stokebailey

Thanks, kerouac. It was just right for us. Quiet is good for Bob, with his musician's and birder's ears. Too many pins dropping at night, and he's not happy.

And thanks to anyone who's skimmed ahead through all of this. I know it's a lot of words.

AROUND A ROUND TOWN

Rue Carreterie looks unpromising, a little shabby at the Porte St.-Lazare end, with front doors up against the sidewalks. No hint of what homes lie behind, unlike in our town, where you can assess an interior from the curb. I’d have loved a peek into some of the neighbors’.



Just past Sylvain’s the street was torn up entirely for a couple of blocks, so traffic was quieter and less frequent than usual. If we’d had a car, we could have parked free at a lot nearby outside the walls. Casino supermarket, also outside, is well stocked. Scanning receipts as we left was new for us, but we got the hang of it. Within the walls there’s a Carrefours not far, the good central market past that for morning produce, fish, cheeses.



Inside or outside the wall makes a big difference. Inside: narrow streets, pedestrians, local charm, a few cars and minibuses. Outside: wide open spaces, the Pont, the river, McDonald’s, KFC. Definitely stay inside. I’ve never seen streets with artwork overhead, 15 feet up, bas-reliefs, religious statues, some lit at night. The narrow streets widen out occasionally, like at the Place de Horlage, but mostly it’s an enclosed feeling. Lots of young people around, baby carriages, older women looking beautifully well-cared-for.

Back home we were in the middle of a big foundation tuckpointing, after having wet basement in recent floods, so I was masonry conscious. There is lots of masonry in Avignon. The massive surrounding wall with crumbling castellations, ancient portes the only access. The walls of our patio even. I took photos, sent back to our tuckpointer.

MC, H and I walked to the tourist office for information on public transportation, and the staff there was very helpful.

Our daytrip wish list:

Arles, and possibly the sea

Chateauneuf-de-Pape winery tour for the girls

Bob, though a devoted birder, didn’t want to spend a day at the Camargue away from the family. I had chosen this area with Camargue in mind, but we were glad not to send him off into the unknown alone.

I couldn’t convince the others that Saturday Feria des Vendanges in Nîmes would be worthwhile, and couldn’t summon the energy to try it on my own. I had a hankering to see an abrivado or preferably a taureaux-piscine, where young men try to lure a young bull into a shallow swimming pool and ideally no one gets hurt. I’d also like to see a bullfight, especially in the ancient Arenes de Nîmes, but again a fun one without death or bodily injury.

The lovely and helpful tourism office woman showed me how we could take a bus to the village of Caumont-sur-Durance, a suburb of Avignon, where on Sunday there would be a village-sized Feria. She gave us a small stack of timetables for bus and rail.

stokebailey

Neighborhood Saturday market.

stokebailey

After dinner stroll.

YankyGal

Just catching up with your report. Wow! Lots of drama! But you seem to have handled it gracefully and made the most of all the good parts. Looking forward to more.

stokebailey

Thank you, YankyGal!

EATING OUT AND IN



Our kitchen was well-stocked with everything we could want for eating in. Breakfast omelettes with local cheese and produce, Nespresso machine, sunny patio table. Our hosts provided a list of recommended restaurants, but we tended to stop wherever the outdoors ambience seemed best for our fortunate weather. We were pretty much bound to like the food.



Place des Carmes at Rue Carreterie has a covered market area with tables where one night we ate with food from Le Cul de Poule, and on Friday night were lucky to find a jazz manouche trio playng outside the tapas bar. So good. Bob requested “Menilmontant,” and they delivered beautifully.



Not them, and pas de chanteuse:

You Tube

Sunday, a slightly chilly evening with no one else out, we sat out across from Taverne Avedis and had what Bob said was his best kebab ever. On our way home from the train station one evening a young man approached H and me as we stood outside Zaz Kebab, said it was F-ing Good! (not sure what will get past censors) that he used to live nearby and eat there whenever he could afford it. We loaded up on carryout for a quiet meal in. Bob liked the borek.



