[*If Marseille could just be pronounced the way it is in my head, I could title this “Goodbye, Mar-sigh”.]
Piper & Wes were jealous that the 3 of us took scooters on our city exploration. Legally, they couldn’t use them, but we found a mostly open square, rented two of them for 15 minutes, and gave them time to enjoy the power.
I have to give some attention to our youngers who did not do the same France that we did. Dwayne, Kyla, and I took a full day trip to Avignon+, explored many different parts of the city on foot and by scooter, seeing architecturally, historically, and multiculturally interesting things.
Piper and Wes did not. They would actually complain about having to leave their upstairs bedrooms to get to the better wifi downstairs in the tiny, 2-story apartment.
However, if I radically adjust my expectations and standards, and squint a little bit, I can almost see them getting some benefits from this trip.
It really started in Jordan, when the three of us did a full day in Petra, and Piper and Wes were having none of that. We left them some dinars and between themselves, it was decided Wes would do the ordering and Piper would hold on to the money. And so began a damn fine tradition.
By the time we got to France and were within walking distance of heaps of groceries, produce stands, bakeries, and oh yes, restaurants, Wes and Piper had a finely tuned system. They would have a full truce when left on their own, Piper would decide where to go, guide the grocery shopping and carry the money, and Wes would do all the people interactions, regardless of the language, including paying.
I just had to pretend I wasn’t worried about anything happening to Dwayne and me while we were so far away from them.
One of the sweet moments we had was visiting Cathedral de la Major. The kids joined me in lighting candles for two of my good friends, participating in my sadness.
And with that, we finally do say good-bye and pack up for Barcelona!
Piper still likes to avoid getting her picture taken, but she is happy to be on the other side of the camera.
When I process our time in France through a food lens, I get the giggles. I have been looking forward to eating my way through France and expanding my gourmet palette. To get the kids in the mood, as soon as we checked into our Airbnb, we went in search of chocolate croissants. It took us a few attempts to find an open patisserie, but Wes was in raptures over his almond-chocolate-goodness sweet, and the rest of us were well satisfied with a croissant in each hand, walking down to the picturesque port.
Fortunately, Dwayne and I averaged about 15,000 steps a day in all our wanderings, so we ate with some indulgence.
But the cloudy afternoon quickly turned into a cool, rainy night, and after being turned away from a few très French restaurants because we didn’t have reservations, I spotted a warmly-lit restaurant with open tables and quickly herded us inside. It turns out it was Chinese food. But I’m going to give it full credit for French flair. When our spring rolls arrived, we were shown how to roll them up in the provided lettuce leaf with one sprig of mint on the inside before dipping and eating. Ooh lala, it turned this typical appetizer into a gourmand delight. I’m sure the atmosphere and the usual giddiness of a new city added its own sweetness. Dessert was a flambe delight of a baked pear. Dinner #1 was a delicious, but not quite the French meal I was searching for.
Salute!
Dinner #2 was sans kids, who inexpensively and inexplicitly often prefer PB&J and chicken nuggets from the supermarket frozen section. We had eyed a patio full of people sipping their afternoon aperitifs and so we returned for dinner. It was a French restaurant, but French-Congolese. Delightful, but still not the Frenchy French-French exquisiteness I had been envisioning for my first Franco visit.
Dinner #3. On our first exploration, Dwayne spotted a Brazilian churrascaria (a large selection of meat on spits) and the kids clamored for one night there. It was an odd establishment that didn’t serve alcohol (read: no caipirinha for Dwayne) or pork. Infer the owner’s beliefs as you like. As Wes mentioned in his blog, I had the vegetarian option and ate all the beans/rice/sawdust/collard greens I could with sides of fried plantains. If we haven’t made this classic poor man’s Brazilian dish for you before, please invite yourself over this summer so we can enjoy it together. Sawdust (aka farofa) is surprisingly delicious.
Finally, Dinner #4, Dwayne and I were again without children and determined to find a restaurant that checked all the boxes for our penultimate night in France. We found a place open that did NOT have pizzeria in its name, and I quickly swung from vegetarian Brazilian to steak tartare, which is, if you were unsure, raw hamburger + raw egg + other things = Oh! So good! I couldn’t look at it while eating it but I would definitely order it again with whatever wine the good monsieur recommends.
No matter how plain or fancy (or expensive!) the order it, it always seems to come with fries. I do not approve.
Piper and Wes had their hearts set on crepes daily. Crepes for breakfast, brunch, lunch, and tea. Against my will, they found a place in the touristy* port that served crepes with Nutella for Wes, and Nutella and strawberries for Pipes. When we went to an off-Broadway creperie the next day that did not serve such crepes, there were tears and punishing silences. Finally, we just gave the youngers the key and some euros and left them alone for long afternoons and even an entire day, and they just went to the tourist creperie and came up with excuses for not doing their math. At some point, I just had to enjoy France and French food enough for both of them.
