Oh, look, new things!

Hi, y'all!

Just wanted to let you know that I changed a couple things on the blog. First of all, I updated the description under the header for the the site because I figured that now that it has actually taken shape, the old description didn't quite do the blog justice. The bit at the end about "my time away from home," for example, didn't seem to fit anymore because I have posted from Boston, which has become a second home, and France has certainly become a third home to me at this point. Also, once I return from France, I was thinking I might continue this blog and talk about any other journeys that I might take. So "voyages" really fits more. Not that you, dear reader, particularly care about the description too much, but at least now you know that I have plans to continue the blog after France.

Secondly, and more importantly, I added some links over on the right of the page. The first section, entitled "Blog Heaven" has links to the websites of my friends! Exciting! Be it Blogger, Wordpress, Tumblr, or any other site that hosts the interesting musings and works of my friends, I am happy to link up to it. So, friend, if you are reading this, look over to the right and see that your blog, website, online store or what have you is not there, and you would like it to be, let me know and I shall add it (for only four low, monthly payments of $39.99! Haha). The second section, "Internet Obsessions," presents you with links to websites that provide me with limitless amounts of amusement. Feel free to check them out or to get me hooked on my next great Internet obsession.

That is just about it for now, kids. I've got to go think about studying for a midterm. My next post will be about my Christmas in Paris, and the post following that will detail my travels in Italy during Carnival.

Peace, love, pandas, and midterms breathing down my neck,
Rachel

Less Talking, More Pictures

So I briefly considered writing another monster post about the towns and impressive sights that I have seen, but I realized early on that I didn't have an much to say about these places as I would have liked, and I was getting very tired of having to reference Wikipedia for information. Thus, I decided to do this next entry based on the pictures I took. Each region will be labeled and each picture will be captioned with a little explanation or story. This way, I can share these places before getting back into the monster posts about my holidays in Paris and Italy! Let's dive right in with a trip from last semester.

The Luberon
Deep in the heart of Provence lie three mountain ranges known as the Little, Big, and Oriental Luberon... collectively, they are known much more simply as the Luberon (or Leberon in Provençal, I recently learned). Now, while this sounds like the set-up for a rather lame, and slightly racist, joke or television episode, the truth of the matter is that the Little, Big, and Oriental Luberon mountains are gorgeous. The towns and villages are nothing if not picturesque, sitting high atop the hillsides or laying down low in the Luberon valley. This place is a popular tourist destination for other French citizens as well as British and American tourists who flock to Provence and Côte d'Azur in the summer months. I only had the fortune of visiting this charming location for one day, but my visit was pretty unforgettable.

Château de Lourmarin: The first castle in Provence to be built during the Renaissance. We didn't get to look inside - merely a quick drive by to take pictures.

The Luberon valley, with all its gorgeous greenery.

The rooftops of Bonnieux, a hillside village where, reportedly, John Malkovich owns a home. With a view like that, who wouldn't want to live there? I especially love all the old roof shingles that appear to change color with age.

The Château de Lacoste, one of three homes to the infamous Marquis de Sade in Vaucluse: a medieval castle that his family acquired in the 1600s. Sade renovated the castle in the late 1700s, but it was then looted during the Revolution (that would be the French one). Today, it hosts a grand arts and music festival each year within its ruins and is the second home of Pierre Cardin, a French fashion designer.

Vineyards! There are many, many vineyards in this region, and we passed by field after field of grapevines en route from one destination to the next. The Luberon is quite a good spot to have a small vineyard in the back of your estate if you are like Peter Mayle and decide to leave the boring world of England behind for the culturally intense world of Provence. I highly suggest you read his novel A Year in Provence. I loved it. And for anyone who has ever lived in Provence, you will find yourself frequently chuckling at his spot-on descriptions of the people and the land.

This was my first glimpse of the rocks and cliffs surrounding Roussillon. I couldn't believe it when I saw it. I was so accustomed to the bland, pale color of the mountains that I had seen elsewhere that I was shocked and awed by the brilliant colors of the natural rock formations. Let's look at some more examples, shall we?

This is one of my favorites. I just love the contrast of the green plants with the cliff... and how well the little yellow leaves match their surroundings.

