London Town

We left the boat pretty early this morning. Antonella had arranged a cab to take us to the airport in Montpellier. Still, even though many people were not up yet, the staff wished us a happy onward voyage.

We followed the usual recommendation to be there two hours early, but we should not have bothered. I waited endlessly for Easy Jet to open the counter for the flight to London Luton. And the flight was delayed about an hour as well because all the airlines were anticipating yet another one-day strike by French air traffic controllers, a job action that the union cancelled at the last minute. But by the time that decision had been announced, many flights had already been cancelled or rerouted. 

As we waited to get on the airport, we saw a truly weird sight. There was a group of young men who all seemed to be helping a blindfolded friend.

We decided later that this must have been some kind of bachelor party thing and he was being taken to a surprise location. But where did they find that suit?

We had a pleasant enough flight to the United Kingdom, and Easy Jet proved to be a lot like Spirit or Jet Blue in the United States. We had to wait a while to get our luggage, but we made it quickly through immigration and customs. British immigration agents always appear to be very friendly, but I have observed that it is really an act designed to make you potentially reveal as much as possible about who you are and what your plans in the country are. It is an effective tactic, I think. 

Luton Airport is clearly too small for the amount of traffic it handles, and there is construction going around everywhere. John and I found a bus that would take us to the train station. At the station, a helpful agent helped me get a ticket from there to Gunnersbury Station in Chiswick. We had to transfer in West Hampstead, but that seemed easy enough. However, by the time the train reached Hampstead, John was feeling a little weak and I knew he just had not had enough food for the day. We had to take a short walk on the high street to get from the British Rail to the Overground station, so we looked at what was available. John decided, oddly enough, that he wanted to go to a pub. 

We ordered some of the usual “pub grub” and I had a lager, too. But shortly after our food arrived, the placed started to fill up. We figured it out quickly. We are in the middle of the World Cup playoffs, and this afternoon France played Argentina. 

The crowd was definitely pro-French. 

The young boy on the left kept calling out, “Allez bleu!” I somehow doubt that Hampstead was a center of Brexit fervor. 

We took an Uber from Gunnersbury to Brentford. Vicki and Jerry met us at the gate. It was great to see both of them, and retirement certainly seems to agree with Jerry!

We had a wonderful barbecue dinner outside. I watched the ducks and the swans. It’s an early bed tonight, as we have a full day planned for tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

Black Bulls, White Horses, and Pink Flamingos

This was the day I had been waiting for the entire trip, the day we would ride through the Camargue. When I first booked this trip, I knew that Avignon was where the papacy had been headquartered, as it were, for part of the Middle Ages and that there were flamingos in this great marshy area by the Mediterranean. And strangely for me, it was actually the second of these two things that excited me the most. 

Once again, we knew it was going to be a hot day, so we left well before breakfast, about two hours or so before the other folks. I have pretty much figured out how to follow those direction on the little flip book they give us, but I wish I had been as smart as Zöe and had brought along my Garmin bike computer. That would have made it even easier to navigate. I could use my cell phone for this, but it runs out of battery power too quickly for a day of cycling. And I have discovered that it is just not a good idea to be somewhere with no charge in your phone!

As we rode along in the early morning, we went through some lovely farming areas. Yet what we saw most often in the fields were black cattle. The Camargue is a rich agricultural area, and frankly I think just about anything will grow in this alluvial soil. So it seemed odd to me that raising cattle, something that in the United States is often reserved for agriculturally marginal areas, seems to be the most important activity here. 

The other thing we saw as we rode through the area were the famous white horses.

I had already read a bit about these horses. The Camargue horse is one of the oldest breeds in the world, and they appear to be indigenous to this region. They are born brown, but turn their hair turns white as they grow older. They generally live outdoors; indeed, to be properly registered as a Camargue horse, the foal must be born in a pasture, not in a barn. 

We came continued on into the village of Le Cailar. Just about every street in this town was being torn up, and it was difficult to follow the directions here. John and I became separated at some point here. I found my way to the center of town, but he was having incredible trouble getting there following Google Maps on his phone. We had a number of phone calls back and forth until he finally made it. I was so relieved. I bought a couple pastries from a nearby boulangerie, and we ordered a couple of coffees at the Cafè de l’Avenir just by the old parish church and the Mairie. We could not believe how French these people were! They were all kissing each other on the cheek and I think every last one of them was smoking.

We rode on a bit more through the countryside. After a few kilometers, we came to the town of Marsillargues. This was a little bigger than Le Cailar and not quite as cute. We parked our bikes for a bit by the police station and this church 

and walked about. I was a bit surprised to see this street sign

and wondered if this town was a stronghold of the French Socialist Party. John was taken with a flower arrangement.

There really was not all that much of interest in this town, so we pushed on fairly quickly. On the way, we saw lots and lots of lavender.