Sorry not be more helpful in the restaurant department, but we were going for the right atmosphere for the moment. Our wonderful restaurant experience, in N�mes, was thanks to Fodors.com recommendation. Bless ‘em.



We had our only bad restaurant near-experience when we stopped at the first available tables at Place de l’Horloge, ready to rest our feet and have some late lunch. One thing I like about Avignon, as compared with Paris, is they don’t size you up and rush out with an English menu. Or even provide English translations under each item. We’re in France, for heaven’s sake. Deal with French. The Pizzeria Les Arts had English printed everywhere. Servers not only didn’t rush out with English, but ambled about without noticing us. The only visible server reminded me of a young socialite who viewed peasants with distaste. Not that she ever came within 20 feet of us. H and I finally said That’s IT! We’re out of here. I suppose if there were going to be tourist traps anywhere, it would be Place de l’Horloge.

kerouac

Just about all of the tourist traps are on Place de l'Horloge.

annhig

<<Ha, Ann. I guess we be grateful to anyone, however annoying and dishonest, who's given us a good tale to tell.>>

Talking about a good tale to tell, anyone here who has access to BBC sounds may enjoy listening to Mark Steele's in Town in Paris. He is a British comedian who [amongst other things] tours the UK doing radio shows about the places he visits. To my surprise I found one episode from Paris which he does in both English and French and has a hilarious story about trying to buy a metro ticket. Also another about a taxi driver taking him round L'Etoile. So it really combined both aspects of my arrival experience, but was much funnier. Highly recommended.

<<The Pizzeria Les Arts had English printed everywhere. Servers not only didn’t rush out with English, but ambled about without noticing us. The only visible server reminded me of a young socialite who viewed peasants with distaste. Not that she ever came within 20 feet of us. H and I finally said That’s IT! We’re out of here. I suppose if there were going to be tourist traps anywhere, it would be Place de l’Horloge.>>

That's me to a T, Stoke. If they aren't interested in me, I'm not interested in them. But we need to know what the place you ended up was like - too much of a cliffhanger otherwise. How was the wine testing at Chateauneuf du Pape? We went many years ago - approx 40 or so so I suspect it's changed a bit .

stokebailey

Chateau de la Gardine



M. Brunel, H, MC

stokebailey

CHATEAUNEUF-DU-PAPE

MC and H went to Chateauneuf-du-Pape for Sister Time, while Bob explored Avignon and I explored the patio's jacuzzi and lounge chairs. It was a windy day in Avignon.

Here's MC's guest post:

We loved our half-day trip to Chateauneuf-du-Pape. We had made a tasting reservation at Chateau de la Gardine, a scenic winery H found online. It's not possible to get there from Avignon via public transportation on the weekend so we took a 20 minute Uber (having previously checked Ubers coming back to Avignon to make sure it would be possible).

The estate of Chateau de la Gardine was beautifully situated on a hill overlooking vineyards with the Rhone in the distance. Despite it being the busy harvest season, the tasting room employees were friendly and relaxed. Monsieur Brunel's daughter served us a few different delicious whites and reds, including a 1998 vintage. We got a cameo visit from the jovial M. Brunel. After trying about 7-8 wines and learning more about the region, we found the path to walk through the vineyards back to the village of CDP.

After trying a few more wines at Domaine La Boutinière's centre ville cellar, we tried to get our Uber back to Avignon. No drivers available. Kept trying, while walking around the cute village. Observed a fun-looking wedding party just leaving the church. Stopped in the Office de Tourisme and the kind woman working there said she had just ordered the one taxi available for another couple also going to Avignon, and would call back to see if they could take both parties. Luckily it worked out, and we shared the taxi back with a nice young Scottish couple who live in London and were on their honeymoon. The Scots came through once again!

annhig

Thanks for posting your DD's guest post, Stoke with some lovely photos. She is as charming and informative as her mother I see. And how lucky that the TI was able to link them up with other people who were taking an Uber too. Sounds like a fun excursion.

stokebailey

Aw, thanks, Ann. She's a good sport, and good to help her old Ma.

Mark Steel's available on youtube here. His Paris one is fun. Love what the pickpocket said to him, and the cab driver.