This looks like someone took an abnormally large paintbrush and a had fun.

The day was still young and the sky, though not particularly menacing, still  seemed to threaten more rain to accompany the dew that had yet to evaporate from these fresh, green leaves. The tiny thread of a spider's web was a nice touch to the photo, I felt, even though spiders usually make me run screaming across the room/street/country in terror.

There was no explanation for this door - no sign, no signature that I noted, no notice of any kind to explain this magnificent artwork. But then again, does art need to be explained and titled and categorized? Sometimes it's pieces like this, that you find on garage doors or on metal doors over shops closed for the night, that are some of the most fascinating pieces you will ever see.

The Hôtel de Ville, or so we think. The town was mostly empty on this particular Saturday morning, so it  was difficult to tell. However, when a building it decorated with that many flags, one can usually be certain of its identity as that of the Hôtel de Ville. Possibly the most charming building I have ever seen for such an official place. Also, take note of the color of the building, for the vast majority of buildings in Roussillon are this color as they dug up the stone from nearby quarries.

Portion of a vine hanging over another building not too far from the cliffs that you saw a few pictures ago. I can't be certain (because I can't honestly remember), but this might be part of the 154 year old vine that covered one façade. Even the stems of the vines are in harmony with the mountains.

We stopped for lunch at a five-star restaurant in Gordes, the city that you see here, which was also featured in the movie A Good Year, starring Russell Crowe - worth watching if you are ever in the mood for some southern French scenery and a little Marion Cotillard. Gordes is also mentioned frequently in the works a Peter Mayle, a British author who moved to Vaucluse in the late 1980s and has since written several novels and memoirs set in Provence.

Our entrée, or appetizer as we Americans like to think of it, was a delicious dish made from local mushrooms. I never figured myself to be one for mushrooms. On pizza? Sure. In a pasta sauce? Can't be too bad. On their own? Highly debatable. However, this mushroom in a parsley mousse garnished fresh leaves and a... whatever that was (I have no memory of its name) was mouthwatering to the extreme. Heaven in a mushroom. Oh. My. Goodness.

The "plat," or entrée in the United States (seriously, U.S., WHY U NO CALL COURSES BY RIGHT NAME?), or main course to the rest of the English-speaking world, was delicious, but actually couldn't match the wonderfulness of the mushroom. Guinea hen over risotto with a green onion garnish - a delightful sampling of a poultry I'd never had the opportunity to munch on before.

Dessert: a traditional crème brulée with fruits rouges (that would be the strawberries, raspberries and red currants that you see there) that we actually got to crack with our spoon, just like everyone always dreams of doing. Delicioso. This entire meal, including the champagne apératif and the red and white wines that we tasted, was courtesy of our program director, who special ordered the entire three-course delight. She repeated the story proudly to me several times: how she had called to book the restaurant, how she had not been satisfied with the menu, how she personally got in touch with the chef and asked that THIS is what we be served or she would take our patronage elsewhere, how in the end she got her way as she almost always does. Fantastic.

This is the Abbaye Notre-Dame de Sénanque in the valley below Gordes. It was our last stop for the day and included a guided visit of the abbey by a wonderfully lovely man whose name I am not certain I ever learned unfortunately, but I can tell you that he was one of the most eloquent and kindest of tour guides I have yet had the pleasure of listening to in France. But I digress. This abbey is a Cistercian monastery and its celebrity comes from its lavender fields, of which you can see a small part in the foreground of the photo.

The lavender blooms in June and July, unfortunately, so I don't have any pictures of the gorgeous lavender plants in bloom, but you can google those for yourself and get photos that are more professional than my shots will ever be. Our visit in the late autumn, however, was still lovely, even if it was dark and raining when we finally left the abbey.

This is the cloister, which is supposed to resemble the garden of Eden, i.e. paradise on Earth. This might be the closest any cloister I have seen has ever come. They say that the cloister is Arles is the prettiest cloister in all of Provence, but I don't think that's true. I feel that this one wins, hands down. Not only is this one better maintained, but it has a more attractive and peaceful quality to it.

Another shot of this cloister, from the opposite end, this time at dusk.

