Tierra de Tortugas

Summer 2016: PARIS

After a fine month in Provence it was time to leave Beaucaire and southern France behind. Another traveler was playing concert music on the piano in Avignon’s spectacular TGV station as we caught a fast train and settled in for 4 hours of watching French farms and villages pass by our window. Trains are a comfortable and civilized way to travel in Europe.

And soon we’re in Paris, standing among the crowds in busy Gare de Lyon, and headed for the Metro. The stations are postered with reminders of places and events we intend to see. It’s good to be back. 

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Ah, Paris. What can one say that hasn’t already been said, written, and sung, many times before and far better, by so many others? Listen, listen... 

There are many great cities in the world, but Paris is probably the greatest city for the arts, music, sculpture, literature, architecture, food, and wine. And what else, of such major importance to the human spirit, is there?

 

Carolyn had booked us a sweet little apartment (2-rooms, bath, Pullman kitchen) on the back side of Montmartre, the non-tourist and cheaper side, and we settled in for several days of living the Parisian life. Our balcony is the upper one on the left, high above the street. 

 

There’s a Chinese green-grocer nearby, several small markets and a boulangerie with fresh croissants each morning. We can see the Metro stop from our balcony looking over the street life below. There’s a newsstand with the International New York Times right by the Metro, and there are numerous good little restaurants within a block or so where we can enjoy an afternoon drink with the locals. 

 

The only downside: it’s a 5th floor walk-up, no lift. Not an incentive to go out for fresh croissants each morning. Still, the exercise is good for us...if we don’t die on the landing. 

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We’ve been to Paris before, so we’ll skip some of the Big Ones on this visit (Eiffel Tower, the Louvre….) and spend our time at smaller museums and venues less visited. That and just wandering the back streets, getting to know the city better and finding hidden gems, acting almost as if we really lived here. It’s a romantic notion, and we can avoid the bitter cold and damp of Paris in the winter; but who needs that anyway.

Our friend, Alicia Rodriguez is in town on her way to Russia, representing the International Bandera de Paz campaign based on the work of Nicholas Roerich in the 1930s. It was good to hang out with Alicia over some crêpes and catch up on news in the warren of ancient streets near St. Germain. Afterward we walked toward the Seine, as Notre Dame, the ‘grand dame’ of Paris, stood nicely lit against the night.

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Montmartre was a cheap and rural area where many of the most famous of the ‘modernist’ artists hung out from the 1900s to the 30s and after the war. It’s since become a mecca for art tourists but still retains much of its old funky style.

The Musée de Montmartre is on Rue Cortot, only a few blocks (all uphill!!) from our apartment. It was an obvious first choice. The museum is housed in the former studio of Susanne Valadon, a model and muse to many, and a fine artist in her own right. It was a place frequented by Miró, Matisse, Modigliani, and Picasso, and contains a large collection of works representing the modernists who lived and worked on ‘the butte.’ 

Eric Satie, whose spatial musical compositions captured much of the freedom of the times, lived just a few doors away from the studio, and he had a passionate affair with Valadon. He was her subject in several portraits now hanging in the museum. 

 

In 1907 a young and penniless Picasso painted one of his most famous works, ‘Les Demoiselles d’Avignon,’ at the nearby Bateau Lavoir (called the “laundry boat’ because it swayed in the winds). He shared the studio with Max Jacob, Juan Gris, Kees Van Dongen, the writer Apollinaire, and other young rebels.

 

 Among the winding streets of Montmartre lies the little old Clos Montmartre vineyard, a fine spot of green for the area. And there are any number of other surprises in the maze of streets that wander around the butte. Some of them are whimsical and artistic.  Some, like a plaque commemorating an assassination by the Gestapo, are poignant. A modern icon would be Au Marche de la Butte, the store where Amélie worked in the 2001 movie by that name. And a ‘Lost Cat’ sign reminds us of everyday life.

 

 

 

A night of entertainment at Au Lapin Agile, an old French song house, is just a short uphill walk from the apartment, and a worthy stop on the butte. They open at 9:00 p.m. and only serve drinks (no food). So eat early, enjoy a sip of the brandy-soaked cherries you’re offered, and relax while eight people at the center table fill your evening with songs – all in French, of course. Of which we understood almost nothing! And the place was too dark inside for pictures (as you can see), but it was a wonderful evening of song, laughter, and camaraderie.

Here’s a collection of classic French songs to enjoy.