My first visit to Paris, long long ago, I was in a Rue de Rivoli café when an older American woman a few tables away loudly demanded, "Doesn't anyone here speak English?" Since it wasn't a medical issue, I ignored her as steadily as everyone else did. My last visit or so, in a Marais bakery, a similar though less-rude incident.

I brush up my high school and college French before a trip, but I've never been there long enough to feel comfortable with it. In Avignon, mostly out of centre ville, we encountered several people who seemed eager to practice English. We let MC do most of the heavy lifting, but after she left I was able to negotiate train tickets to Nîmes without difficulty. At the end, quoting a nearby conjugation sign encouraging civility, I said to the patient ticket agent, "Nous nous respecterons" and got a smile.

At Brasserie Conservatoire, across the square from Les Halles for pizza and salads, the server waited until the end to try his out, and told us he hoped to go work in England and Canada in a few years. Sweet kid.

stokebailey

Friday night jazz manouche on Place des Carmes.

The evening air, the murmur of conversation.

Avignon is mostly vertical.

The Wall could use a bit of tuckpointing.

Adelaidean

Lovely! And nice of your daughter to chip in with their day out.

pgtraveler

My DH got pickpocketed on the Paris metro many years ago, but luckily I had my own credit cards and cash, so we were OK. But to be there on your own, it would be terrifying not to have access to anything. Now that I am a solo traveller, it is a good reminder to not put all of my eggs in one basket.

Thanks for the info on Crail. I have noted it for a possible future trip to Scotland.

stokebailey

FATHER-DAUGHTERS DAY AT ARLES, AND FOR ME AN UNEXPECTED BAKING LESSION



Avignon is well-served by public transportation, with convenient and inexpensive local trains and buses. Arles, Nîmes and beyond to Sete, Orange are all short train rides.

One morning Bob and the girls took a day trip to Arles, for some rare me-less time. I’d like to visit there sometime, of course. They came back exhilarated from the experience: the Roman ruins, the sunshine, Vincent’s café terrace. Outdoor lunch with a ruins view. Aperol spritzes. They’d also taken a bus to Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, hoping to get MC closer to la actual mer, but the bus return schedule allowed her only to run for a glimpse past sailboat masts. Dommage. They skirted the Camargue, anyway.

I ventured only as far as the Carrefours City and Chez Sylvain. By this time, after at least one daily visit from one of us, Sylvain had figured out who we all were, seemed interested in us. When I told him his fougasse d’olives was about the best food ever, he offered to show me how to make it at home. “Can you bake bread?” Of course. “Then you can make fougasse.” He showed me step by step at his floury worktable and oven room, breaking off for the occasional customer.

Afterwards, we had time to chat. “Do you cook?” of course. He told me about his friend whose girlfriend would not cook for him; I said obviously he should dump her. His friends have a saying: “She drinks like my father, but she doesn’t cook like my mother.” I tsk-tsked. This and our Midwestern USA home likely established conservative bona fides, and he broke out his e-cigarette ready to talk politics. I regret that when another customer came in with a complicated order, I felt I had taken enough of his time and excused myself, left. It’s too rare to come across someone, especially a young man, who will look me in the eye and exchange ideas. I certainly don’t have answers about how the world should keep turning.

stokebailey

Oh, yes, pgt. Without Bob's three-person support team, he'd have been mighty perplexed. Busking a la Bean?


As it was, we missed a stolen credit card in the confusion. A week later, after I relaxed vigilance, charges began on one I didn't think Bob had. First small charges in Paris, then RATP, then online for Carnival Cruise Lines and a pizza place in NY, totalling ~$1,200. When I finally caught it, my cc company submitted it to their fraud department. I hoped surely the cruise line charges for ~$950 could identify a culprit, but my local police said since we were no longer the victims we had no standing for legal action.

stokebailey

SUNDAY FERIA AND EXPLORING AVIGNON


MC had to leave Avignon a few days earlier than the rest of us, get back to work. We’d scoped out the quickest way to get her to Avignon train station the evening before: local bus stop across from Casino, just outside the wall, then a quick few minutes. She timed it as I once would have, leaving the narrowest possible margin of error and trusting timetables to be accurate. By the luck of the Scots (remember her claim by 29% DNA, more than Irish) she made it, sprinting to her platform. She could relax then on easy train ride to the airport. Hugs and sad to see her off. We had originally hoped to drive her there and then visit Aix afterwards, but car was no longer an option.