Nîmes et le Pont du Gard


Nîmes is a city about an hour and ten minutes west-northwest of Aix-en-Provence and is a popular tourist destination. Similar to Arles, it has an ancient elliptical Roman amphitheater that was once used for medieval housing: families lived inside the arena, whose walls and towers served as ramparts for the tiny community within. The Maison Carrée is also a popular place to see; it was once a small temple to the Roman gods. However, for many people who come to Nîmes, the first thing that comes to mind is the Pont du Gard, a Roman architectural masterpiece that still functions as a bridge but has long ceased to be used as an aqueduct. We came to these locales as part of an Erasmus student excursion that I have mentioned once before in my first post on tiny Provençal towns. Organized by the office of international relations at Université Aix-Marseille 1 and run by a local tour company, this trip at the beginning of the semester is open to all international students and offers us a way to not only explore the region in which we are living, but to meet the people with whom we are inhabiting it. This was the first excursion of any sort with the new students for the spring semester, and I was excited to get to know them a little bit. Turns out, we were all a little too preoccupied with the sights to do lots of bonding. Not that anyone was particularly worse off because of that...

Le Jardin de la Fontaine. This was our first stop on our brief tour of Nîmes. Like many French gardens, white gravel seems to be of the utmost importance. One cannot properly crunch across the garden in dainty shoes while discussing all the latest gossip of who is to marry whom while carrying lacy white parasols to shade one's porcelain skin from the sun without white gravel! Or something like that.

Interior of what is thought to have once been a temple, possibly to Diana, but could have also been a library for all we really know since it doesn't really have the shape of a typical temple from way back when. Can I just remind you once again of how I simply love ruins?

This was right next to the temple in a little courtyard. I wonder what it might have looked like 1800 years ago? That little nook right in the back there looks to be the perfect spot to curl up with a book. Perhaps this was a library after all...

This is the arena of which I spoke earlier. It reminds me very, very much of the arena in Arles. I like how these amphitheaters all look alike to some degree. I suppose it must have been nice for a Roman to travel from city to city and be able to find his or her way easily enough if the forum, temples, arenas and theaters all used the same sort of architecture from one colony to the next.

This is the current coat of arms of Nîmes: a crocodile chained to a palm tree. Despite the palm trees that I saw there, which were most certainly imported, I saw not a single crocodile chained up anywhere. Disappointing? Yeah, kinda.

And here it is! The magnificent Pont du Gard! And, boy, is it big! I haven't the faintest idea why, but I had never imagined it to be quite so large. It spans an entire valley between two hills after all, so how can it not be of epic proportions? I suppose it is just something that you can't put into perspective until you are actually standing right up alongside it.

Just as breathtaking as the aqueduct was the scenery. The Gard River was a gorgeous blue that day and it was as though we had been transported to a different era. There was hardly a modern building to be seen in any direction (excepting, of course, the one house - guardhouse? - that is likely three hundred years old), and as we walked the not-so-well-worn path up one side of the hill and down the other to get to the other side of the aqueduct, I was once again reminded of my love for the outdoors. Ahhhhhhhh. Oh, yes, and it was sunny.

And here is the other side of the bridge - actually a little more magnificent since the sun was shining on it, but who am I to judge sides of architectural feats of magnificence?

Anyone reminded of The Lord of the Rings with this shot? I know I was. I was so ready for Legolas and Aragorn to come dashing out from the trees, fighting Uruk-hai and being awesome. Didn't happen, obviously, but at least it gave my imagination plenty of fodder for hypothetical story ideas.

Peace, love, pandas, and orc-fighting elves,

Rachel

M is for Marseille... and Monaco

I am totally on a roll.


Marseille

I haven't spent nearly as much time in Marseille as I wish I could have up to this point, but I did make a point of going this port city one day with my friend Derek. We were on a mission to find a beach, catch some southern French rays of soleil and chill like only a southern Californian can. We did some sightseeing along the way.

