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Published: September 27th 2022
Yours Truly
Sipping a cold drink at the end of a quiet day. Tim and I went for a walk after dinner just to loosen the muscles.
Each evening many French people head down to their favourite bar to have a catch-up and reflect on the day. I felt like Norm from the sitcom, Cheers.Today we are going to Avignon, a city that is known as being the City of the Popes. In the 14th century Pope Clement V and his offsiders fled from Rome and established the Palais Des Papes, and between 1309 to 1377, the 7 French born popes invested huge sums of money building and decorating the Palace, in order for them to live in the manner to which they had become accustomed. That last bit is not necessarily a fact, but rather is just moi’s thinly disguised attempt at a social opinion.
The town is encircled by 4.3 kilometres of preserved stone ramparts, and is considered to be the jewel in the crown of the region of Provence.
Before we talk the short drive to enjoy all that Avignon has to offer, Tim and I will walk down to the Tourist Office to secure some front row seats to the Bull Fights. Don’t forget, no one gets hurt at this event. The bulls have real names and are retired out to lush pastures once they can no longer work. I’m still not to sure about that, but like political promises, I’ll take them at their word. But Sue and
The House Where Nostradamus Was Born.
Nostradamus was born of Jewish parents in this house on 12 December, 1503, His mother’s grandfather, who was the village doctor and Treasurer of the town, and Nostradamus had the advantage of being well educated compared to most people at that time, and went on to be the doctor of Queen Catherine of Medici in 1564. Tim did eat slow cooked bull for dinner, so it sounds like bulldust to me.
While in the tourist office, we not only bought front row seats to the non - bullfight bullfight, we also found out that the bulls were being led into the village this morning, led by the local caballeros, cowboys.
Suddenly the plans changed.
Avignon is today , my time, as I’m posting late, and we are doing the bull arrival, a trip to the Asylum on the edge of town, and a trip to the seaside village of Saintes Maries de la Mar. I’m hopeful of seeing some pink flamingos along the way.
I’ve chased down a bit of information about the Bull Festival that surrounds us at the moment, and it has nothing to do with the world of politics as the name suggests, as anyone in any country could understand, for two main reasons. It’s all true, and no one gets hurt.
The Carmargue variation sees amateur razeteurs wearing skin tight white shirts and trousers get as close as they dare to the bull, and remove rosettes and ribbons tied to the bulls horns. There is a form
House of Nostradamus’ Birth
‘From little things, big things grow…’
Paul Kelly. of apprenticeship for these amateurs and until they are deemed competent, they cannot participate. The athleticism required to jump from the arena when being chased by a bull is a highlight of the event.
Today we attended the Abrivado longue, the arrival of the bulls and it was worth the long wait by the edge of the road.
Horse drawn carriages led the procession, followed by a masterful line of white horses strutting up the road with focused proud riders holding a perfect line. Behind them were some bulls, hemmed in by more horsemen at the sides and the rear. It was a powerful look.
Tomorrow we head of to the stadium to watch them strut their stuff.
After lunch we drove to the edge of town to visit the asylum where Vincent Van Gogh admitted himself for a year, due to concerns for his failing health. While he found the rules and regimented lifestyle stifling, it was his most productive period, and he created over 150 works there, including his greatest masterpieces, such as The Starry Night.
Walking the grounds , signs direct you to the views he saw, and a reconstruction of his
We Got ‘em
Bull chasing, not fighting, tickets. We saw a bit of bullfighting on a TV in the restaurant last night, and front row seats might see some action . Those bulls can jump into the front stalls room layout on the wing he lived on shows you the austere existence he lived in 1889.
Winding up narrow cobbled streets, it’s easy to see why Le Baux de Provence is considered one of the most fortified villages in France. The village hangs precariously from the edge of a steep hillside and sits just below the 10th century castle, Chateau de Baux. This castle was destroyed in 1673 during the reign of Louis VIII, and is now a maze of ruins, converting it from a strong fortified castle into an idyllic medieval playground for kids, and bigger kids, to explore and imagine that they are knights, searching the dungeons and towers for enemies to conquer.
It might not be the most fortified these days, but on a warm spring sky with white fluffy - don’t know any meteorological terms - clouds, it is a perfect place to rest and refuel our bodies.
The village, while still very much intact, and offering breathtaking views of Provence, is now a favourite haunt of the rich and famous, in fact ex French President Sarkozy’s son was married here two days ago. It might explain the large prestigious looking helicopter
taking off from The Valley while we were there.
Cafes, restaurants, ice cream shops and artisan food shops ensure your stomach is catered for, and the rest sell clothes, jewellery and general tourist tack.
It really is a theme park for history buffs and tourists passing through the Provence region in the south of France.
The next destination - because we don’t waste a second of time on Tim’s Tour Bus - was a trip to the coast, and it couldn’t have been a starker contrast.
Les Saintes Maries de la Mer has a reputation for being detached from the French way of life, and is more associated with a Spanish lifestyle and is mainly recognised as the pilgrimage destination once a year, for gypsies from all over Europe.
It’s a seaside village next to the Camargue, the wetlands and salt pans that seems to be straight out of a Mexican or South American movie. The small, white rendered ranches support horse breeding and bull rearing ; not a traditional French activity. You just get a feeling that you left France, and once you enter this quaint seaside village, you’re convinced. The Flamenco themed dance
clubs and restaurants, the imposing bullring set on the shoreline, against the backdrop of a clean sandy beach and crystal clear Mediterranean waves compliment the paella, seafood specialties and colourful carmargue style clothes shops that sell all things to do with horses, and the bull statues and ornaments scattered around town.
The Carmargue is home to the pink flamingos, and the lengths we went to , just to have them fly away at the last minute, were noble and worthy of praise. Tim and I walked at least 500 metres, threading our way through crusty, grey, cracked mud pans, crisscrossing over wild horse tracks and soft mud along the salt bush, to get closer to a large flock about 100 metres directly off the road. The photo says it all, and says nothing.
It’s a very understated place with a population of about 2500 people that increases enormously during summer. The Gypsy festival celebrating Saint Sara, the patron Saint of the Roma attracts both gypsies and tourists alike, and the statue of St Sara that is kept in the crypt under the church of the Saints Marie.
The church was built in the 9th to the 12th
century and is another example of ‘ how did they build that !’ engineering.
It is one of those churches that has a volunteer at the door, and you just know to keep it quiet in there, by the unvarnished look of the place. Churches like Notre Dame are treated as tourist destinations because they draw such large secular crowds.
We had a peaceful stroll along the shoreline - when is that not peaceful - and Tim dipped his feet into the sea while I collected a few shells to wash and take home to the grandkids.
As the sun set , we wandered back into the village and chose a local seafood restaurant for dinner. Sue and Tim ate beef. It was actually Bull but Sue was happy to eat it as long as she thought it was cow. It was slow cooked for 15 hours, and the piece I ate dissolved in my mouth. I had a big saucepan of local mussels, chips and a salad.
The drive home was quiet and dark.
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debbie lilburne
non-member comment
go cats
Nicholas and i went to the grand final in the corporate section it was great