Elle Arrive

It seemed like my nine weeks thus far merely served as preparation for Janet’s arrival. I had semi-visited a number of places to see if they were worth taking her there, and I developed a preliminary schedule to maximize her time here so she could see as much as possible. I was careful to work in some downtime so as not to overwhelm her.

Well, the day finally arrived and I drove down to Marignane, the airport just outside of Marseille, to pick her up. Marseille is sort of a gateway to Europe from North Africa, and everyone and their Uncle Habib was packed around the customs exit waiting for their loved ones to come out. At long last, Janet appeared looking as refreshed as one can after a long flight, and we hopped in the car to head home to Eygalières.

Janet tried her best to stay awake as long as possible on Day 1 to help overcome the jetlag. We had a nice lunch and some wine (which was counter productive) and went for a leisurely walk around town. I managed to stall her until about 6pm, but she finally had to get some sleep.

The Palais des Papes.

Le Pont d'Avignon with the Tour Philippe-de-Bel on the opposite bank.

A view of the Palais from the Pont.

Avignon

We slept in a little and then headed off to Avignon. Although I’ve been there a half dozen times since I arrived, I never got past the TGV station. Since I had to check in at the rental car office anyway, I figured we’d spend the day in town looking at the sites, and maybe let Janet hit the malls on the way out of town.

Avignon is situated at the confluence of the Durance and Rhône rivers and has been inhabited since Neolithic times. Even back in the Roman era, its bridge (immortalized in a children’s song) was the principal method of crossing the Rhône. When the French King Louis VIII was denied permission to cross on his way to a crusade in the Holy Land, he promptly laid siege to the city and razed it to the ground. He also claimed part of it in the name of the Church, a move that would eventually lead to its claim to fame. Nervous over the uncertainty of the Italian political scene, Pope Clement V (a Frenchman) moved the papal seat to Avignon in 1309 where it remained uncontested until 1377. Needing a place to count all their money, the popes built what has become the jewel of Avignon, the Palais des Papes.

Pope Gregory XI returned the papacy to Rome, but the French cardinals, angered by the move, elected another Pope to stay in Avignon. Thus began 40 years known as the Great Schism which saw the Catholic Church ruled by both pope and antipope. To expand their acceptance, the Avignon antipopes opened their doors to anyone and thus attracted all types of riff-raff. Ironically, Avignon gained a reputation as a city of debauchery. Fearing violence from followers of the Roman papal seat, the Avignon popes fortified the Palais and the city by building walls. Eventually, the matter was sorted out and the reign of the antipopes ended.

Legend has it that in 1177, a shepherd by the name of Bénézet heard a voice telling him to convince the city of Avignon to build a bridge across the Rhône. The bishop challenged the boy that if he could lift a nearby boulder, he would order the construction of the bridge. Needless to say the shepherd hoisted the boulder overhead, convincing the townfolk to contribute to the project. St. Bénézet is buried in the chapel that hangs on the side of the bridge. Much of the bridge has washed away in floods, leaving only four of the original twenty-two arches that once spanned the Île de la Barthelasse all the way to the tower (Tour Philippe-de-Bel) on the opposite bank. Excavations have since shown that a wooden Roman bridge stood on the same site.

Making our way to the bridge.

L'Église St-Didier.

A mural near Place de l'Horlage.

The Christmas market in Avignon.

Janet shows a Nutella crêpe who's boss.

Decked out for the holidays.

St-Paul-de-Mausole.

Van Gogh stayed in one of these rooms.

St.-Paul-de-Mausole

Once she thawed out from the previous day’s visit to Avignon, I was able to convince Janet to go on a hike so she could see the area around Saint-Rémy and Les Baux. I found a relatively short jaunt to the Rocher des Deux Trous (Rock of Two Holes) that took us right by the Roman village of Glanum. Arriving at the highest point, we reached the broad Plateau des Caumes with spectacular views from Cavaillon to the Rhône.

Situated near Glanum is the abbey and hospital of St.-Paul-de-Mausole. Still a clinic today, Vincent van Gogh sought psychiatric help here in 1889. He lived in a small room for a year and wandered the surrounding countryside which inspired one of his most productive periods. Copies of his works are on display showing specific locations that he painted. It is purported that the village depicted in Starry Night is actually Saint-Rémy.

Posing at the Rocher des Deux Trous.

A view of Saint-Rémy.

The Rock of Two Holes on the left.