I like to think of Vieux Port as the heart of Marseille. "Vieux port" literally translates to "old port" and now functions as a marina for local boats. What's particularly cool about the Old Port is that it is a natural port and has been used ever since about 600 B.C. when the Phocaeans set up a trading post there. Ever since, Marseille has been a central Mediterranean hub for trade and industry. This is a large city that feels as though it has been subjected to urbanization on a much grander scale than Paris or any other large city in Ye Olde France because it feels urban and industrial. Paris gives off a sense of haughty sophistication whereas Marseille is a strange "mélange" of southern French comfort and hearty industrialization. For lack of a better term, the place feels working class. Riding into Marseille takes one through the banlieues (the "ghettos" on the outskirts of town), where buildings tower above the 4-6 storey height common to many, many buildings in Paris, in Aix, and so on. The paint is peeling from the walls, the pale blue shutters have turned a dank grey, and the graffiti covers every inch of unoccupied territory. Old buses stand on end in junkyards and the red, green and blue tents of the homeless peek out from under the greenery that frames the highway leading into town.

Also, the beaches are not as nice as San Diego beaches. MARSEILLE, I AM DISAPPOINT. But I digress. This is Vieux Port:

Well, the right side of the marina, anyway

This map of the entrance to Vieux Port dates from 1695.

The city of Marseille, ca. 1720

For all you Dumas buffs out there, Marseille is also the site of The Count of Monte Cristo, a very lengthy novel that I could never finish because I kept wondering when Jim Caviezel was going to appear and sweep me off my feet.

I think he's trying to make love to me with his eyes. And I think it's working.

For those of you who don't know the plot, Edmond Dantès, a naive and ridiculously attractive young man with an equally attractive fiancée is wrongly imprisoned  for treason at Château d'If, a prison island off the coast of Marseille, by those whom he supposed to be his friends *cough*Fernand Mondego*cough*. While there, he befriends Dumbledore, who teaches Edmond the ways of the ninja (pass your hand through the water without getting it wet) and educates him in all things badass (namely, literature, philosophy, swordfighting, and other equally lofty pursuits). Eventually Edmond escapes and tracks down the treasure of the isle of Monte Cristo, which is located near Corsica. After the duckling-swan transformation is complete, Edmond slowly takes his revenge upon those who turned his life into a literal hellhole, reunites with the woman he loves, learns he has a son, and lives happily ever after. All while look smoking hot.

I was under the impression that Château d'If was this ridiculously imposing island - as infamous as Alcatraz and as isolated as Azkaban. Nope. Take a look at this picture.

Hey! That girl looks familiar!

See those islands on the right of the photo, not too, too far offshore? The little island in front is the former island prison of Château d'If. I am 90% certain that I have gone snorkeling that far offshore before by starting at the beach and swimming out there at a leisurely pace. I assume, then, that there must be man-destroying rocks and sharks with laser beams attached to their heads encircling the place, because otherwise, assuming one could get out of the château, I can't see how escaping back to shore would really be much a challenge to anyone who knows how to doggy paddle at the very least, especially when the château is just a bit over a mile offshore. I wonder what made this place, at least in my mind, such a formidable prison?

I don't see any laser-beam-carrying sharks. Perhaps they are hiding, waiting to surprise the unsuspecting escapee.

Ah, dangerous ocean currents, you say, Wikipedia? As well as gun embrasures that I am sure were well-armed with hundreds of sharp-shooters just waiting for someone to attempt a daring escape? That is more acceptable. Although, considering the fact that the detainees were mostly political and religious prisoners, I can't imagine that they were the sort of cutthroat criminals itching to get out and get their hands bloody again. In fact, if anything, the detainees would have been white collar criminals more along the lines of Neal Caffrey, who would have schemed their way from a windowless cell to one with a fireplace and a prime view of the Marseille skyline to right out the front door and on to freedom with nothing but their wits, charm, and sizable cajones.

I like to think that all con men look, act, and dress like this man.

Charming white collar criminals aside and former formidable French prisons aside, I couldn't help but compare Marseille to San Diego. I immediately picked up on the same style of beach-front property design that one can find in La Jolla: tall, skinny homes that are much deeper and larger than you originally imagined, packed tightly together across the street from a set of cliffs leading down to the waves and boats below in some parts... and grandiose, sprawling residences hovering above beaches in other places.

And I bet all of these places cost a least a million euros

I can't decide which one I want for my fourth summer home.