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We didn’t actually skip all the Big Ones, since the Musée Picasso, located in the winding streets of the Marais district, is now open after five years of renovations. It’s hard to find a museum these days without something by Picasso. He was one of the most important, prolific, and long-lived artists of his day, and he left many thousands of works behind when he died. The basis of the museum’s collection is made up of more than 5,000 of those works, received as a ‘dation’ from the family in lieu of inheritance taxes. 

 

 

 

This endlessly fascinating artist never settled into one category for long. He was constantly working with new materials and processes, and his experiments are found in museums throughout the world. Some of them were successful, and some were not. His work resembles weather in the high mountains – ‘if you don’t like what you see, just wait a few minutes for the next change.’ But there’s so much of it, it varies so widely, and he was such an undisputed master in many media, that you’re bound to find a few pieces that speak to you. (Personally, I could skip some of the pottery, and maybe all the sheet metal.)

For a fascinating read about the artist, try Life With Picasso, by Francoise Gilot. She was the only woman who left him behind, and he never forgave her for it; so I was surprised the museum had a piece of Vallauris pottery with her picture.

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We had told our friend Annick, who lives in Paris, of our plans to visit and that we wanted to see her. Together we visited the crazy Paris Plages (Beaches of Paris), where the City brings in barges of sand to put along the Seine for families to enjoy. It’s kind of ridiculous, with people sun-bathing while tourists walk by, but the kids really love it. 

Annick had also gotten tickets to the big nightly spectacle at the massive Invalides, built by Louis XIV as a hospital for his wounded soldiers. And that was a real treat, as they ran an impressive light show history of France across the tall walls inside the huge courtyard.

 

Dr. Jaime and Norma returned from their trip to Venice and Verona and settled into a hotel only a block from us. We all boarded the smooth, modern, and driver-less (?!) Metro line 14 and got quickly to the Chatelet-Les Halles station – which was a big mistake. The exits from the station are designed to waste your time and send you past every uninteresting store in this huge and soulless shopping mall, before delivering you finally to the street. For the rest of our stay we used different stations, and walked through the more interesting streets above when necessary. 

 

We eventually got to the 1970s ultra-modernist Centre Pompidou to see what’s now hanging on the walls. The adjacent fountain still has those playful water spouters by Jean Tingeley, although many seemed not to be working right. We last saw them 30 years ago, spewing and turning and spouting water every way, but now most are stationary.

Our escalator-ride-in-a-tube revealed how much maintenance the Museum’s inside-out design has created for the future. Maybe it seemed like a cool idea at the time, but not such a good concept, looking back. Few modernist buildings seem to weather well, and maintenance is difficult.

 

The collection, however, contains a veritable schooling in modern art. If there’s any artist you want to study in detail, this museum – along with the Louvre, the D’Orsay, and others in Paris – can provide that experience. Again, this is a special city for the arts.

 

And there are some excellent views from the rooftop cafe.

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A ride on a bateau mouche was another item on Jaime and Norma’s agenda. It’s a fun way to experience the city from the water and see how Parisians enjoy their river. Every few meters there’s a different kind of music playing and people enjoying an evening of dance by the Seine. We heard a splash at one point and saw a young man diving after his girlfriend’s cell phone. The phone was probably ruined, but just imagine the points he got when he returned it to her. Very crafty maneuver. He was roundly applauded by everyone on the boat and on the bank.

 

 After several days in Paris, Dr. Jaime and Norma flew back to Hermosillo. And we had time to wander the streets alone to revisit familiar places, and look for all the back alleys and byways we’ve missed in the past. And to explore more of the city’s great parks and public spaces, as well. 

On a drizzly morning we visit the Musée Marmottan Monet, but there were no photos allowed. Monet is often remembered for his painting of Nympheas (water lilies) at his garden in Giverny, and we’d visit those later in the Orangerie. But he was a versatile artist who lived a long and productive life, and there’s much more to appreciate in his work. 

His powerful early paintings of great huffing steam trains at the Gare St Lazare caught my eye. He painted the Gare many times (every major museum seems to have one), with the steaming behemoths entering and leaving, and ushering in a new era for France and the world. And that made me want to photograph the station as it currently exists, from the Pont de Europa as depicted in the painting at the Marmottan.

Unlike Monet, I was denied access to the tracks and restricted to the top of the Pont de Europa near the two large columns. The steam trains are no longer there, but the air is still filled with the sounds of heavy machinery connecting the nation.  

 

It was raining lightly as we left the museum, and the day seemed right for a long hike through the large nearby Bois de Boulogne. It was a weekday and the boats were not for rent, but they’re still beautiful just bobbing gently in the lake.

