La Belle Provence '14

My tres chic travel companion

Sunday, Oct. 19, 2014  Aix-en-Provence    Sunday morning.  Church bells sounding throughout the city.  We’ve had breakfast and strolled through the sleepy streets.  Not much happening.  In less than an hour we will meet other tour members and head off to St. Remy.

Delta/KLM allows one free checked bag, one carry-on, one personal item; but if you bring your legs, you have a problem.  I have never seen such a minuscule gap between the front of my seat and the headrest of the seat in front of me.  Eight hours of discomfort.

Aix-en-Provence was the reward.  Arrived late afternoon and walked around to learn the city streets.  Ate carryout (but French carryout - they call it takeaway, a porter) in a square ringed with cafés filled with noisy college students.  Back to our room, where jet lag caught up to us.

Our first full day, we took the bus to Arles.  Charming city.  A Roman theater (for the arts) and amphitheater (gladiator spectacles) and a thirteenth century cloister.  Also a great (free) photography exhibit.  Foundation Van Gogh was a highlight. The gallery features modern artists whose work has been influenced by Vincent Van Gogh.

We took time to sit at a café and watch the goings on before getting back to the bus station.

(Double click on any photo to view it full screen.)

The Roman Amphitheater in Arles

Fate spoke, loud and clear to us on our first day.  At the amphitheater, we saw a young mother misstep and take a bad tumble on the uneven steps of the amphitheater.  Later, when we returned to the hotel, we encountered Dick and Lori, VBT cyclists who we met on the shuttle from the Marseilles airport.  Dick lay on a deck chair, nursing cuts and abrasions on his leg and sporting an impressive black eye.  He had also missed a steep step as he admired artwork at a gallery.  Fate to Marc and Carol:  MIND THE GAP!

Strains of Edith Piaf songs reached us in the amphitheater from below as we climbed for views of the city.

Chic chien awaiting her turn?

The facade of the Foundation Vincent Van Gogh

A painting by Yan Pei Wing peeks at us in a gallery in the Foundation Vincent Van Gogh.

  

Artwork by Bertrand Lavier, Foundation Vincent Van Gogh

Looking out at the entry plaza of Foundation Vincent Van Gogh

. 

"To Life and Love" (and crepes, too) - view from a café table in Arles

Windows, Arles

Dinner back in Aix at the tiny La Cerise sur le Gateau (The Cherry on the Cake).  The owner is the staff - chef, maitre d’, waiter, sommelier (and perhaps dishwasher).  La Cerise is a restaurant biologique, organic wine and food (except for the squid).

On Friday, we caught a city bus into the countryside, where we planned to hike up Mount St. Victoire.  The passengers included us, five Vietnamese college students who were taking the same hike, and a local French woman who sat in the first row chatting with the driver and cheerfully helping the rest of us figure out how to use the payment technology to submit our one euro fare.

Had a nice chat for the first twenty minutes of hiking with the lone boy in the student group, who wanted, I think, to practice his English.  Later, he left us behind as he forged on to the peak.  The girls were far behind us, more intent on chatting about this and that than on moving forward.

A lovely day and a beautiful hike.  Frequently we were surrounded by the scent of mountain thyme.  We encountered teenagers texting on the trail, eighty-eight students of a coed military school setting a brisk pace and an ancient-looking man who ran past us at a good pace himself.  We didn't make it to the peak, stymied by lack of time and a pretty steep climb at the end.

Another fabulous meal that evening, but perhaps I can stop saying that.  Fabulous meals were the rule on this trip.  We were in France, after all.

Mt. St. Victoire, from the starting point of our hike.

On the trail to the peak of Mt. Saint Victoire

View from Mt. Saint Victoire (as close as we we were going to get to the summit)

 We met our group on Sunday, eighteen of us, the largest cycling group we've ever had.  Off to St. Remy-en-Provence, a charming town, home of the sanitarium (still in use) that housed troubled Vincent Van Gogh.  Our accommodations were at the Hotel de L'Image, a four star joint with beautiful grounds.  We met Stephane and Thibault, our guides.  Stephane and Thibault set us up with our bikes, and we took a short shakedown ride, then swam at the pool.  (The weather the first five days of our stay in France was unseasonably, delightfully warm.)

The Grounds of L'Hotel de L'Image, St. Remy-en-Provence

As soon as we had checked in, with a couple of hours to spare before the bike try-outs, Carol (remember the Queen of Finding Things?) led me to the ruins of the ancient Roman town of Glanum, a mere twenty-minute walk from the hotel.  Part of the reason for this particular trip was Carol's wish to see the ancient architecture in the region that she had studied about in an online course.  Why VBT did not include this in our tour is a mystery to us, and one of the few negative comments VBT will get when they receive our feedback.

