Remembrance of the week past

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Geo: 43.7034, 7.2662

Today was our last day on the bus. That's always sad because the driver is usually a big part of the group. We'll all be sorry to see Gilles go; he played a French version of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" on the bus, and it made everyone light-hearted again.

So we started the morning with a visit to Les Baux, a centuries-old hill town. There's a massive ruined castle at the top, with a spectacular view of the valleys below. The town got its name from the bauxite that was mined there. There are still quarries, but they're only cutting sandstone now.

In the Middle Ages, Les Baux was ruled by lords who claimed to be descended from King Balthazar of Magi fame. They were ruthless warriors, but eventually they lost Les Baux and control of Provence to nobles from Barcelona. In the 16th century, it was something of a haven for Protestants. Eventually, Cardinal Richelieu had the castle destroyed. The Grimaldi family of Monaco also owned Les Baux until the French Revolution, which is why Prince Rainier and Princess Grace received the key to the city in 1982.

The town is one of those impossibly charming and medieval ones that makes you want to move there immediately. (Truth is, you'd end up being bored to death and sick of tourists clogging up the streets.) The streets twist off in different directions, most climbing up toward the castle, and there are stairways all over as well. The shops all sell tourist stuff, though there are a few that sell really lovely pottery and various olive products. (We've seen all kinds of different olives on our plates in France, but it turns out that they're all from the same variety of tree. The color just indicates the stage of ripeness. They've all been good though!)

Les Baux has a little - tiny! - museum devoted to santons. Santons are figures of people dressed in traditional 18th-century costume. They can range from about an inch tall to bigger than a Barbie doll. There are other santons that represent Biblical figures, and it's very popular at Christmastime to create a creche of santons using both the Biblical people and the 18th-c. townspeople. My favorite santon is walking into the mistral wind, trying to hold his hat on while his scarf and coat blow backward. There was a pretty decent wind in Les Baux today, and I can only imagine what it's like when the mistral comes. They say it comes in threes. So if you have one, two, three days of mistral, and then a fourth day, then the mistral will be there till the sixth day. If it goes on to the seventh day, then you're in for nine days of ridiculous wind. Virginie says she would like to hear a mistral because apparently it's a sound that can make people go crazy.

Anyway, I elected not to do the castle because there was a light show in one of the quarries at the bottom of the hill. The subject was Klimt, and the show itself was like the one on Chartres Cathedral, only this time I was surrounded by the light and color and trying to keep my balance as the floor swirled with patterns while I walked around. It was absolutely incredible. Austrian waltzes and opera music played during the show, which was about 40 minutes long. I took a bunch of photos because I just couldn't help myself, but I haven't checked my camera yet and I'll bet they all look like crap. The quarry was very dark, apart from the light given off by the show, and my camera just isn't capable of getting a good shot in such low light. C'est la vie.

Virginie had offered an optional lunch in Les Baux, which 12 of us took her up on. We ate outside at La Reine Jeanne and had cod with aioli, a boiled potato, and multiple vegetables (I ate my beans and carrots). It was very good, particularly the aioli, and very filling.

Back on the bus and, after two hours, a pause pipi. I bought some calissons, a specialty of Provence, to take to work. They're small, almond-shaped candies made of candied fruit and ground almonds and topped with a smooth layer of royal icing. This was also our last opportunity to say au revoir to Gilles, so we lined up and the men shook hands, while the women all did the kiss-kiss thing on the cheek. He's been very sweet.

We had been playing "Two truths and a lie" on the bus during the week, and my buddy Jerry and I were the only two left. Most people thought my lie was the truth and one of my truths was the lie. They all (nearly all) thought it was true that I had been on "Jeopardy!" in 2009, and that it was a lie that John and I have been together for so long. That brought compliments at least: "You must be a lot older than you look!" 😊

We also had one last visit with Anne-Sophie. She retires at 62, when most French people retire. Up until a few years ago, the retirement age was 60. When the law changed, there was an uproar, mostly by young people. Anne-Sophie will receive a pension (and she probably has her own private retirement account too), but not as much as a public servant. A public servant's pension is based on his salary over the last six months, and most likely will be around 2000 euros per month.

Many retirees buy summer (or winter) homes. When American GIs went home after the War, they left behind the barracks buildings. French people could then buy a barracks and put it wherever they wanted. Virginie's in-laws bought one and put it on a cliff overlooking the ocean. We decided that Anne-Sophie would have a winter home in Provence.

So even though the French generally make less money than we do in the U.S., in the end it's pretty much the same. They have less money to retire on, but they don't have to worry about medical expenses. Their pensions will even pay for a retirement/nursing home if necessary.

Today's treat on the bus was a madeleine. Marcel Proust wrote "Remembrance of Things Past" after eating a madeleine and suddenly recalling bringing his aunt madeleines on Sunday mornings. They're tasty, but I didn't have any revelations that would cause me to write a seven-volume novel.

We are now in Nice at the Mercure Marche aux Fleurs, directly across from the Bay of Angels. Gilles had to do a bit of extra driving to get us right in front of the hotel, so we drove by the harbor and saw a couple of ginormous yachts. Even the small boats anchored there were big. My hotel room is upsy-downsy: my bathroom and a little sitting room are on the level of the hallway, but my bed is up a staircase. I even have two televisions! If I stick my head way out my window, I have a glimpse of the sea.

Virginie took us on a quick orientation walk, then I went with several other tour members to La Voglia for dinner. Nice and the Alpes-Maritimes region are heavily influenced by Italy, so there are Italian restaurants everywhere. I just had spaghetti in a tomato sauce, and it was delicious. But the portions! Oh my God! They brought out a frickin' basin of pasta. Everyone else's dishes were the same way. We had talked about going for gelato afterward, but we were all too tired and full to actually go.

I hope I don't have to get up in the middle of the night because I will kill myself on these stairs.

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Photos

"The Kiss" by Klimt
A still photo just doesn't do it justice.

Spaghetti
This doesn't look too bad but believe me: I ate for half an hour and it looked like I had barely taken a bite!

Comments

[Yvonne]

Love this pic.