Avignon or bust

AVIGNON 12 AUGUST—Before heading out of Aubagne, we had one last stop to make, the medieval village of Castellet, about 14 km outside of Gémenos. It is another charming little bourg that is rated one of the most beautiful villages of France, perched on a hillside near the sea. Most of these small villages make their living entirely from tourism. Cats lounged in windows. Dogs walked in and out of their owners’ stores. Tourists milled about in throngs. Most of the tourists I’ve seen are French. Not too many Americans this year. France is the number one tourist destination in the world and they seem to know it in Provence. Everything is set up and organized waiting for the masses to descend. We obliged them of course, paying for parking and buying a few things on our tour up and down the steep streets.

After the visit to Castellet, we took the Autoroute past the famed Mont Ste. Victoire, the mountain made famous by the impressionists, and did a nice day trip to the university town of Aix-en-Provence, birthplace of Paul Cézanne and Emile Zola (pronounce ‘Aix’ like ‘ex’. One often sees ‘Aix’ or ‘Ax’ in town names in France that were once the site of Roman thermal baths.). We parked in a nice underground parking facility and set out first to see the market that takes up all of the main boulevard of the town, the plane tree-lined Cours Mirabeau.Stefania bought some gifts as I took pictures. We made a giant loop through all of the picturesque squares of the town. Every corner you turned there seemed to be another small church or market that was just wrapping up. As traffic is limited in most city centers, the foot traffic of locals and tourists alike was quite intense. We were beat and decided to head back to the hotel. Stef hit the pool while I went for another ride. The terrain here is very deceiving. You think the road is descending when it is actually going up. The mountains slant one way, the fields below another and then the road again in another direction. I couldn’t figure out why I was pedaling so hard. I stopped twice to look at my chain. Then when I turned around I saw why. I had been climbing the whole time. My senses were completely baffled.

That night we decided to try the pizzeria next door to the hotel and found it quite good. Again, if you’re in France or Italy, you have to change your concept of time and service. People never eat before 8 or 9 p.m. If you’re like my dad and want to eat at 6:30 sharp, most restaurants are still closed. Expect to be seated and have to wait long periods between each service interval: menus, water, entrées etc. It’s just the way things are done here.

On Friday, we paid up at the hotel and hit the road for the long journey up to the city of popes, Avignon in the Vaucluse . It took a couple of hours to get there. We had made reservations at a very quaint two-star hotel owned by two transplanted Parisians where our friends had stayed this past spring. It is inside the ramparts of the old city, right off Rue de la République. We unloaded the car and then were able to park it nearby in an underdground parking garage that has a deal with the hotel. Each room at the hotel has a particular theme. Ours was Marocco. It was on the top floor and quite spacious with a couch and a table and a bathroom/shower in the room.

After unpacking, we went down and talked to the owners. This is again where speaking the language helps. They pulled out a map and told us in detail to see this or don’t see that and to eat here because all of the tourists eat here etc. You really get the royal treatment. The first thing we hit was the magnificent Palais des Papes, constructed for Benoît XII beginning in 1336. The palace is built on a hill next to the park of the Rocher des Doms. From there you can see the famous Pont d’Avignon, the bridge that extends only halfway across the Rhône river. We then wandered through the streets and ended up having dinner near the Porte du Rhône on the Place Crillon.
Tomorrow, Saturday, was going to be the real test, my attempt to climb the Ventoux.