The northeastern tip of the Bois de Boulogne was not far from the Arc de Triomphe. And that led us right down the fabulous Champs Elysées past the flagship stores of luxury brands, with lines of shoppers waiting outside to enter. But I was distracted by a beautiful old classic model in the window of the Peugeot dealer. And anybody want to ‘test-drive’ a shiny new red Ferrari, for only E90?

After a week of solitude we were joined by friends Casey and Priscilla on their way to resume walking another leg of the Way of St James, this time from Carcassonne to Santiago de Compostela. It will be an 800-mile trek this time.

This was a first visit for Casey and Priscilla to ‘The City of Light,’ and the Musée D’Orsay was high on their list. The gorgeous old converted train station lies just over the Seine from the Louvre and houses its own fabulous collection of works documenting the history of art. There’s so much of the world’s most important art on view that it’s best to pick what most interests you. You likely won’t have time to deal with all of it.

 

We had planned to stay only a week in Paris but got distracted by the many things this city has to offer. Plus, it was cheaper to stay than to travel; and we could enjoy meals in our beautiful apartment. Decision made. We extended by ten days!

 

A classical music concert mentioned by Paul, our cultured landlord, was one reason we stayed. We searched out The Scots Kirk and settled in for a fine evening of American music presented by a talented piano and violin duo.   

And afterward we headed to the closest bus stop, passing the brilliantly lighted store windows and buildings of Paris in the nighttime.

 

The area around St Germain de Pres is noted for classical concert posters taped to whatever post or barrier is handy. The concerts are often held in the intimate Eglise Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, the oldest church in Paris, dating from the 12th century. The artists are generally excellent and we managed to catch a couple of these concerts.

 

So much of the charm of Paris is found just walking the streets to find something you weren’t even looking for. Did you know it’s the 70th anniversary of the bikini, or that Paris has a Harley dealer? Or that John Paul Jones used to hang out here, and there’s a cream to cure ‘monkey butt?’ Or that some bronze busts are particularly well-polished?

The buskers in the metro can be especially entertaining! Here we have "Yannick the Accordeon," and his performance partner —quite an accomplished and fascinating duo.

 

Over the centuries Paris has survived its many trials and tragedies. Some of them – the murderous religious wars of the medieval era, the Revolution, the collaborations of the Vichy government – were self-inflicted. Others, like the current war of Muslim extremists against French intellectual freedoms, come from without. The city endures, yet the tragedies do not pass unremembered. We might notice a simple plaque recalling that someone who lived in a certain home was guillotined in 1794. Much more recently, and perhaps more heart-breaking, are plaques at various schools noting the 11,000 Jewish children taken away by the Nazis. The people of Paris will not let them be forgotten.

 

It’s also good to know that Bataclan, the nightclub targeted a year ago, refuses to surrender to the extremists. 

And it’s nice to hang out in the lush Tuileries Gardens on a warm afternoon, with a tall coffee concoction on the table, and watch the world go by.

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David McCullough’s 2011 book The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris  chronicles a period of Parisian history (1830-1900) when a large number of American artists, writers, politicians and others embarked for the Continent. They included the likes of James Fenimore Cooper, Augustus St. Gaudens, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Some were already famous; others were students beginning their careers. Like so many of us, all were profoundly affected by this great city. 

 

And in the end, what is it about Paris that makes this city so special, such an important part of our world view? Why has it attracted painters poets writers and visionaries for centuries? If geography is destiny, then the city’s central location to so many of the world’s major sources of power must be part of the equation. 

And really, should we care about all that? Paris is a romantic city with endless appeal. So we’ll end with a nice view of the Eiffel Tower, brightly lit. 

 

And we’ll thank the heavens for a bunch of fun-loving, and slightly drunk, students who livened up our final Metro trip back to the apartment. 

 

 

We’ll be heading to Amsterdam in the morning, so stay tuned! — PRW

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Here’s a last romantic wander through the city, soundtrack by Edith Piaf...

 

Summer 2016: Beaucaire, Part 2

 

“I can’t complain but sometimes I still do.

Life’s been good to me so far.” 

– The Eagles

After two months of very good travel together, we see my sister Elyse off at the Marseille-Provence airport. We’ve never had that much time together over the past 40 years, and it’s been a wonderful experience for us to get to know each other again. We’ll miss her. 

We’ll return later that same evening by bus to collect our friends Dr. Jaime and Norma, flying in from Hermosillo by way of Mexico City. It’s their first trip to Europe, and they’ll likely be exhausted. The bus is simpler and quicker than the train, and we’ll all get a good night’s sleep before we experience more of Marseille.

 

The following morning breaks bright and clear. And hungry. It’s a typically beautiful Mediterranean morning in Marseille and time for a petit dejeuner at the corner cafe. We’ll have a busy two days ahead of us, seeing more of this great city with Jaime and Norma before returning to our rented house in Beaucaire.

