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

Louis the Lucky Duck

If I lived somewhere with a garden like this

I am certain I would never want to leave. Versailles is worth the visit for this tiny corner of the royal gardens alone. I'm not even including the fountains and the hidden speakers in the walls of shrubbery that play classical music and the perfectly white marble statues and the vividly colored flowers. Heck, I'm not even talking about the parks that extend outside of the initial manicured gardens. I refer merely to what is included in this picture here. I would be content with this for a lifetime.

It boggles the mind to think that this once belonged to a single man. To be fair, he was the leader of an entire nation, but, hey, Obama is the leader of one of the most powerful nations in the world, and he doesn't have a garden like this.

Let's continue with our pretty pictures tour, shall we?

The Royal Gate - Read: the second of two gates leading to the château

The chapel

Strange Japanese statue in front of overly ornate door

The Hall of Mirrors, part 1

The Hall of Mirrors, part 2

I spent a fair amount of time being herded through room after room after room of absolute magnificence by the crowds of people.

Originally, I had planned upon heading out to Versailles early that morning with several others on the program so that we could beat the crowd and have the château to ourselves. However, the previous night of partying in Paris (during which I nearly caused a fight at a discothèque, as you may recall) and my complete inability to get out of bed in a timely manner meant that there was no way in this life or in any other that I would be catching the 8:19 am train out to Versailles. Nope. Nuh uh. It just was not in the cards for me. (I later learned that some people had managed to get up and get on the early train - Bravo, I say!)

Instead, I caught the 10:19 am train and arrived about 45 minutes later at the train station. I had done some research on how to get there a day or two before, so I knew that getting there was quite simple: take the RER to the end of the line, get off, walk a little bit, and then begin drooling over the pretty. What I failed to remember to do in my research, though, was to figure out that little walking bit. I had, of course, looked at the train station on the map to gain a sense of how far away it was from the actual château, but upon seeing that it was roughly a five minute walk or less, and there did not seem to any tricky twists or turns, I did not do any further exploration of this map. Thus, when I arrived at the station, I was completely lost. I had been under the impression that all I needed to do was walk out of the station, look around, spot Versailles, and begin marching toward it. I had also been under the impression that the train station would not be surrounded by buildings but would instead be right on the edge of the Versailles property. This was not the case. The station is in the town, about a block away from the palace, and the one is not visible from the other. 

Thankfully, just about everyone else on the train with me had the same destination in mind, so it took me about a microsecond to figure out that I merely needed to follow the mob of fellow tourists to reach my goal. From there, it became a matter of standing in lines to gain access to the museum and parks. I was fortunate enough to miss the really large crowds, which showed up about half an hour after I did, but I still had to wait about 45 minutes total (30 to get my ticket and another 15 to enter the grounds proper) before I could actually begin exploring to my heart's content.

I spent about an hour and a half strolling through the place on my own, spending as much or as little time as I wanted in each room. There were always people around, though, and I thus felt obliged to not linger too long in one place - it somehow seemed rude in my eyes.

My favorite room, without a doubt, was the Hall of Mirrors. I spent more time there than anywhere else in the interior of the château. It is also probably the largest room open to visitors in the building, so it lends reason to my directly proportionally increased amount of time spent there. I love sunlight and being surrounded by natural light, so this room was like a dream come true. Upon my arrival, the sky, with its clouds a darker grey than I had ever seen in the sky, had been threatening to pour down on everyone unfortunate enough to be caught waiting in line, which had included me. Luckily, though, by the time I reached the Hall of Mirrors, the rain clouds had, for the most part, gone off to unleash their drenching fury elsewhere, leaving behind happy fluffy clouds and intermittent patches of sun. This meant that the room was fantastically bright and lovely. The light flooded in through the grand windows and the golden statues holding aloft the magnificent candelabras gleamed.

Pictured: Gleaming golden statues holding aloft magnificent candelabras

Louis XIV probably never realized just how freaking lucky he was to wake up in this bed:

Pictured: A bed (literally) fit for a king.

and then walk out though his bedchamber into the Hall of Mirrors before throwing open the windows and gazing out over his magnificent gardens every morning. (I imagine that this is what he did every morning, weather permitting, because I certainly would have.)

WHICH REMINDS ME.

The gardens. Hands down the most amazing place I have ever been to. I spent more time meandering through those gardens and parks than I did inside any of the residences.

After my trip to the palace of Versailles, I ate a quick lunch of a provençal sandwich on foccacia bread, which was an excellent combination, along with "un coca" (I'm pretty sure that you can no longer go anywhere without running into Coca-Cola) and a slice of apple pie at the local café at the museum. I then decided that it was high time I took advantage of the "passeport" ticket that I had purchased which allowed me to visit not only the gardens and parks, but the adjacent properties that had once belonged to other members of the royal family, including Marie Antoinette. On my journey through the royal chambers of Louis XIV, I had, of course, glimpsed the greenery that was to come, but it was still nothing compared to the real thing.