Un Joyeux Noël

Christmas in Provence isn’t exactly laden with tradition, but they do have a few novel customs. One includes small handmade painted figurines called santons representing various characters in daily life of Provençal villages. The santons can be arranged in elaborate displays, but most every family has the basic crèche (nativity scene) that’s been handed down through generations. Another Christmas tradition is the treize desserts or thirteen desserts which is served with dinner on Christmas Eve. When I told Janet about this custom, she was naturally very excited, picturing a buffet of cakes, pies, and sundaes. As it turns out, it sounds a lot better than it is. It boils down to a large plate of figs, nuts, candied fruit, nougat pieces, and maybe a chocolate or two if you’re lucky. Janet was understandably disappointed but is considering importing the basic premise of thirteen desserts and Americanizing it for next Christmas.

We didn’t have anything special planned for Christmas Eve. I expected that we would find a place to have dinner and then head back home to exchange a few gifts. Finding a place to eat was daunting. Many restaurants were closed, and those remaining open had a special set menu that ranges from $30 to $100. Almost all of them had foie gras (a paté of fattened goose or duck liver) which is the traditional Christmas fare. I saw a French news report on how these animals are force-fed with funnels until they can barely support their own weight. Pretty sad but the French are crazy about the stuff. Anyway, we found a Franco-Italian restaurant that had some decent menu selections (eg., cannelloni as the appetizer) and had a hearty 3-hour meal. There was even live entertainment as a man and woman took turns serenading the patrons with French standards. The problem was that we were situated in the middle of the floorshow and were easy pickings when it came to audience participation. The singer would stroll by our table in mid-song and then stick the microphone in our face to finish a line in the song, which of course everyone knew but us. They weren’t catching on that we not only didn’t speak French, but we had never even heard of these songs. The show culminated with that little-known French Christmas tradition known as the “dropping of the trousers”. The owner of the restaurant who had been tending bar all night (a fact that may explain everything) climbed on the chair right behind Janet and showed everyone his special holiday bikini briefs, complete with snow-white beard. To her credit, Janet remained composed through the whole ordeal, even though Santa’s little helper was just over her right shoulder. Nevertheless, it brought an abrupt but memorable end to our Christmas Eve répas.

Santons on display.

These are from a large crèche in Arles.

Depicting village life.

The beautifully-preserved castle at Tarascon.

Tarascon with Beaucaire across the river.

The remaining tower of the château at Beaucaire.

Tarascon and Beaucaire

Facing opposite one another like sentinels on the Rhône are the châteaux of Tarascon and Beaucaire. Tarascon was started by Louis II and eventually became the home of Good King René in the 15th century. It functioned most recently as a prison, but it is still a marvelous example of a French château. There is a legend that the town of Tarascon was terrorized by a serpent-like monster called the Tarasque that would rise from the Rhône to feed on the townsfolk. Saint Marthe restrained the beast using a crucifix and led it away on a leash. Each year the feat is celebrated with a festival in which a likeness of the monster is paraded through the streets like something from a Chinese New Year celebration.

Only a single tower remains of the château across the way in Beaucaire. The town sided with one of Richelieu’s rivals for whatever reason so the cardinal had the castle destroyed in 1632. The château hosts a first-class eagle and falcon show daily, but not in the winter.

The truffle market at Richerenches.

Vendors selling a wide variety of goods..

You can buy trees to farm your own truffles.

Time for the blessing of the truffle.

Men and women wearing traditional Provençal dress in the procession for the truffle mass.

A young truffle vendor learns the trade under the watchful eye of his father.

The truffle hunter. Ironically both hunter and prey taste equally good in an omelet.

Le Diamant Noir

Black diamonds, les truffes, les rabasses – whatever you call them, truffles are a symbol of Provence. I’m not talking about the chocolate kind either. These truffles are pungent, bulbous mushrooms that grow at the roots of a handful of types of trees, the most prevalent being the chêne blanc (white oak) or chêne vert (green oak). Traditionally, trufflers would wander through the forests between November and March using pigs to sniff out the location of wild truffles. One can still see them today, although pigs have been replaced by dogs for the most part. Another sad trend is that people are now farming truffles by planting orchards of the green and white oaks, forcing wild truffle hunters into obsolescence. In any case, Saturday is the traditional market day for truffle hunters, and a handful of towns hold markets specializing in the selling of les truffes. Provence accounts for over 75% of the truffles in France and most of that comes from the Vaucluse. Thus, most of the markets are in this region and the oldest of them all is at Richerenches, an old command post for the Knights Templar.

So on a dreary Saturday morning, Janet and I made our way up to Richerenches. Typically, the market specializes in all things truffle. There are vendors of truffle books, truffle brushes (to scrub off the dirt), truffle graters, truffle-infused olive oils, and the trees around which the truffles grow. There’s even a truffle apertif that Janet and I sampled. You haven't lived until you've tasted a liqueur made from a fungus. However, the market also offers more traditional items such as lavender soaps and oils, spices, foie gras, breads and baked goods, fruits and vegetables, meats and cheeses, and various crafts.