First is a crowded bus ride (SRO!) up to the Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde, with its magnificent vistas overlooking the city and port below. The distant Chateau d’If (just right of the lamppost) is famous as the island prison from Alexander Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo – still a good read after all these years.

The lavish interior of the church features fine mosaics, plus numerous hanging boat models and other references to the sea.

Other vistas include nearby tile-roofed neighborhoods, a bright white 6-star Silversea cruise ship docked by Fort St. Jean, and the Ferris Wheel by the port. We’ll walk back down that way, exploring a few of the back streets.

 

The Musée Cantini, just a few blocks from the port, often has interesting exhibitions. This Summer it’s the challenging work of André Masson.

After the German invasion of France in May of 1940, Marseille was swamped with antifascist refugees, artists and others seeking visas for the US. A remarkable anti-Nazi American named Varian Fry worked to aid their escape, and the US gained the advantage of this sudden intellectual infusion. André Masson was among those in exile during the war, his work reflected the pain of the war, and he influenced the work of Jackson Pollock and others.

Other works on display include Paul Signac’s luminous L’entrée du port de Marseille. And Raoul Dufy’s study of the arcades at nearby L’Estaque recalled the ‘painters walk’ we enjoyed taking through that neighborhood a few years ago. 

 

 

 

On our second day with Jaime and Norma we visit Marseille’s fine Musée de Beaux Arts, in the ornate Palais de Longchamp. The museum holds an impressive collection of Italian and Provençal works, but no pictures are allowed inside. We attended a spectacular exhibit here in 2013 entitled L’Atelier du Midi that featured a vast number of the artists who flooded Provence and created modern art as we know it. 

One of the finest pastimes in Marseille is simply walking the streets of France’s oldest city, a city that’s perhaps more Mediterranean than strictly French. Its important and historical connection to the sea is always evident. The old forts of St-Jean and St-Nicolas still guard the entry as they have for centuries. And the Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde stands watch high above, still inspiring artists and travelers.

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‘Sooner or later, every conversation in Provence seems to turn to food or drink.’ – Peter Mayle, Toujours Provence (1991)

“No one attacks quite like the French.”

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After a couple of fine days in the large city of Marseille, we returned to our little rented stone house in Beaucaire.

The bookshelf in our rented stone home has a number of guides to France and the Provence that have collected over the years. There are also copies of Peter Mayle’s A Year in Provence, and Toujours Provence, his best-selling accounts of Provençal life circa 1990, and this was a good time to read them. They remain interesting and entertaining, and insightful as to the quirks of the timeless Provençal culture.  

He also wrote A Good Year, a novel set in Provence which became a movie starring Russell Crowe. 

 

It can be hard to imagine a better, more healthy, place to live. The Phoenicians and the Greeks, and even the late-comer Romans, discovered that long ago. Life is good; let’s eat, let’s drink!  

And there’s no place better than a tasty return visit to L’Epicerie de Cecile, where a good band is playing in the square. It’s a fine night to dance beneath the trees; and we walk back, sated, to our little stone house.

 

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The Tour de France comes right through Beaucaire along the Sête canal, and townsfolk lined the street waiting for the riders. But first there were souvenir booths to check out, and then hours of advertising vehicles rolling through and tossing swag to the crowds. All that took so long I ran out of battery on both my cameras and missed the riders! But the riders went by so fast it would have been hard to catch anyway, and it was fun just to be close to such a great event.

Dr Jaime managed to catch some shots of the Tour leaders on his long-lasting iPhone, so here are a couple.

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Beaucaire is an ancient town that once figured prominently in the river trade along the Rhône, but that was superseded by the railroad and it’s now become a footnote to history. Yet the town remains lively in its dotage, still the Grand Dame at the intersection of the river and the canal, with activities and festivals honoring a glorious past. 

A good example is the courses camarguaises, an old festival held in many Provençal towns and villages. If you prefer your bull fights without all the blood (certainly my preference), then this is for you. It’s really ‘bull baiting’ as a large group of brave (or foolish!?) young men take turns trying to snatch the rosette from between the horns, and just daring the bull to chase them over the fence. 

 A bull comes charging into the ring looking for trouble and sees some guy taunting him as a distraction. He kicks up some dirt for emphasis. Then another guy races across at an angle to snatch the rosette and the bull charges him. But these agile guys have perfected leaping out of harm’s way and they take advantage of the bull’s lack of turning ability. They bound up a short step and leap over the fence with the bull close behind. And sometimes the bull snags a piece of trousers as a runner comes flying over the fence. All the while they’re playing ‘March of the Torreadores’ from Bizet’s Carmen.