The first thing I noticed as I entered what really amounts to a gargantuan backyard was the faint vibrations of classical music drifting through the air. I wondered to myself where this music could be coming from because it seemed as though an actual orchestra might be just around the corner or down the next flight of stairs. I discovered, to a bizarre melange of dismay and joy that there was no grand orchestra set up in the gardens, playing for my listening pleasure, but, instead, that there were small but powerful speakers hidden away in the giant walls of shrubbery such as the ones pictured below.

A shrubbery that Mom would be proud of

 This meant that the classical music was everywhere you went in the gardens. It did not extend as far as the parks, which are actually open to the public, but the gardens are massive enough that you can spend hours there, moving from fountain to fountain and from musical piece to musical piece. There exist a plethora of alcoves and pathways which play their own specific pieces of music - which is fantastic if you want to hop from piece to piece, but can also be aggravating when you are on the verge of recognizing a piece only to have it turn into something else as you head 'round the corner.

Now, initially, I headed off to the left of the property, where the plants were all perfectly manicured into small swirls of green, punctuated with flowers such as these:

However, I soon headed back for the main path that sloped down from the château. I believe it was then that I first noticed the pure white marble statues lining the central walkway. My inner art history nerd began to hyperventilate from the sheer number of new works to examine - only this time, I could examine them out in broad daylight instead of in moderately lit museums. Again, the question crept into my mind as to whether Louis XIV ever truly realized how totally awesome his life at Versailles had to have been. I mean, the dude has a copy of the Laocoon sculpture, which is one of the most legit pieces of art ever. On a scale of one to holy-crap-they-just-don't-do-art-like-that-anymore, the Laocoon is divine magnificence. In fact, I don't even think Medusa could turn people into stone with the same sort of realism and ideal proportions as the Laocoon. Anyway. My nerd is showing.

What I am trying to say is that walking down through the main gallery to the Apollo fountain is such a treat: gorgeous flowers, epic classical music, and plenty of classical statues with fig leaves over their nether regions to keep this a family affair.

I took my time moving through the gardens, but did not do too much to stray from the central path because I had a sneaking suspicion that one wrong turn, and it would suddenly be worse than the third task of the Triwizard Tournament: walls of shrubbery closing in around me, a sphinx with some annoying riddle, and one wrong decision to touch some cool looking object, and suddenly I'm in a graveyard, watching Ralph Finnes prance around evilly, and trying not to make fun of his lack of a nose.

Thankfully, it appears that stuff only happens in England so I did not have to see any Dark Lords regain a corporeal form.

I did, however, manage to get ever so slightly lost. On my way over to the domain of Marie Antoinette, I managed to completely overshoot my target entrance by taking the wrong tree-lined path. The map I had with me was not very helpful, either, because it was rather difficult to approximate my location relative to the giant canal running through the grand park. So I ended up travelling backwards through the Trianon and the domain of Marie Antoinette. It probably did not make much of a difference, though, because both places were somewhat boring. The Trianon was spectacular in that each room was perfectly color coordinated, but by then my interests in the interiors of buildings had ever so slightly waned.

Eventually, I headed back toward the direction of Versailles, again overshooting my destination such that I was back at the opposite end of the gardens from the Apollo fountain at a set of three fountains to the right of the Versailles establishment.

Lucky for me, though, I had arrived just in time for the fountains to turn on. Earlier that afternoon, they had been quiet, but now they were alive and made the place all the more amazing to my impressionable young mind. Now I was content to wander and lose myself in the mazes of plants, following only my instinct and the sound of falling water. I saw some pretty darn cool stuff.

Yeah it's pretty darn cool

This is even cooler

The fountain that took the cake, though, had to be the mirror fountain with "jets d'eau" that danced in perfectly synchronized time to pieces of classical music. I happened upon this fountain just about half an hour before the gardens closed for the day and figured this was too cool to pass up. So I completely ignored the "keep off the grass" sign, took a seat on the grass, and began watching the water show. I was severely distracted by the pretty for a good quarter of an hour.

Imagine that you can also hear a piano sonata or two right now. Then feel like one classy dude.

I managed to accomplish a goal of mine that day: stay at a museum until closing. After the piece that I was listening to (which might have been German, now that I think about it, but who knows) had finished, the show was over, the fountains were shut off, and everyone was ushered out of the garden by a gentle female voice that kindly informed us in three languages that the palace was closing and everyone needed to GTFO. I made my way back through the rows and rows of plants to the first terrace of manicured green and proceeded to follow the mass exodus out through the gates, casting strange glances at the people who were still trying to get inside the gardens even though visiting hours had clearly ended for the day.

Versailles was absolutely worth the money I had to spend to see everything. I wore myself out so much trying to catch a glimpse of as much as I could that I napped between stops on the train ride back.

All in all, wandering around a royal estate on one's own for a day and never quite knowing where you are going but always knowing exactly where you are is, in my opinion, the best way to see Versailles. Just go and explore. There will always be something to take your breath away.