The truffles themselves come in two varieties – white truffles (which are really light brown) and black truffles (the more potent and therefore coveted of the two). Because of the challenge in finding them, they are not cheap - a truffe noire (black truffle) the size of a walnut costs around $200. Consequently, they are used sparingly in dishes as truffle shavings in omelets or small chunks in sauces. The main clientele are chefs who come to select the best truffles for use in their restaurants. Negotiating the transaction is often done with utmost discretion by the customer writing an offer on a piece of paper and giving it to the truffle seller. There’s usually some counter-offering before the sale is finalized. Some vendors sell openly from tables in the market, but many sales occur right out of the back of a truck or car. Towards the end of the market, just before noon, there is a special mass in which the truffle is blessed and thanks is given for the bounty of fungi. Following the ceremony, vendors and customers sit side-by-side for a traditional truffle-filled lunch.

Selling truffles from the back of a van.

Janet sizes up the truffle oil offerings.

More spices than I knew existed.

The only entrance to the haute ville.

Ruins of the 12th Century castle at Vaison.

Steep streets of the haute ville.

Vaison-la-Romain

The history of Vaison-la-Romain, another town in the Vaucluse, revolves around its inhabitants moving back and forth across the river Ouvèze. On the hill to one side of the river was a Celtic fort and settlement serving as the capital of the Voconces tribes. When the Romans moved into the area in the 2nd Century and established a city called Vasio Vocontiorum on the fertile plain across the river, the people from the haute ville (high city) moved out among the Roman villas. The Pont Romain was built to facilitate crossing the Ouzèze and still spans the river today. During the power struggles of the 12th century, a castle was constructed on the hill and people flocked back to the safety of the haute ville. Centuries later, the inhabitants of Vaison began drifting back across the river to the low ground and began rediscovering their Roman roots. Excavations in the early 1900’s, uncovered two Roman districts including a 6,000 seat amphitheater.

The Pont Romain over the Ouvèze.

A Roman statue.

An unearthed urn among the ruins of Roman houses in one of the excavated districts.

The church in Rousillon.

The perched village of Rousillon.

Some of the various ochre shades.

Rousillon

Located in the Lubéron along the same tourist trail that includes Gordes and Sénanque, the perched village of Rousillon is remarkable only in that its buildings exhibit a virtual palette of different shades of red and orange. Rousillon sits atop a large deposit of ochre, a clay that is stained red by the presence of iron oxides. Dating back to the Roman era, the ochre was hydraulically mined, dried in the sun, and exported as ready-made bricks or in powder form around the globe. The clay was prized for its various shades and its resistance to fading when exposed to the sun for long periods. In the early part of the 20th century, the quarries in and around Rousillon produced 80,000 tons of ochre a year. Due to competition from synthetic dyes, mining in the region has since completely ceased.

Ochre quarries of the Colorado Provençal.

Rock formations in the quarries.

What can I say? The girl just loves rocks.

Orange

Known as the gateway to Provence, Orange stands along the N7 highway which was the former Roman road, Via Agrippa. Like almost every other city in the region, it has Celtic roots. In the 1st Century BC, its inhabitants pulled off a rare feat in that they defeated several Roman legions in a nearby battle. Needless to say, the Romans returned some years later, and under General Marius, completely leveled the town. The land was given to the soldiers of the Second Gallic Legion as payment for their service in the Cesar’s conquest of Gaul. Orange’s Roman heritage is evident in the massive Arc de Triomphe which depicts several of Cesar’s triumphs over the Gallois.

After being passed around for some time, the town finally fell into the hands of Maurice de Nassau, a fervent Protestant, who made it a refuge for anyone turning their back on the Catholic Church. Friction between Maurice and the Catholic French King Louis IV resulted in Maurice fortifying the city using stones from the Roman monuments as building blocks. His efforts were in vain, and Louis captured and destroyed the city once again. The town was eventually passed down to Maurice’s nephew William of Orange, King of the Netherlands and later ascender to the English throne by his union with Queen Mary (namesakes of the College of William and Mary), putting Orange under Dutch sovereignty. It was given back to France in 1713 as part of a treaty.

The only other Roman structure that managed to survive Maurice’s pillaging is the magnificent theatre at Orange. It is the thought to be the best preserved Roman theatre in the world, mainly because it is the only one with a stage wall still intact. Ironically, Maurice used the outside of the stage wall as part of his fortifications, ultimately sparing the theater from destruction. The wall is filled with passages which allowed actors to appear on queue and stagehands to move scenery and props. It also makes possible the incredible acoustics allowing all of the 10,000 spectators to hear the faintest whisper. After being used as fortifications, slums, and a prison, the theater was left unused for 300 years until the late 1800’s when it began hosting music performances, which it still does today (in the summer, of course).

The Arc de Triomphe in Orange.

Seating for 10,000 in the theater.

Cesar Agustus greets the audience.