They run six bulls over the course of an afternoon and it’s entertaining to watch. But it can be dangerous, and sometimes the bull makes it over the fence with the runner. We saw no injuries, and were grateful for that, but there are medical people ready just in case.  

 

After a few more days of explorations together (another trip to Arles, some shopping, etc), Jaime and Norma depart to continue their own European adventure. They’re heading to Venice and Verona, and ending at Paris. But Norma will tell us later that the time spent in quiet Beaucaire was the best part of her trip. 

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And then we had the little stone house to ourselves. Our visitors were a delight, but it was nice to have some quiet time in Beaucaire just hearing the daily life of the village outside our open windows, the church bells ringing just blocks away, the screeching of swifts and swallows dipping and dodging through crooked stone streets chasing flying insects in the dawn. We had no one else to consider when making plans for the day. Or just having a quiet dinner for two (a bowl of beans, my favorite!). What a luxury.

We were lucky that friends mentioned this old village house, and we’ve been enjoying the life medieval. The owner only rents to close friends. And sometimes, to friends of friends. The price is reasonable; and we can buy excellent cheeses, breads and produce, and the finest local wines (at €4 to €7 a bottle) to enjoy 'at home.' All of that greatly helps the budget. 

 

Peter Mayle is right about the importance of food and drink in this fertile land. We take a walk to the nearby Belle Pierre winery, the source of the fine local product we’ve enjoyed over many dinners. We pass canals, fields and miles of ripening vineyards along the Côte du Rhône, holding the promise of this year’s finest reds. There’s something of paradise during summers in Provence as crops ripen to fill the Sunday marché along the old Rhône-Sete canal with fresh produce. 

 

And there are other walks that are easily accessible, up nearby hills through quiet neighborhoods with rewarding views over the old city. 

 

The colorful Joutes festival makes for another fine day out among the townsfolk. Jousting tourneys date back to knights in armor; but these days it’s done on colorful boats, and the loser just gets shoved off the boat into the water to come up spluttering. It’s good summer fun and a treat to watch! Some lucky folks can just watch from their balconies.

 

We see a poster for a Chagall exhibit at the Musée Yves Brayer in nearby Les Baux de Provence, an easy day trip away. We cross the Rhône again and board an early train to catch a bus at the Arles station. It’s a fine trip through small towns to the old castle-village among rock outcroppings, known locally as les baux.

The exhibit was worth the trip (but no pictures allowed!). And the narrow streets and alleys, although crawling with tourists, were an artistic and interesting diversion. And flavorful as well, with a good crêperie overlooking the valley below. The stark landscape reminded us of parts of New Mexico.

 

On our return, we hopped off the bus at Fontvieille just because it looked interesting – another great advantage to traveling without much of an agenda. Trains and busses are far less expensive than renting a car, and this was another easy, cheap, and fun diversion.

 

 

This can be a land of extremes; it gets hot in late summer, and the Mistral can blow the spots off a giraffe. After experiencing a couple of strong blows ourselves, we’re familiar with the Mistral, the infamous multi-day wind that blows down the Rhône whenever there’s a large temperature differential between the over-heated lands of Provence and cold air masses lying far to the north. Sometimes we’ve had to negotiate our way carefully over the Rhône bridge to catch the train. Luckily there’s a kind of wind baffle to keep people, and maybe cars, from being blown off the bridge whenever Provence’s most famous wind pipes up. 

Our location, on the fabled Côte du Rhône, is hard to match, with easy access over the river to Arles, Avignon, Marseilles, and Aix. But we sure don’t want to be blown into the water and caught by the Tarasque, the famous mythological creature who lives in those swirling depths.

 

The town’s annual Fête de la Madeleine is a colorful replay of Beaucaire’s ancient history. The parade features costumes from all over the region, with hundreds of people and horses participating. It all ends up at the arênes for festivities well into the night. We walk back through twisting streets to our stone house, and the festive sounds in the distance will lull us to a good night’s sleep.

 

 

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A few parting thoughts about France, Provence and travel:

During our trip a sick guy with a truck murdered 84 people in Nice and crippled many more. We attended a gathering in Beaucaire to mark the tragedy and reaffirm the French determination not to surrender their open society and belief in the greater rights of individuals over extremist beliefs of any sort. It was a stirring occasion to stand among the citizenry as they proudly sang ‘La Marseillaise,’ and French life returned to normal, undaunted by the assault.

