Une Semaine en Provence: La Fin

It's been over a month since les vacances d'avril, meaning warmer weather, and the month of May, which may not have its own two week vacation, but a handful of individual holidays that have come to be charmingly referred to as ponts. If a holiday lands on a Thursday, the Friday then becomes a day off too, constructing a "bridge." This makes "four day weekend" sound so unoriginal.

On a late morning walk today past the Chasse cemetery, post office, and train station, I crossed a bridge over the highway. It was the same road that my parents and I took down to Provence. Unlike today, we hadn't faced lanes of nearly stopped traffic all heading south. The news has warned travelers of the bouchons (the word in French is "cork" or in this case, stoppage) that all the "bridge" traffic has created.

As for me, I'm heading north for the weekend, but conveniently by train. Not as if I have a choice. I'm really anxious to see Strasbourg and a different region of France, unexplored by me.

But before I jump into the future, I'll revert back to the past in order to close the saga that has become "A Week in Provence" with my parents. Our final destination on a whirlwind tour of Provence was the walled city of Avignon.

After finding a parking place in a pitch black garage (parking in Avignon during Easter week is no easy feat), we made our way to Les Halles or Avignon's indoor market. I personally like the wall flora that makes the building look more like the entrance to a botanical garden than a mecca of charcuterie, olives, cheeses, and provençal sweets. It was here, that our trio met Allison and her parents, thus beginning our combined effort as tour guides.

Taking away a bag of black olives, some cheese, and calissons, an oval-shaped sweet made from almond paste, we snacked outside while taking in Avignon's sights.

We all had lunch at an outdoor cafe that offered une formule du jour consisting of either steak or simply "aioli" which I took to mean the garlic/olive oil sauce combined mixed with spaghetti. At least that's what it was in Spain. In France, it arrived in the form of a fish, vegetables, and snails with the aioli sauce. Complete surprise. But I don't mind culinary adventures as long as what's on my plate is not moving. Or, in this case if I stuff it in the bread to mask the slimy texture. This is precisely how I ate my first snail. My tastebuds just aren't that mature yet.

From lunch, we went to Le Palais des Papes or the Pope's Palace, of which a camera absolutely cannot capture its monstrous size. It takes quite a long time to see the entire place, and the view of Avignon and its pont from one of the towers is a nice breather from the string of enormous rooms. According to About.com, the 14th century palace (home of the pope in the Middle Ages) is the size of four French cathedrals.

Above is a view of Le Palais from Le Pont d'Avignon or Pont Saint Bénézet. There is a combined ticket that visitors to Avignon can get that permits one to see both the palace and the bridge at a discounted price. Therefore, unlike my earlier visit to Avignon in the fall, we walked out onto the bridge, still windy as ever, but beautiful, as storm clouds were floating nearer and nearer. I learned that villagers did not actually dance sur le pont (on the bridge) but sous le pont (under the bridge). I can see how the two words could sound similar when sung, but from what I read, the bridge was too small and narrow to be danced on.

Avignon is unique, because it's a walled-in city, seemingly medieval, yet still a functioning city with modern stores where people live and work. I'm lucky to have had the chance to visit it several times and never lose interest in its charm. That afternoon, my parents and I said au revoir to Provence and drove approximately two hours back into the Rhone-Alpes, where we'd stay in hotel chez moi for the night in Chasse.

One of my favorite things about France is being able to discover a new part of the country so easily. Within an hour, it's possible to go from the prairie, to the mountains, then to the sea. In the U.S., especially in the Midwest, it's too far to find that much diversity.