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

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.

Postcards from Tiny Towns, Part 1

I have been fortunate enough ever since my arrival in Aix-en-Provence to do a little travelling around the region, both with groups of international students and on my own. As a result, I have seen some absolutely breathtaking sights and have officially decided that France is my third home... after San Diego and Boston, of course. This entry is going to be, essentially, a two-parter. This first part is going to be dedicated to the various tiny tours I passed though and visited throughout my journeys. The second part will chronicle larger towns where I might or might not have spent a little more time, depending on the situation. From the beginning!

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer


I came to this small city during a tour of three different, but culturally prominent, cities in Provence with other international students. I spent all of two hours here, but I had fun nevertheless and am of the mind that anywhere with a beach is a fabulous place to live.

Nevermind that this is a continent and an ocean away from San Diego - this felt like home.

While there, I stopped by the église des Saintes Maries, which is now a pilgrimage destination for Roma who gather yearly in this town to celebrate Saint Sarah. She receives even more attention than the three Marys for whom the town is named, and, to top it all off, Sarah was supposedly the dark-skinned Egyptian servant of the three Marys in one account, a charitable Gypsy woman in another, and the daughter of Jesus and Mary Magdalene in a third. Anyway you look at it, she must have had a pretty interesting life, and at one point definitely appeared to have lived in the Camargue, the marshy delta of the Rhône.

Pictured: One mysterious woman

Eventually, she was adopted as the saint of the Roma, and now people from far and wide come to visit her shrine Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, where she supposedly lived with the Three Marys.

Gratuitous photo of votive candles

This place becomes more interesting the more I read about it. Supposedly, it has a population of about 2500 (so, roughly one very overstuffed Wellesley College) that swells to 50,000 during the summer holidays. In other words, the population is twenty times as large in the summer. That is like turning Wellesley into two UCSD campuses. Where do they put these 48,000 people, I wonder? Does everyone and their brother have a nice summer cottage in SMDLM where they escape to in the month of August? The main industry is, not surprisingly, tourism, with agriculture coming in a secure second thanks to the surrounding Camargue, so I assume everyone must lie around on the beach in the summer and write postcards to all the suckers stuck at home while thanking Saint Sarah for being awesome.

Haha, suckaaahhhhs!!!

Les Baux-de-Provence


Which is more impressive:

the battering ram

the catapults

or the castle ruins of this commune tucked away in the mountains of the Bouches-du-Rhône department in Provence?

Well, consider this: The lords of Baux were powerful medieval feudal lords who spent years vying for control of Provence. Even once they had been deposed in the 12th century, the court at the Château des Baux-de-Provence continued to be famous for its culture and chivalry. In 1632, its Protestant owners led an unsuccessful revolt against the very Catholic crown, and Cardinal Richelieu, better known as Tim Curry, ordered that the place be dismantled. What you see there today is a result of that dismantling.

These days, nothing as badass as having the wrath of Tim Curry rain down upon you happens in Les Baux, but there are plenty of tourist shops and a multitude of olive groves in the valley below that render the commune one of the most picturesque towns ever.

And with some of the best tapenade around

Oh, and they have catapult reenactments every day in the summer.

My memories of this town are mostly a blur of tiny winding streets uphill and a series of highly eloquent comments such as "whoa" and "awesome" that I traded with my friend Clare as we climbed the heights of the castle. I certainly didn't see any catapult reenactments. But as I looked out over what should really be considered a village hidden away in the mountains, I found myself wondering, and not for the first time since August 21, what it might be like to set up residence in a small city in France. Sure, it may depend on tourism and olives for its business, but Les Baux is still gorgeous and old and people lower down from the summit had outdoor swimming pools, and dammit, now I don't know where in France I'd like to have my summer home.

Cassis

When I think of Cassis, I think of two things, rocky beaches and Milka cows.

And with good reason.

Another French commune, Cassis is known mostly for its cliffs and the "calanques," or sheltered inlets, that run between there and Marseille, which is just a bit to the west.

I visited this village with the other students in my program as part of an organized weekend excursion that WIA puts together every now and again so that we don't forget how freakishly pretty France is.

As if we needed reminding.

Upon our arrival in Cassis, we were taken on a boat tour of the calanques, which lasted about an hour or so, and had to be one of the most amusing boat rides in the world. Being the impressionable, eager 20 years old that we all are, as soon as we stepped foot onto the tour boat, we raced to the seating up front, as close to the bow as possible. After all, what is a trip around the Mediterranean coast if you can't have a good view? The ride started out smoothly enough as we edge out around the lighthouse ("le phare") and out of the bay into the Mediterranean proper. But this was when the wind, which had been whipping out steadily since our arrival, came into play like Nymphadora Tonks in a Swarovski boutique - that is to say, in a rather ungraceful manner.

The wind, of course, helped to make the water of the sea choppier than usual, and the little boat that we were on was truly doing its best to not submerge us all in the chilly saltwater. So, predictably, we were all frequently sprayed with sea water every time the boat dipped over a wave. This meant that I was having the time of my life, grinning gleefully from ear to ear, giggling joyously at each new splash of water, even when one or two managed to catch me off guard and send little drops of water down my shirt. Some of us on the trip were less than completely satisfied with the cold water splashing down on us, but they rallied their spirits and made the best of the situation. Which really wasn't hard to do because all one had to do was look five feet in front of their nose and forget that anything else existed.

Summer Home 1 of 26 in France

The calanques, with their calmer waters, fantastically white and rocky cliffs, and impressive hiking paths, made for an excellent welcome to the tiny city. And the water itself!

Never have I seen water so blue, so clear, so pristine in my life! One could look down and see the blue, iridescent fish swimming alongside the boat. Snorkeling, in warmer months, would actually be an a sightseeing adventure, and not a test of one's eyesight in low light. The last time I had seen water than even approached this clarity was when I was fifteen and went snorkeling for a day a ways off the coast of Mexico near this rocky mound that jutted out of the ocean. Even that couldn't quite live up to this, though, and this was right off shore! So, of course, I had to go swimming.

Why can't all water look like this?

Fast-forward half an hour later, after examining the logistics of changing into one's bathing suit at a French beach where bare breasts are alright, but baring all in front of people I have to live with and see on a regular basis is mortifying at best. I dipped my feet into the water. A tad chilly, but totally doable, I told myself, and at a friend's urging, fully submerged my body in the water.

Bad idea. I began to gasp for the air that jettisoned itself from my lungs upon the realization of just how cold the water really was and scurried back out to the edge of the water where I could sit and let the water wash over me and slowly acclimate me to my new, wet surroundings. Finally, I swam out to join my friends and discovered a whole new level of buoyancy. I don't think I had ever floated so effortlessly in my life - I could literally just sit in the water and do no work whatsoever and remain afloat. It was fantastic, even if on the chilly side.

These rocks have no idea how good they've got things

Some time later, after I had laid out in the sun for a bit and dried off and changed back into appropriate attire and had my fill of some delicious gelato, a significantly sized group of us noticed a man dressed in a purple cow suit some meters down the beach from where we were resting.

Enter the Milka cow.

Is that useful for saving lives or are you just happy to see me?

They were filming a commercial of the Milka cow and a attractive man in a matching purple Speedo running down the beach together Baywatch style. In French.

Day = made.

Tootles for now. Peace, love, and purple cows!

--Rachel