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The lack of internet in the house is a gift — of quiet hours to read good books and write our thoughts. The Office de Tourisme has good internet and pleasant staff. The lack of A/C is not a problem, as late dinners and a fan by the bed will suffice.

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It gets hot in July and August, and we hear the thunder, not of needed rainstorms, but of heavy-engined slurry bombers heading north up the Rhône valley to drop their loads on the fires of summer. They return south to scoop more water from the broad estuaries of the Camargue and then rumble northward again with more relief against the flames. In July and August many hiking trails through the Alpilles are closed because of the danger.

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French remains a challenge, and perhaps it always will. But how difficult could it be to learn? Everyday I see little kids speaking French! 

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This has been an excellent trip. We’ve already seen so many places we’ve only read about in the past but couldn’t visit due to distance, work, lack of time and money. Now we feel like we’re getting away with something and they’ll surely catch us sooner than later. It’s a wealthy way to travel, yet we’re not at all wealthy and need to stretch our euros without adding much debt to pay off later. Travel is a fine balance between time and money: with more time, we find less expensive ways to live, and actually need less money.

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We enjoy a last fine dinner at L’Epicerie de Cecile, with another talented band on stage. It’s a wonderful evening, just the two of us – and by now they recognize us and welcome us back. This is a wonderful small town and we will miss it dearly.

Beaucaire has been a good experience for us. But now it’s time to move onward. We’ll catch a fast train (TGV) to Paris for the next leg of the trip. So stay tuned. — PRW

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TRAVEL TIPS: 

 

• Many European hotel rooms and apartments only have one electrical outlet per room, and the bedside light uses it. Buy a 220v extension cord with 4 outlets after you arrive (cost: about 4 euros) to run the lamp and charge all your stuff. You need four outlets because plug adapters can block a second outlet, leaving only two more that are useable.

• Leave 110v appliances and voltage converters at home. Buy 220v dryers, curlers, and hair trimmers at a department store after you arrive. They’re safer, lightweight, and not expensive.

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Summer 2016: Beaucaire, Part 1

Sadly, it was time to leave the great and artistic city of Barcelona to continue our low-rent travels in southern France.

We left Barcelona’s Sants station on a smooth, fast, train to the border and then along the French Mediterranean coast. There were any number of towns and villages that would be fine places to stop, and maybe we’ll be back someday. But we had rented an old house for a month in a village we’d never heard of and had difficulty finding on most maps — a village named Beaucaire, on the banks of the Rhône. 

By this time in our trip we’d been traveling for almost two months. It was time to drop the bags and settle in someplace. Maybe buy some of our own groceries. Make our own coffee. Cook our own dinner.

 

Our train left Nîmes and we had instructions to get from the Tarascon station to Beaucaire. But as we drew near, Beaucaire was clearly listed as the Prochain Arrêt (Next Stop), just before Tarascon. So why not just simplify things?

We step off the train with two young men. There’s an old abandoned station on the other side of the tracks; on our side, just a break in the fence. I point to a distant stone tower peeking through some trees off to the right and ask one of the young men, “Le chateau?”

He says, “Oui, monsieur. But that is not Beaucaire. That is Tarascon. Beaucaire is over here.” He points to the left, through a line of trees blocking much of our view. Then he passes through the fence and walks down a narrow lane.

We can’t really see Beaucaire through the trees, so we follow him to where we find the Rhône-Sête canal that shows on a crude map we were given to help us find the house we’ve rented for a month. A middle-aged French couple spots us deciphering our map by the canal, and they point us in the right direction. 

We cross the end of the canal and roll our bags through ancient crooked and narrow streets; the old stone buildings rise like canyons around us. Soon we’re at the door of the place we’ve rented, and we step over a worn stone threshold into the medieval world. 

An old stone stairway winds upward to the main floor. Our bedroom and the bath are another floor up. My sister Elyse is traveling with us, and she’ll be staying in a garret above that, just under the rafters. There’s interesting street life below our windows, including a jocular fellow with three little dogs, just down the street. It’s rustic and charming, and it’s quite a contrast to that slick apartment back in Barcelona. For the next month we’ll be living ‘the life medieval.’

Actually, it’s what we wanted, and we're happy to be here. It will be a quiet refuge. And Beaucaire, located right along the banks of the river Rhône, almost equidistant from Arles and Avignon, is very well sited for day trips to much of what Provence has to offer. We can catch the train or bus in Tarascon, about a 20 minute walk over the Rhône, and Arles is only a 10-minute train ride away. It’s about 15 minutes to Avignon, 20 minutes to Nîmes, and about an hour to Marseilles or Aix-en-Provence. 