John could not resist becoming part of the Van Gogh scene

until he noticed all the bees that were buzzing about!

Our next stop by the town of Saint-Laurent-d’Aigouze. I’ll just call it Saint Laurent for short. It is the main town of this part of the countryside, and it unlike Marsillargues it was humming with activity.  The was a charming town center with several cafes and a medieval parish church. We would have been interested in taking some pictures of the church, but there was a funeral taking place and that would hardly have been appropriate. Right next to the church, strangely enough, was a bullring. 

We saw some interpretive material by the arena in Saint Laurent that told us a little more about the cattle we have been seeing and why they are so important in this part of the world. Camargue cattle are best known by their name in Provençal, this historic language of this part of France, as Raço di Biòu. Although the beef is prized in this part of Europe, the cattle are actually raised for the Course Camarguaise, a bloodless bull fighting that has been practiced in Provence and Languedoc for centuries. 

It begins with the bulls running through the streets of the town while the young men of the town try to outrun them. After the bulls have been herded in this way into an arena, the course begins. The bulls have had a rosette placed on their foreheads prior to entering the ring. The raseteurs, as the men are called, with try to pull the rosette off the bull’s horns. This proves their bravery.

Now while the bull is not harmed in anyway during this spot, the animal is clearly not happy about humans lunging at him. So the danger to the raseteur can be equal to that faced by a Spanish matador. 

We could have stayed longer in Saint Laurent, but it was becoming hot and we wanted to get back to the ship before the temperature was well into the triple digits. 

We encountered the marshes of the Camargue for the first time as we were leaving Saint Laurent. 

The wetland were filled with herons and egrets. 

There was a long causeway through the marsh, and in the middle of the road was this enormous medieval tower.

This is the Tour Carbonnière. We learned that it was built in the fourteenth century to assess tolls on goods shipped between Saint Laurent and Aigues Mortes. John hates heights, so I climbed up to the top for him.

From here it was a fairly short trip back to the canal mostly retracing the route we had taken earlier along the canal. 

We decided to explore the city a bit. Aigues Morte is one of the few cities where the ancient walls and other fortifications are still almost completely intact. Most of the streets are blocked off to traffic. The buildings have all been meticulously restored. And yet … there is no town left here. There are only restaurants and tchotchke shops catering mostly to fairly affluent tourists. You have at least a half dozen choices of places to buy gelato. There is not a single place where you could buy a screwdriver. John was determined to find someplace cool and quiet lunch, and we walked every street in the town. 

We kept returning to the village square. This is dominated by a huge statue of Saint King Louis.

There is also a small medieval church there dedicated to the saint. It has been restored recently and now has a fairly pleasing combination of old and new furnishings.

In the end, we did not really find the kind of place John wanted for lunch, and we had some mediocre fare at a small cafe.

Later in the afternoon, we decided to head towards the beach. It was not so much that I wanted to go to the beach, but that I heard that midway to the Mediterranean coast I could see a flock of flamingos. I had felt cheated that so far I had not seen the most famous residents of the Camargue, so off we went. Jill joined us on this part of the adventure. After we had followed the main highway for a couple of kilometers I spotted them. 

It looked like a small island in this shallow salt pond served as a nesting area.

I was totally thrilled and would happily have spent the rest of the day there. But I figured having come this far I should make it all the way to the Mediterranean. Just before you come to the beach, there is another town right along the strand. I what the “Beautiful View of England” hotel was like and if it had ever been a stylist resort for English tourists. 

We finally made it to the beach. We did not bother to go swimming, but we all waded in about as far as our knees. The water was quite warm, and this is still early in the season. 

Back on the sand, some Welsh man actually tried to pick up Jill. She played along with him for fun until he told her that he was a big fan of Donald Trump. At that point, she just turned and jumped on her bike to get back to the ship as fast as possible!

This marks the end of our journey. Tomorrow we catch a flight to London. 

 

 

 

 

 

Reconsidering Arles

For me, the embankment on the Rhone River in Arles will be mostly connected with my abduction by cab. But for the rest of the world, the most important thing is that Vincent Van Gogh painted his famous Starry Night right here where our boat is docked. 

Maybe it is just a nineteenth century night, or maybe it is being a schizophrenic artistic genius, but it looks better in his picture than it does in real life. 

Today we are going with the group because we have a tour of Arles and then we will be riding only part of the way to our final destination. We will conclude our trip today by cruising down the river into the city of Aigues Mortes, our final destination. Zöe and Sandra are going to skip the tour and bike the whole distance, but they are made of stronger stuff than the rest of us. 

Tom Giles and I were definitely ready to go!