 The beach that we went to was a small stretch of sand protected by a line of rocks that ran along the southern edge, creating a double beach of sorts. The water was a bit too frigid for my tastes, so I sunbathed and read up on early Christian history in Byzantium while Derek, the brave soul, went clambering over the rocks and tested the water on both sides of the sand.

We'll always have... whatever the name of this beach is...

Something I am frequently asked, normally by friends of the male persuasion, is whether or not the tales of French beaches are true. Do the women actually run around topless? Is clothing optional? Do French women actually shave? Well, besides having repeated seen French women purchasing shaving gel and razors and razorblades, I can't really answer to French personal hygiene questions, but I am pretty gosh darn certain that, yeah, French women (or, at least, the young French women that my male friends are all drooling over) shave just like American women. As to the optional clothing... from what I understand, most French beaches, unless specified, allow women to go topless. However, full nudity is still saved for nude beaches, of which there are still plenty. Don't expect to come to France looking for gaggles of twenty-something Françaises walking along the shores in naught but an itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini bottom. It doesn't happen. However, forty- or fifty-something Françaises walking along the shores in itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini bottoms can be spotted fairly frequently, much to the chagrin of the fantasizing young American men who just can't wait to catch a glimpse of the liberated French women.

If there is one thing that people should know about the French, it is that they are not so different from us. Over the past 30 years or so, they have come to more closely resemble American society. Women shave and wear tops at beaches. With establishments such as McDonald's and Quick Burger (which I maintain taste nasty, but are still common haunts for school children), the hamburger is becoming more apparent in the mid-sections of portions of the French population. A general trend toward a more conservative lifestyle seems to have slowly started to emerge. Oh, and the French can be just as awkward as any American when it comes to (1) dancing, and (2) relationships. There is still so much here that is unique to the country and makes me consider whether I shouldn't spend half my year in San Diego and half my year somewhere on the coasts of France because I love the lifestyle here - the food, the wine, the lavender, the language, the fashion, the history, the art/architecture. And yet, the great looming shadow of lazy U.S. consumerism and gluttony never seems to be too far away...

But back to Marseille. We happened to wander for a bit on our way to the beach, managed to get a little lost, and had a great time. My favorite shot from this whole afternoon excursion is a candid one that I snapped while we were wandering through the city on our way to the beach:

Somewhere between a typical narrow street with pale blue shutters framing all the windows with the provençal sun shining, and a beach-side collection of expensive homes with walls of unusual colors à la southern California, this one little street made me feel completely at home.

Monaco


I first mentioned my weekend in Monaco in this entry, but never really elaborated. Allow me to do so briefly now.

As I mentioned, I went to Monaco as a representative of Wellesley College. I was not fortunate enough to give a formal presentation on what it is like to go to women's college or even what it is like to go to a liberal arts college in the United States versus a larger research university with 20,000 undergraduates and 6,000 graduate students. However, I was available for one-on-one questions after the initial presentations where I could focus more on specific aspects of my school as well as the admissions process for international students, and was very pleased to be able to speak to several young women who seemed especially interested in Wellesley.

The location for this event was in a bank about halfway between the famous casino and the Port Hercule along a street that I came to think of as Rich Person Street because there is a whole string of private wealth management banks, aka places I could likely not even step foot into without being spotted immediately for the poor college student that I am. Some of them also seemed like really good locations for the next Bond movie... or the next episode of Chuck. The entrance to the private banking establishment opens to a grand double staircase in the art nouveau style that simply screams of the wealth of the residents of the tiny principality of Monaco. Our bank was much less ostentatious, but included a friendly and inquisitive security guard that one had to pass in order to actually see anything of any interest within the building.

But what can you expect from a principality whose per capita GDP is over $150,000 (compared to the U.S.'s measly $48,000)?

Any second James Bond is going to pop out from behind that fountain. I just know it.

Everywhere in Monaco felt out of my price range. The casino had a ten euro entry fee, which seemed silly considering how much money people must throw away at that establishment. The Buddha-Bar, which looked like a really good time, was clearly out of our league judging from the clientele dressed to the nines in heels that would make anyone else's nose bleed. The club that we ended up going to charged twenty-two euros for the first beverage since there was no entry fee, and a glass of wine at the brasserie near the casino was roughly five or six euros while a little French coffee was four euros.

