La Provence

Two more days of adventures in French road travel. On Tuesday I had a meeting at Paul Valèry University while Evelyn rested from her exertions of the day before. I took the tram across town and had a chance to see a little more of Montpellier. Even though it’s officially part of the Languedoc-Roussillon region (the mountainous area we drove through on Monday), it seems more like the Mediterranean Provence that we spent most of our time in for the past two days. It’s about ten or twelve degrees warmer here than Paris, and has palm trees, oranges, yuccas, and aloes. Actually it feels a lot like southern California.

 After my meeting we grabbed a bagel for lunch and drove to the Pont du Gard, near Nimes. This is the tallest Roman aqueduct bridge in existence, built in the first century AD. In my mind it competes with the Colosseum in Rome as the most splendid relic of Roman antiquity. It is in a beautiful green river valley with a shallow stream running through it. Tourist season must be officially over, because the parking lots were virtually empty and we had the place mostly to ourselves. It had been raining most of the afternoon, but the sun obligingly came out just as we arrived and shone most of the time we were there. We climbed all over it and under it and up the canyon walls and down again and shot about 200 photos, the only way we have of expressing our awe and admiration.

By the time we left the Pont du Gard it was getting dark, but we had to push on to Avignon and see the famous old bridge and the Papal Palace. We knew it would be closed and dark when we got there (this is the trouble with travel in November), but we went anyway. It was dark and raining a little, but we struggled through the rush hour traffic, crossed the great Rhone River, parked in a garage, climbed the stairs, and found ourselves alone in front of the Palace of the Popes. 

In 1314 King Phillip the Fair of France engineered the election of a French pope, Clement V. Clement had been bishop of Avignon, and he refused to go to squalid and turbulent medieval Rome and decided to stay in sunny Provence. By the time he died he had appointed a French college of cardinals that in turn continued to elect more French popes, so the papacy lived in luxury in this palace in Avignon until 1417. The Italians called it the Babylonian Captivity of the church. The palace was closed and dark, but it was nevertheless exquisite to stand alone in its square and look up at its ramparts and walk over and touch it.

Wednesday was gorgeous, sunny and seventy degrees. In the morning we traveled to the remarkable city of Arles. The Arlesians allied themselves with Julius Caesar when he came a- conquering, and he gave them special status as a port city in the Roman Empire. 

Some of the best-preserved Roman ruins are here, including a theatre that still hosts events and seats 3000, and an amphitheater that is still used as a bull fighting arena. 

We spent a lot of time at the theater, sitting in the seats, walking the stage, and exploring the vast piles of Roman rubble stacked up around the perimeter. 

Arles is also famous as the hangout of Vincent Van Gogh, who lived here in his Yellow House with Gauguin. Vincent discovered himself as an artist under the sunny sky of Provence, and painted many of his greatest masterpieces here. The Yellow House was bombed out in World War II and none of his paintings are in Arles, but the city has little “easels” posted throughout the city to mark the spots he painted some of his most famous works.

This afternoon we drove down the coast to Stes. Maries de la Mer, the purported spot where Mary Magdalene and some of the other Maries landed landed here after the crucifixion. Today it features beaches, fishing, Andalusian horses, and bullfighting. We spent an hour or so on the beach, wading in the surf and reddening our cheeks in the sun. We also spent a lot of time flamingo gazing in the surrounding wetlands. Of course I’ve seen droves of flamingoes in zoos, but there is something astonishing about seeing them in the wild. Somehow I didn’t get the memo that they would be here in France.

We just hadn’t seen enough walled medieval cities yet, so we stopped at Aigues Mortes, the seaside town where St. Louis embarked on Crusade. It has impressive ramparts and lots of restaurants and souvenir shops. By then the sun was low in the horizon, so we headed to Palavas les Flots, Montpellier’s seaside resort, to take in the sunset. Last time we had a hard time parking, so tonight we parked further out and walked in, which got us to the seaside just after the sun disappeared over the horizon. No doubt traveling the way we have the past few days is stressful. In the city or on a busy motorway it seems we’re always on the verge of a massive pileup. Always there are tolls, parking, and admissions to pay, and every time things work a little differently than the last. On the road we’re always lost, always improvising, always on the edge of disaster. 

But tonight all of that is forgotten as we walk out on the jetty around the harbor and watch the last of the sailboats come in. A warm sea breeze kisses our sunburnt cheeks, the moon is a tiny sliver and Venus shines like a halogen lamp. We still have to take the car back to the airport tonight and grab a a taxi to our hotel. Tomorrow we go back north, and in a few weeks back to Rexburg. It will be a long time before we have such a beautiful night as this. But tonight, the late year lies down the north, all is healed, all is health. High summer holds the earth. Hearts all whole. Sure on this shining night, I weep for wonder, wandering far alone of shadows on the stars.