The Queen poses at Glanum.

 

The Queen's Consort strikes a pose.

On Monday we got down to cycling.  We cycled to the town of Eygalieres, where Carol and I found a quiet park with a view of Les Alpilles to have a lunch of French bread, cheese and sausages.  We lingered for a long time, while most of the others continued on on the longer cycling route.

Eygalieres Detail

Les Alpilles, seen from Eygalieres

On our leisurely ride back to the hotel and the pool, I chatted with Thibault, a young musician who supplements his income as a VBT guide.  He complimented me on my speaking French, and I responded that I have a lot of difficulty hearing and understanding the language.  He then simply began a lesson for me, speaking slowly in his native tongue, asking me questions and patiently listening to my responses.  A highlight of the day.  It set the table for a comfortable companionship between the two of us the rest of the week.

An autumn morning in Provence

Provençal Traffic Jam.  Vous etes Americains, he called to us.  Oui!  That was all he needed to know.

Back in St. Remy, Carol went off to shop, and I went off to do one of my favorite things to do when in France.  I found an outdoor café in the main square, ordered a biere pression (draft beer) and settled in with my book, half attending to the reading and half taking in the sights and sounds around me.

People-watching from a café table

When I paid my bill, the waiter and I had a brief conversation.

Him:  Vous parlez bien le francais, monsieur.  (You speak French well.)

Me:  Merci.  Je parle un petit peu.  Quelquefois je comprends;  quelquefois, non.  (Thank you.  I speak a tiny bit.  Sometimes I understand; sometimes, not.)

Him:  Meilleur que mon anglais.  (Better than my English!)

We laughed, the French waiter and I.  He went about his job, and I went on my way.

Dinner that night was at the home of a local pastry chef, Odille.  She fixed us a meal that was vegetarian and delicious.  The dessert?  Exquisite!  On the walk back to the hotel, Stephane and I had a good conversation about our families, and another bond was formed.

Tuesday began with a walking tour through St. Remy "in the footsteps of Vincent Van Gogh."  Our guide was well-versed in the life of Van Gogh, who was a poetic man.  When talking about "Starry Night," he said that he looked into the sky and saw "seven stars bowing down to me."

 

Mathilde, our guide, stands at the fog-shrouded spot where Van Gogh painted this bright picture.

St. Paul de Mausole, where Van Gogh was treated for depression

Tribute to Vincent Van Gogh near the grounds of the sanitarium

Cloister adjacent to the sanitarium, St. Remy-en-Provence

 In the afternoon, we cycled to Les Baux, a short trip with the biggest climb of the week.  The climb was very doable (and the return trip downhill was thrilling and a bit terrifying).  Les Baux is a hill town, complete with medieval fortress and a commanding view of the surrounding countryside.  The tour of the fortress was quite interesting, but the town itself was a little too "Jersey Shore" for me, the streets lined with shops overflowing with tourist goods - swords, helmets and shields for the kids  to whack their siblings with or perhaps break a lamp and all sorts of reproductions of "stuff" for the rest of us.  Les Baux couldn't compare with my memories of visits to Rocamadour and Domme in Dordogne.

Window, Les Beaux

One evening before dinner, Thibault gave a little language/culture lesson.  We listened to Jacques Brel sing "Ne me quitte pas."  He gave us a primer on ordering in a restaurant and other useful terms, and then he amused us with his explanation of French manners.  The French always greet a person first before commencing business, a detail we Americans aren't always so good at.  So he gave us this illustration.  Enter a bar and ask for "un café," and you'll be served coffee and charged 7 euros.  Say, "un café, s'il vous plais," and you'll be charged 4.50.  Remember to do it the right way, "Bonjour, monsieur.  Un café, s'il vous plais," and the price will be 1.50.

WEDNESDAY, THE ABSOLUTE BEST DAY OF THE TOUR!

On Wednesday, the Mistral arrived.  The Mistral is a legendary punishing wind that can pound the Provence countryside for days and even weeks.

We started the day at the weekly farmers' market in St. Remy, where we acquired a baguette, cheese and sausages for a picnic later at the Abbey of St. Michel de Frigolet.  The winds of the Mistral rushed through the streets, wreaking havoc with the vendors' stalls and giving us a foretaste of what lay ahead for us.

Farmers' Market in St. Remy

Farmers' Market in St. Remy

It was hard work, getting to the abbey.  The direction of the winds of the Mistral, like all winds it seems, can be predicted by the direction in which one is cycling.  The Mistral was in our face most of the day.  We lunched alone, away from the winds, in a field outside the abbey walls.  It was a scene Van Gogh or Monet might have painted.