I don't think Buddha would approve of your selectiveness, Buddha-Bar.

So, thank goodness for the carnival that was going on down at the harbor. Cheap fair food, fun games, silly rides, and an overall surprisingly well-executed fair. I had the best churros of my entire life in Monaco, and all for four euros! They gave me a bag stuffed full of churros, and it was so much warm, sugary goodness that I demanded that my companion help me eat them - something I don't always do when the food is as good as those churros were. I also enjoyed a specialty of the region called "socca," which is best described as a sort of crêpe made of chickpea flour and often sprinkled with black pepper. It was absolutely magnificent.

Come to meeeeee, socca!!!

FUN

More FUN.

Oh, and can we just talk about the female rock group from Thailand that covered some of my favorite rock songs ever... and did a damn good job of it? Adorable.

Peace, love, pandas, and sunshine,
Rachel

It's About Damn Time: Old Ruins, New Sights

Part 2 of 2 concerning Provençal cities, towns, and villages... Let's get the ball rolling in not-quite-alphabetical order.

Avignon

For "les vacanes de Toussaint" (the vacation surrounding All Saint's Day in France), I decided that I would return to a small city along the Rhône called Arles to visit all of the tourist spots I did not have the chance to see the first time around. I knew that there were buses that went there, but I had no idea which buses they were, so I conducted a little research and came to the conclusion that the best way (read: cheapest) to get to Arles via bus was to go up to Avignon first and then catch a bus down and over to Arles -- a little out of the way, sure, but it was not so out of the way as to completely inconvenience the traveler. (I later found out that there is a direct bus from Aix to Arles, but, alas, I learned this vital piece of information too late.)

This was really not a problem for me. I was delighted to have the opportunity to see another Provençal city and get a little more history out of the trip than I had originally planned.

Enter Avignon.

Literally a row of restaurants on the Place de l'Horloge

Yet another small town in the south of France that has been around forever, Avignon is particularly well-known for its Palais des Papes, which is by no means a misnomer. During the 14th century, a series of popes took up residence in Avignon, wishing to avoid the violence and political instability in Rome, and as such, were drawn further and further under the influence of the French crown. Which, you know, makes sense considering that all seven popes who lived in Avignon were, uh... French.

So, Clement V took up residence in Avignon in 1309, and since Avignon was clearly not the religious center that Rome was (is, if we're including the Vatican City in Rome), they didn't have a papal palace yet, meaning that Clement V was humble enough to pass the time in a Dominican monastery. His successor, however, began reconstructing a nearby bishop's palace by turning it into something that really makes one question the whole "vow of poverty" thing that members of the clergy live by.

It's not mine; I just live here and reap the glorious benefits

A hefty portion of the papal funds, which I am pretty certain could have been used for more productive things than building a palace (unless they are building it to glorify God - then I suppose we can't really fault them because that would be something like finding fault in or dishonoring God, and that's a no-no), went to building this gargantuan house under Popes Benedict XII, Clément VI, Innocent VI, and Urban V. Clément VI and Innocent VI contributed significantly to the expansion of the palace while Urban V pretty much put the finishing touches on the whole building. Finishing touches such as ceramic floor tiles, fantastic frescoes that adorned the walls and ceilings, and basically lots and lots of color. During the papal occupation, this place would have been more colorful than a rainbow on acid. Unfortunately, all that is left of that magnificent color today are a few tiles and faded, crumbling frescoes and painted walls.

Basically, this place was pretty darn impressive (nothing to Saint Peter's in Rome, I'm sure, but still - not bad) with its grand dining halls and large stained glass windows and Gothic ribbed vaults.

The second place of interest is not far from the papal palace and is nowhere near as magnificent, and yet somehow still as spectacular. It is a bridge: the Pont Saint-Bénezet. This medieval bridge once spanned the Rhône, connecting the city to Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, but suffered from what can essentially be boiled down to bad construction and collapsed several times over the following centuries. It was rebuilt and rebuilt until finally they decided to stop preventing what fate had clearly been telling them for years was meant to be in 1668 when the bridge was virtually washed away by a flood. Today, the vestiges of this once-jinxed bridge are a major tourist destination for people in Avignon, and it's no wonder why. Just look at the views you can get from the bridge:

I wonder if people in the Middle Ages ever stopped to appreciate this same view? Well, minus the sidewalk...