I know the Feria des Vendanges in Nîmes would have been fun that weekend, but the village version in Caumont-sur-Durance turned out to be just right for us: an authentic small-scale version. I wanted to see an abrivado, or bull-running, where gardians or mounted cattle herdsmen traditionally move the animals to an arena. In this case, no arena: another truck on the other end.


We opted to take an Uber rather than the bus, got a stylish short ride to the Mairie area just as things were kicking off around 1100. The village band was enjoying refreshments at La Gatouille bar when we pulled up, soon picked up their instruments and tuned up. The main street through town was barricaded off and starting to be lined with spectators. Men and women sat tall and proud on white horses near the Mairie. As the band began to play, a robed priest blessed the horses and the riders. We moved to the barriers, with front-row room for everyone. Tension began to build as a large truck backed up to the barricade. Young men climbed on top and goaded the bulls with long sticks. Finally, gardians rode the long block to our end, backed ready by the truck, and the door opened. Three long-horned black bulls burst down the ramp, and in an explosion of black and white animal energy galloped to other end out of sight. The crowd, reasonably safe behind chest-high metal barriers as riders formed a flying V around the bulls, cheered and waited for them to come back. After this was repeated a couple of times, we walked towards the other end and saw a couple of pre-teen boys dash out and try to grab the bulls’ tails. It is all a macho exercise. On the next pass, a particularly large and sharp-horned bull must have broken free, running wild and alone down the street followed by one young horsewoman. H, seeing I hadn’t noticed, pushed me back from the railing. Yikes. The real danger is part of the thrill, of course, but.


We wandered down a more ancient and narrow street afterwards. There were obviously going to be more Feria events later, with tables set for a crowd outside the bar, but I think Bob was feeling a male protective role and maybe not enjoying the unpolished local crowds so much. We caught an Uber back to Avignon. I’ll have to settle for YouTubes of Taureaux-piscines.


This was the day we’d hoped finally to get me a good French meal, but that remained elusive. MC’s Paris friend had recommended seeing Rue des Teinturiers, so we headed that way intending to have an afternoon meal in centre ville. Pedestrian Rue des Teinturiers, tree-lined, cobbled and picturesque, is a charming walk. A stream with waterwheels, used by dyers long ago and originally diverted from moat outside the walls, runs along one side. An old convent and monastery. Sidewalk cafés. I wish we’d discovered it earlier.


A woman at the door of the protestant Temple Saint-Martial beckoned us inside for a choral concert. A heavenly half hour.


Cour d’Honneur, recommended by our hosts, promised on website to be open that afternoon, but no. Quite the opposite. We kept up Rue Joseph Vernet and went into Musée Calvet for awhile; I found it not as interesting as the streets.


The Must Do I ignored this visit was the Palais des Papes, though we did walk around the massive walls in evening walks. I find myself annoyed with displays of massive wealth in general, especially when amassed for religious persons.

stokebailey

Village band wetting whistles.




R.d. Teinturiers waterwheel.

A good day for sycamore shade.

stokebailey

annhig

<<The Must Do I ignored this visit was the Palais des Papes, though we did walk around the massive walls in evening walks. I find myself annoyed with displays of massive wealth in general, especially when amassed for religious persons. >>

Honestly, Stoke, I don't think that you missed a lot. It was a few years ago on a river cruise on the Rhone, which included a guided tour of the Palais des Papes, so my memory is not great, but I don't remember much more than the usual medieval building with lots of rather empty rooms. Certainly no great riches or displays of wealth. Perhaps I blinked. I found the old bridge, what's left of it, must more interesting. As ever your photos are lovely and I loved your account of your chat with the baker. Have you made fougasse yet?