 

And we’ll get to those places soon enough, but Beaucaire itself has much to offer. There’s a chateau atop the hill that waits to be explored, with views overlooking the river and Tarascon on the bank beyond. 

 

 There's a good museum with exhibits explaining the important role this village played in ancient times as a major trading center when this river was the main route. The town’s once-famous foire (fair) was established on these banks back in 1463. 

But all that was long ago, before the railroad came to Provence in the 1800s. Those steel rails changed lots of things around here; and with the larger cities of Arles and Avignon both on the other side of the river, modern transportation routes tended to bypass this old river town. Once famous as a river port, Beaucaire is now a quiet footnote to history.

 

After a day of exploring the Chateau and Museum, we descend the hill, back into the cool canyons of the village, in search of something cold to drink. We find it under a shady awning at a sidewalk cafe in the tiny Place de la Republique, also known as the Place Vieille.

And on another day, we cross the Rhône to wander the back streets of Tarascon looking for…who knows what? Does it even matter?

We find the Souleiado museum of dyeing and weaving, filled with a grand array of early industrial era machinery and ancient methodology. (But no inside photos allowed.)

Just across the courtyard is the Souleiado store, with fabulous clothing of Provençale-modern design. I might even look good in one of the those €200 shirts, but would I ever wear it? (Maybe hanging out at the Cannes Film Festival?)  (As if.) 

We’re back in Beaucaire in time for an afternoon nap, followed by dinner at a good place under the trees in the Place de la Republique. And afterward there’s time for an evening stroll along the canal. Skittish little geckos are hanging out high on the old stone walls near street lights, waiting for their own dinner to arrive.

 

We’re renting an old stone house for a month in the heart of Provence. So how much can we do during that time? And how much do we want to do? Actually, access is so easy to places that have figured prominently in the history of modern art, an interest of ours, that we’ll end up doing quite a bit during our stay.

One day we catch a train to nearby Arles (about €3 each) to spend time with the spirit of Van Gogh. Arles is where he found his artistic voice and did his most famous work, and much of it is on display this summer at the Fondacion Vincent Van Gogh. 

We find our way through the winding streets of Arles to join a modest crowd waiting at the entry (no tour groups yet!). It’s a good museum, and this summer’s exhibit tells the artist’s story well, with comparison paintings to show his development. And lucky for us, they allow pictures inside.

Before he arrived in Arles, Van Gogh was an accomplished, if unknown, painter in the dark-and-depressing traditions of northern Europe. He was transformed after experiencing the golden light of Provence, and he invited other artist friends to join him here. His intent was to create a colony of like-minded artists to explore the brilliant colors and light offered by the south. And the advent of the Paris-Lyon-Mediterranée Railway (PLM) had made it possible for many artists and others to visit the area. 

 But Paul Gauguin was the only artist friend who accepted his invitation. It is supposed that his subsequent famous battles over art with Gauguin are why Vincent slashed his own ear. That, and maybe too much absinthe (which became illegal in 1915). Gauguin fled Arles after only nine turbulent weeks. (The Yellow House, 2006, by Martin Gayford is a good read. ’Two artistic giants. One small house.’)

Van Gogh had difficulties with other artists and disdained the ’timid’ work of Cézanne who lived in Aix-en-Provence. And Cézanne, for his part, once told Vincent over lunch, “Honestly, your painting is that of a madman.”

 

(Good link for more Vincent information.)

After the art, there are fine views from the rooftop of the museum into the cubist streetscape of Arles just below. And lunch is also down there, somewhere in those winding streets.

 

 

And later, on the way to the Roman ruins, there happens to be a Souleiado store. It’s a hot day, so why not step inside?

 

The narrow streets return us to the Réattu Museum, another worthy stop in Arles. Their collection of Picassos alone is certainly worth a visit.

 

 

We arrive back from Arles in time for the reservations we’d made at an intriguing little place called L’Epicerie de Cecile, located under the trees at Place de la Republique. We didn’t even bother to consult the fixed menu – it’s all delicious of course. And we only have to consider which wine we’ll enjoy for the evening – usually a carafe of the fine local Belle Pierre. We’ll end up enjoying Cecile’s so much we’ll dine there three more times during the month.

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A large church bell is ringing heavily, together with some smaller bells, just a few blocks away, and the layers of tone and sound echo down the stone canyon streets of the village. After the bell man stops pulling cords a few random rings persist into the morning air. It’s 10:00 a.m. on a Sunday, and the faithful are being called to mass. But we’re headed for the weekly street market, the marché, held on Sundays and Thursdays.

The best of fresh local produce and the finest of cheeses are on offer. It’s an excellent way to gather up some lunch to enjoy back at the old maison.  

