Tonight's diary is the conclusion of a four-part series detailing our recent trip to France.
Aix-en-Provence
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It was clear to us the moment we crossed into Provence that we hadn't allotted enough time at the end of our trip to fully experience what it has to offer the traveler. In four days we could only scratch the surface, but we were determined to squeeze in as much as possible and the experience left us both clamoring for more. We decided we would spend a night each in the three must-see towns in the region before heading to our final destination of Nice, those towns being Avignon, Arles and Aix-en-Provence.
We began in Avignon, a thriving university city buzzing with activity around its medieval monuments and beautiful squares. Avignon's history is ancient, even predating the rise of Rome. It reached its zenith of power when the French pope Clement V was elected to the papacy in 1305. Italy at the time had become a dangerous place, so, in 1309, the Pope lifted up his skirt and hightailed it to Avignon where the shrewd and power hungry French king welcomed him with open arms. Now the seat of the papacy, lavish new digs were built to house it. With pressure growing back in Italy for the papacy to return and a reluctant pope to do so a schism developed within the church. From 1378 until 1403 there were dueling popes, one in Rome, the other in Avignon. The schism was fully resolved by 1417, but the remains of it still stand at the brooding and evocative Palais des Papes on its rocky outcrop overlooking the city and the Rhône river.
Much of the former glory of the interior is lost to time, however there were still well-preserved frescoes, tapestries and tiles within its vast rooms. The highlight of the tour for me was entering the cavernous receiving hall where three women and one man were singing Dona Novice Pacem in the perfect acoustics of the space.
While the Papal Palace certainly is the most impressive and important monument in the city, the remainder of our time was spent strolling the backstreets and enjoying the vibe.
The next day we were off again to Arles. Since it wasn't too far a journey, we had time to take a leisurely drive through the country and detour to a couple of other towns in the area. We made a stop at the twin towns of Tarascon and Beaucaire separated by the Rhône. We toured the incredible Château de Tarascon where I got a serious case of vertigo on the roof of the castle and had to abort the mission.
We stopped to refer to a map in Beaucaire and ran across a local pastime game of Bocce Ball being played with utmost seriousness in a leafy park under the ruins of the old castle.
We made it to Arles by noon that day, got an atmospheric room in a family run hotel and were off wandering the streets by the early afteroon. Arles, of course, is famous for its resident famous painter, Vincent van Gogh who went mad and cut off his ear while living there. He spent time at this hospital which turns a tidy profit off its most famous patient.
Photo courtesy of Livia Chamelle.
The cafe made famous by his painting is obviously still there, and every tourist in town seemed to be spilling out of it the night we visited. We were content to sit at a cafe with a view of it across the square.
While I certainly enjoyed seeing the places van Gogh had made famous on canvas, Arles is delightful everywhere you turn. The faded painted shutters and squash colored buildings made you want to linger at every cafe you passed, and we did a lot of just that.
Oh, did I forget to mention that Arles is also home to a glorious Roman amphitheater?
I would have loved to have spent a few more days in Arles, but time was ticking. It was time to move on to Aix-en-Provence. I have no clue why, but in my mind's-eye, I had pictured Aix (pronounced very close to the letter x) as a quaint little village. I had it completely wrong. Aix-en-Provence is a city of 150,000 people. Upscale, tony people. With it's beautiful boulevards, endless fountains, and chic shops, it exudes refinement and taste.
I went photo-heavy above in Arles. However, in Aix, it was time to put down the camera and go shopping. If you want more pictures of the city, get over to Flickr.
I had decided on this trip to not bring back a lot of souvenirs. Instead, my objective was to buy a few nice things to add to my wardrobe. This was my opportunity. Although we may have missed the prime summer season to see the lavender fields in bloom, we had hit Provence during the after-tourist-season sales. I went nuts. I bought shoes, a leather jacket, a man-purse, scarves and sexy underwear. Everything was 30-50% off. I had an orgasm without even touching myself. So proud was I of the substantial savings, we ended our night at the casino where Aix made up for its losses off of me. My credit card was still smoldering the next morning.
We were on the road very early for the final leg of our journey, Nice. It was such a whirlwind I hardly feel in a position to do the city justice writing of it, but I will try. The landscape leaving Aix was dramatic and with every passing mile it would surpass dramatic into realms not reached by the mere ability of adjectives to describe it. There is a reason the rich and famous flock to the Côte d'Azur. By the time we had reached Cannes, our mouths were open but speechless.
Soon we were in the very heart of Nice on the Promenade des Anglais, passing sumptuous Beaux Arts resorts on our left and the aquamarine Mediterranean sea on our right. Without much difficulty we found the gay B&B we booked on-line the night before and checked in. While Brian dropped off our trusty little Peugot at the airport and took the bus back, I untwisted our luggage and got him ready to continue his journey to Italy and my journey back to Paris and home the following day. By the time we were done with our chores, we had just one late afternoon and evening together to see Nice.
The next morning Brian quietly woke up and took his shower and packed the last of his things. He woke me up with a kiss on my forehead. For just a split second, it felt exactly like we were home. But then it dawned on me that he was continuing his adventure and I needed to get up and finish mine without him.
I had just enough time to walk to the beach and see Nice wake up on a Sunday morning before I had to get to the airport. Even though it was overcast, there were people enjoying a morning swim. I really wished Brian would have been with me to watch the old woman take off her top, proudly showing her breasts to the morning breeze.
I was back in Paris that afternoon. After landing at Orly, I hopped a train to the Place Saint-Michel in the heart of the city on the left bank (of course). If you were with me from the start of this series, you might recall that I had a grudge against Paris and had hoped to avoid being there on this trip.
I've been mad at Paris for the last five years. I have been to the City of Lights a half dozen times and my last time I was sure it would be my last. Without going into a long-winded story, suffice it to say that someone drugged my drink and the manager of the hotel I was staying at woke me up pounding on my door 15 hours later. It's a hell of a story, but it would be a digression.
But there I was in Paris, just as I had hoped not to be. I found a cheap but shitty little room just a couple of blocks away from the Metro. Although I was reluctant, I decided to make the best of my situation. I got dressed in my new clothes I bought in Aix and hit the streets. On my way to the Marais to be with the Parisian gay people, I began to relax and remember why I loved Paris. My spirits were lifting and I found myself having a wonderful time.
As I was wandering back to my hotel on the other side of the Seine, I saw a line of people standing in front of the La Conciergerie. I stopped and saw that I had stumbled just in time to enter the jewel church of Saint-Chapelle to listen to a concert of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.
I had forgiven Paris.
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October 27, 2013
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Submitted by Neon Vincent:
I submit My reasons for my preferences these days...." by xaxnar, in which he describes what has happened to the Republican Party since his days of growing up in a Republican family, and why that made him a Democrat. Found in Ellid's diary No Books Tonight; or, Why I am a Democrat
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October 26, 2013
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