ceremony, the first matador comes
out and the bull is released. It’s
amazing how gracefully he moves as he works the animal. After a few passes, the bull is virtually
trained, only advancing when called to do so.
The matador can turn his back on the 1200 pound animal at will. The subsequent passes are ever more ballet,
with the beast passing a mere inch away. Finally, the band signals the matador that
it’s time. The first sword gets plunged
in to the hilt. The second instantly
drops the animal. It’s beautiful and
sad. Elegant and cruel. We are mesmerized. Each matador goes, then each matador goes
again for a total of 6 rounds. If the
kill is clean and honorable, the Matador gets the point, and is awarded the
bull’s ear. During the fourth round, the
bull breaks its front leg. The bull is
coaxed out of the arena. We’re not sure
what happens next, as the program only lists six bulls and three bull
fighters. As it turns out, they have a
spare bull, and the matador starts his turn over. We did not get to ask if they had any spare
matadors back there. From the venue to
the sport itself, it’s a completely surreal experience.
Before we leave Arles, there are two more Van Gogh locations
we want to see. La Maison Jaune (The
Yellow House) is on the circle right near the car park, but the building has
been extensively renovated and is largely unrecognizable. A hundred yards away is the riverside
location where La Nuit Etoilee was painted.
After a grey, rainy day, the clouds clear and we view a spectacular
sunset turning our exciting day into Starry Night. Once again, merci beaucoup France!
We approach Avignon from another direction. We see the spectacular entrance to the walled
city, complete with a grand arch, iconic bridge and still working draw
bridge. We better understand the city
from this vantage point and wish we would have seen it this way yesterday when
we arrived. Inside, we find an adorable
café, but that’s not hard to do here, there’s several on every block. The tomatoes are in season and terrific. We get the tomato salad with burrata. The French have a way of putting great cheese
on a salad. Our pretty polish waitress
was spot on recommending the grilled fish special, rich white meat and crispy
skin served with roasted pumpkin. We
walk back to the hotel, our heads spinning.
After days of our dreams of France being exceeded, today may have exceed
all of them.
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