And we take home a container of beautiful paella for dinner!

 

The everyday streets of Beaucaire are filled with surprises and spots of beauty, if we take the time to look. They may be no surprise to those who live in this old village, but they are to us, and we enjoy finding them out.

 

Another day finds us going to Aix-en-Provence via the very modern TGV station at Avignon – almost worth a visit by itself. The modern bus station in Aix is also a surprise.

We find our way to nearby Cours Mirabeau, the wide pedestrianized center of town, and onward to the Musée Granet.

Stone faces greet us in the museum’s impressive sculpture gallery. We’ve never heard of most of these guys, but the overall effect of a roomful of large marble people is impressive. I’m reminded of a striking modern version we saw at the 2013 Venice Biennale – of numerous grey and strangely life-like figures with muscles and tendons exposed. I think I’d prefer to own a few marble people instead. 

 

 

The main exhibit was the extensive Philippe Meyer collection, donated in 2000 to the museums of France. Described as ‘…one of the most generous donations of the past one hundred years,’ seventy-one of the pieces were expressly given to the Musée Granet in homage to native son, Paul Cézanne. Among these were several sculptural pieces and paintings by Giacometti.

 

The gorgeous and tranquil Mediterranean vistas of Charles Camoin were a welcome change of pace from some of the more challenging pieces on display. His painting of the Port de Marseille, Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde brought back fond memories of days we’ve spent there, and we’ll be returning in another week or so. 

And Camoin’s Femme à la voilette showed his ability to capture a quiet, veiled, and wistful look.

 

Afterward, the beautiful streets of Aix-en-Provence led us onward to explore more of the city, including the ancient warren of shop-filled streets. We had no time to follow the ‘Cézanne Trail,’ but contented ourselves with an afternoon coffee at the famous Les Deux Garçons, where Cézanne himself used to hang out.  

 

After another long and fulfilling day in pursuit of art history, we once again crossed the bridge over the Rhône to ‘our’ little old stone village. A fiery sun was setting behind the ancient hilltop fortress above Beaucaire to welcome us home. 

 

We had dusted off the day, and it was time for another fine dinner under the stars, at a very good trattoria beneath an old spreading olive tree. 

Beaucaire is a livelier village than it may first appear, with an ancient heritage of horsemanship. We’d seen posters around town and made plans to attend the nighttime extravaganza held in the old arena under towering trees.

 

We enjoyed an impressive show of beautiful white camarguaise horses, and the skills needed to manage them. It was a well-attended event, like all the local events we attended; and lights among the trees provided a dramatic setting.

 

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It was now early July. We had been traveling two months, and my sister Elyse was feeling a need to return to Albuquerque. She’s a good traveler, easy-going and flexible about our open-ended and expense-dodging itinerary. But we promised that when she was ready to depart, we could make it happen. 

There are many routes home from southern France. But there were still so many places we wanted to see together. Finally Elyse thought Marseilles would be a good departure point. 

The Marseille-Provence airport is an easy hop to London or Paris for a transatlantic flight. And we needed to be in Marseilles anyway to greet our friends, Jaime and Norma, coming in from Mexico for their first visit to Europe.

Marseille is a favorite of ours, so we were glad to revisit and show Elyse around. There were many parts of the city we still hadn’t seen and that we could discover together. It was a good choice.

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We arrived at Marseille’s old St. Charles train station, on a hill overlooking the city below, with Notre Dame de la Garde in the distance. We caught the metro to the port, smelling the fish vendors as we came up the stairs. We stopped for a few minutes to drink it all in. There are many paintings of this port, with Notre Dame du Gard above it all. And there it was, right before us.

We arrived at the apartment (another Carolyn online find) to a welcoming bottle of pastis, one of Marseilles more famous exports, waiting on the counter. After a short rest, it was time to engage with all the city had to offer.

The huge Ferris Wheel, visible from much of the city, gives a good overview of the port. We hadn’t been on one in years, and I marveled at the engineering needed to build one of those things.

 

At night the port has a carnival atmosphere. But there's space for quiet contemplation of harbor lights playing across the water. We have dinner on a side street and watch the final wrenching moments of the EuroCup as France goes down before the relentless Portuguese attack. The defeat was stunning and the city of Marseille, primed for a major party, remained eerily silent that night.

 

And finally the day arrived for Elyse to depart. We boarded the train to the airport stop and hopped a shuttle to the terminal. After goodbye hugs, Elyse was swallowed into the boarding queue and we stood alone. Our travel partner for the past two months was headed home. 

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Our next blog: New travel partners, and more time in the Middle Ages. Stay tuned. — PRW