Our lunch spot near the Abbey of St. Michel de Frigolet, an impressionist's dream.

After lunch, we set out for our destination - the Pont du Gard.  This is when the going got really hard.  Some impressions of the Mistral:

*  There were moments, I do not exaggerate, when we were forced to pedal to make progress downhill.

*  Stephane and Thibault had instructed us to walk our bikes across the bridge over the Rhone River, which was a real wind tunnel.  In so doing, I bent over to minimize my vulnerability to the wind and gripped my bike with two hands, fearful that the wind would rip it away from me.

*  When the wind blew from the side (rare occurrence, fortunately), it was dangerous.  It blew me off the pavement twice.

*  Dante said, "Hell is not fire.  Hell is wind."  (Well, Carol claims Dante said that.  I haven't checked her references.)

Wait, you are saying.  How can this be the absolute best day of the tour?  Here's the thing.  I had heard of the Mistral and wanted to experience it.  I loved the challenge!  At a wine tasting eight miles from our destination, all but four of us opted out of cycling the rest of the way.  Carol and I, Mike and Karen soldiered on to the end.  I was proud to complete the journey - thirty miles that felt like fifty.

The Pont du Gard?  Stunning, robbing me of words, like my first encounter with the Eiffel Tower, Yosemite Valley and Crater Lake.  The engineering mastery of the ancient Romans is on display here.  As you look at the photo, remember that the Romans used no mortar in building this structure!

Pont du Gard

Pont du Gard detail

 

On Thursday we cycled to Lirac for a country picnic presented at a local wine cooperative.  On its first day, the Mistral gave me a welcome challenge and a good story to tell.  Today, its second day, it became a bad joke.  The picnic was a fun event, with delicious food.  The wines were good; several of us purchased bottles of Lirac white for the van to take back to the hotel.

Stephane explained to us how the winds of the Mistral help the wines of the region by blowing the soil dry and thus depriving mushrooms, the enemies of grapes, the opportunity to grow.  He also spoke of vast areas of pebbles deposited long ago by the Rhone that aid the growing of grapes by capturing the heat of the sun during the day and then releasing that heat in the cool of the night.

Stephane praises, with good reason, the food preparation of our host, Denis.

Picnic Fare at Lirac

Lirac Picnic Site

Stephane had told us we would later be cycling through Tavel, home of notable rosé wines.  Tavel was just minutes away.  Its wine cooperative doesn't open until two, and the picnic was done by one.  Several people hopped on their bikes and zoomed off.  Carol and I lingered, not wanting to miss the opportunity for another wine tasting.  Thus, we were the only ones (along with Stephane, whose job was to stay with the last riders) to sample the fine rosé wines.  But first, Carol explored the town on foot while Stephane and I had an espresso and another good conversation at a sunny café in Tavel.

That afternoon, back at the hotel (Hotel La Magnaneraie in Villenueve, a suburb of Avignon), Carol and I hosted a wine tasting in our room before dinner.  Almost everyone showed up, bringing more wine, olives, cheese and other snacks.

Party in Room 28

All too soon, we arrived at our last day of cycling, an easy ride into Avignon, where we had a morning guided tour followed by free time in town.  After the tour, Carol and I had lunch at an outdoor café on the town square, La Place de l'Horloge.  She shopped.  I took photos.  I ran into Mike and Jack, who were looking for a gelato shop Stephane and Thibault had told us about.  The three of us went off to find the highly recommended shop, where we indulged ourselves.  Then on the van and back to the hotel for our farewell dinner. 

Locals and bikes may enter here.  The rest of you, go away.

Le Pont d'Avignon

Paul, one of our group and an accomplished oil painter, sketches the Pont d'Avignon

Our Avignon tour guide, Isabelle

Wall Poster for the Avignon Theater Festival

Shop Window, Avignon

Shop Window, Avignon.  I wanted this shirt, but fifty euros was a bit steep.

Carousel, Place de l'Horloge, Avignon

Detail, Carousel, Place de l'Horloge

Thoughtful in La Place de l'Horloge

P.S.  The next day we zoomed on the TGV (high speed train) to the Gare de Lyon in Paris, where we were met and taken to the Hotel Rochester, just steps from the Champs Elysees.  We strolled to the Arc de Triomphe; decided against $20 glasses of wine with other tour members at the trendy Hotel Raphael; took the metro to a delicious final dinner at  Le Coté Bergamote in the St. Germain des Pres area of Paris.  Back to the hotel, we had drinks in the lounge with some other tour members and then off to bed before our early morning departure for home.

Au revoir, Provence.  Au revoir, Paris.