I wonder if the Avignon popes ever admired the view from here? Well, minus the cars...

The bridge itself is pretty cool as well since it just ends in the middle of the river, leaving the uninformed tourist more than just a little curious as to the history behind the ruins.

See that patch of trees just beyond the bridge? That is where the rest of the bridge SHOULD be.

The rest of Avignon didn't strike me as much more than a typical, small French city. That said, I was there for less than a day, so I really wasn't able to take much of the city in, and I enjoyed what I was able to see... but at the end of the day, I was looking forward to reaching my final destination of Arles.

Arles


For someone such as me who loves classical civilizations, Arles is a must-see city. While it is small enough that it can be walked in less than a day and completely exhausted of its treasures in two to three days, it has enough charm and history attached to it to make it worth any weekend getaway, especially when one is in the mood for a small French town.

I first visited Arles as part of an international student tour group and spent a grand total of two, maybe three hours there before being carted off to my next destination. And so I had had it in my mind to make a trip up to Arles at some point during my travels within France. The Toussaint vacation seemed to be the perfect time, so off I went to discover the ancient Roman ruins and the old haunts of everyone's favorite ear-cutting Impressionist.

Like many French cities that have any history at all (read: all of them, duh), Arles is a strange mix of styles and centuries. You can walk along the Rhône and run across the ancient Roman baths built by Constantine, who was a huge fan of the Roman colony, which as far as I can tell went by the name of Arlate back in the day. Then, you can turn to your left and see some nifty modern graffiti on the side of a low wall hiding a dumpster. Walk a little further down and you can spot a ruined wall left over from what might have been an attack during a world war. And let us not forget Les Alyscamps across town, comprised of an ancient Roman necropolis and a medieval Christian church.

Exterior shot of the Thermes de Constantin

Interior shot

"Insure yourself against chance. One look comes so quickly."

The black and white was too irresistible of an option to pass up for this shot.

I have a thing for empty sepulchers and abandoned churches

Arles is a haven for history buffs. Its streets and far corners are laden with centuries upon centuries of rich European history and it is impossible to navigate the narrow streets without chancing upon yet another story pertaining to Arles's 2800 or so years of existence.

My favorite sites, though, focused on the Roman vestiges and the scenic reminders of Van Gogh's beautifully colored French village. The antiquities museum on the outskirts of "centre ville" is well worth the trip for an in-depth look at the development of the city, with plenty of artifacts to sate one's appetite for Roman sculpture, Early Christian iconography, and pottery galore. While I was there, it just so happened that special exhibition centered around an archeological dig done at the bottom of the Rhône not far from Arles. The city had been a major mercantile mecca for people from all over Europe, and as a result, researchers found remains of various types of amphorae and other types of pottery whose names are escaping me at the moment from countries all over the Mediterranean. Since I vaguely understand the importance of such archeological treasures, I had fun comparing the minute differences (and the glaringly obvious ones, as well) between amphorae from select countries and even across continents.

I was even able to study for a midterm while at this museum. My medieval archeology class from last semester focused on Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages, which is when France was subjected to a widespread Christianization of cities and rural areas. Sarcophagi dating from this period are the perfect visual aides for understanding early Christian iconography and the general transition to a monotheistic society.

And then, the ancient theater and arena. Which are best discussed in picture form.

See those columns? Now imagine that the set was twice as high. Oh, yeah. Theater geek's wet dream. Or nightmare.

It's almost like a graveyard. Which pleases my inner creepiness.

This colosseum is still used today

View of Arles from the top of the tower

Oh, and let's not forget our dearly beloved friend Van Gogh!!!!

L'Espace Van Gogh: the hospital where Van Gogh once lived

I made friends with the waiter my first day in Arles. He invited me back to the restaurant the next day, so I returned with the friends I had met in my hostel. Hope he appreciated the business.