Our first stop was the a small square by the tourist office. We parked our bike here, and met our guide. She was a very pleasant woman who spoke excellent English. She gave us a brief overview there of the early history of the city. Arles had been settled by various people — Ligurians, Celts, and even Phoenicians — but it was the Romans who really made it important. The Romans took the area from the Phoenicians in 123 BCE, and named the settlement Arelate. During one of those many Roman Civil Wars of the first century BCE, the people here made a smart bet and sided with Caesar instead of Pompey. For their loyalty, this became the capital of the Gallia Narbonensis, the Roman name for Provence and Languedoc. 

Our first stop with our guide was the Place de la Republique. It seems like every town in France has to have a square with this name. 

And, like all Republic Squares, it has to be the home to the Mairie, the city hall. 

But that little bit of Beaux Arts municipal swagger is not historically or artistically important. The Church of Saint Trophime, a few yards away, is much more significant. 

There has been a church on this site ever since late Roman times, and we know that in the fifth century a basilica dedicated to Saint Stephen was erected on this site. T A new cathedral for this city was constructed in the twelfth century on the site of the old basilica. This church was dedicated to Trophimus, the first bishop of Arles. Or maybe it was the Trophimus who accompanied Paul on his third journey according to the Acts of the Apostles. Local people apparently tended to confuse these two. The church was build in the Romanesque style. The choir and nave of the church were rebuilt in the fifteenth century in the Gothic style, but the west portal, seen in the picture above, was not changed. This was quite fortunate for later generations, as the tympanum above the doors is considered one of the masterpieces of Romanesque art. 

Our next stop was at the Espace Van Gogh, the Van Gogh center. Some background, as usual:  Vincent Van Gogh moved to Arles in early 1888. Though he had been in contact with Paul Gaugin and some of the avant-garde painters in Paris, his work up to this point had few of the distinctive elements of his later style. Southern France with its bright light and vivid colors seemed to inspire the Dutch artist, and his works from his time in Arles are among his most  beloved compositions. Unfortunately, his mental health, always somewhat fragile, began to break down a few months after his arrival in this city. In December of 1888, he had a fight with Gaugin and cut off part of his left ear. He was taken to the hospital in Arles for observation and treatment. He painted the courtyard of the hospital. 

And it still looks much the same today. 

We continued on from here to another famous spot, the Café Terrace. This is one of Van Gogh’s most beloved paintings. As he himself pointed out, 

“In the past they used to draw, and paint the picture from the drawing in the daytime. But I find that it suits me to paint the thing straightaway. It’s quite true that I may take a blue for a green in the dark, a blue lilac for a pink lilac, since you can’t make out the nature of the tone clearly. But it’s the only way of getting away from the conventional black night with a poor, pallid and whitish light, while in fact a mere candle by itself gives us the richest yellows and oranges.”

Today, by day or night, the place is crowded with tourists who want to take a picture from the same spot where he artist made his painting. 

I found all this interesting, but I was just as taken by the other buildings on the Place du Forum. 

From here, we went on to explore the various Roman ruins, the other great attraction of Arles. We went first to the Roman theater. John and Jill were really excited to see this. Unfortunately, they were readying it to use it for a performance, so we had to sit outside the fence and really could not get a good look at it. I had to go online to really get a sense of why it is such an important remnant of this era. 

This city still has an amphitheater and it is used for the Course Camargue, the bloodless bullfighting typical of this area. John had me pose here.

And he had Antonella and Sylvia do the same. 

Our tour ended here, and we were given a couple of hours to have lunch and wander about. John and I found a pleasant shady park with a bust of Van Gogh. 

It was already too hot for John, so he wanted a place where we could have a big bottle of water. Close by the tourist office, we found the Julius Caesar hotel. There was a pretty garden in the back and we had a couple bottles of overpriced Perrier. 

We met up with Sherry and Giles and had lunch at a small cafe. Sherry changed tables at least three times before it was time to order. John lost his phone at least once. It was a completely ordinary day at a restaurant! The food was pretty good, though, and not particularly expensive.

By early afternoon, it was time to ride on to meet the boat. John snapped this picture and it is one of my favorites of this trip. He has such a good eye for framing things. 

It did not take us long to make it to the spot where the boat was waiting for us. As usual, they had drinks and some snacks waiting for us. But I went straight for my room where I cranked the air conditioner up and took a brief nap. 

We spent the afternoon cruising towards Aigues Mortes and the Mediterranean. Somewhat to my disappointment, we were not going down the main route of the Rhone but down a canal. Looking at a map, I figured out that the River emptied out in the middle of the national park, about halfway between Montpellier and Marseilles. I wish could have sailed through this area, but I realize that this is not a good spot to begin or end a tour. It was pleasant enough spending the late afternoon on the boat, but the scenery was not particularly interesting and other than the occasional egret we did not see any wildlife. 

About dinner time we arrived at our final destination. 

Stefania is our steward. But on this trip, with our all-female crew, she has been learning some of the skills of sailing and docking the boat. I think she may want to be a captain some day. 

In the evening we just enjoyed the sight of Aigues Mortes from a distance. We will explore it some more tomorrow.