Tears and punishing silences. Not feeling the need to travel with children again. (Dwayne’s note: this is NOT posed!)
What I had my heart set on, à la Rick Steves, was going shop to shop to get cheese, a baguette, a bottle of wine, and a little something-something for dessert and picnic in some lovely square or park. When we finally got to Avignon, Kyla and Dwayne indulged me as I ordered stinky cheeses (like angels’ feet!), a sweet nougat, and a strawberry something-something before finding a bakery for two fresh baguettes. A half bottle of white wine would have topped it off perfectly had I been able to find one, but water is a lovely accompaniment as well. I finally got to have my little French picnic in a garden behind the walls of the Pope’s Palace in Avignon. Bon appétit, let’s eat!
A French picnic. A very French older gentleman complimented us on our fare, and it began a 20 minute conversation in the park.
On a final note, is this not a delightful produce shop? There were a few tiny ‘supermarkets’ on every street block, but only fruits that had won beauty contests got to be sold in this one. It was a sensory experience and the girls and I walked away with an armful of gorgeous and perfectly ripe fruit.
France wins Food!
*Commandment #11: thou shall not eat where only tourists tread.
Dwayne and I wanted to get out of Marseille for a day, so we found a tour to Avignon. With Kyla, we were the only three who signed up for the eight-hour adventure, so we had the minivan and guide to ourselves.
My favorite picture of Provence, France, from the top of Les Baux.
My only goal was to get to Avignon, but I was more than pleased with the other stops on the way. We first found ourselves in the oozing-with-quaint-charm hilltop village and castle of Les Baux de Provence. This village has 22 (not a typo) year-round residents. The number of residents bumps to about 400 as the summer crowds swell to thousands.
Its history begins about 8,000 years ago with a small but successful farming community before it became a useful Roman quarry. Medieval Les Baux de Provence became a fortified town in the 900s and then upgraded to a castle about 300 years later. The 1400s brought an end to the Baux family line, making it the French king’s new plaything, which he gave to the King of Monaco for the fun of it. The ruins still fly the Monaco flag because…tradition? No one has bothered to take it down? Really, I couldn’t tell you. But I can assure you that if you arrive in shoulder season midmorning, you get the town almost to yourself and there are no lines for your hot-cocoa-whipped-so-thick-that-it-needs-a-spoon. Being on a tour agenda, I had to prioritize exploring the little streets and castle grounds, but I passed by too many snugglery-cafes to regret not getting more time here*.
Yep, that is the red Moroccan flag flying at the Castle of Les Baux
However, I’m so glad we didn’t miss our next point of interest!
When our guide announced the next stop, Pont du Gard, I smiled outwardly and inwardly shrugged. I do love not knowing what I’m getting into, because as we walked out of the parking lot, I stumbled in disbelief. Do you recognize this?
I wish I had taken this shot—I need both more sun and talent to capture it. Again, thanks to Bing and the actual photographer.
Built 2,000 years ago, Wikipedia succinctly remarks that the “Pont du Gard is the highest of all Roman aqueducts, as well as one of the best-preserved.” From mountains to fountains, it had a remarkable grade of about 1 inch: 1550 feet in its 32-mile stretch. I am definitely my water-ecology father’s progeny because I am finding the transport and use of water in ancient and medieval populations fascinating. But this triple-arched aqueduct is deservedly famous for its beauty and remarkable engineering. Again, I need to return because there are nature trails going out in all directions from here, and the banks of the river call for a classic French picnic and perhaps a racy novel.
Avignon Bridge, famous in a French nursery song.
Eventually we did make it to Avignon. I wasn’t even able to articulate why this place called to me before I had ever been. Maybe it sounds like all the best names—Avalon, Aragon, Arendelle— and connotes romantic strolls by small shops and sidewalk cafes and hillside gardens with views of old castles. It was all of those things.
Important historically, this is where, when in 1309, Rome became, ahem, unrestful for the papacy and Pope Clement V picked up his toys and huffed off to Avignon. He was the first of seven successive popes that set up shop for 68 years at the Palais-de-Papes. (This is right before popes and antipopes, as I imagine it, pointed wands and simultaneously excommunicated each other.) The palace is large and completely underwhelming, according to Dwayne’s exacting standards, but my goal was less architectural and more about soaking up the ambiance with every step, in the warm pulse of the old town.
The Palais-de-Papes. A “meh” rating by Dwayne.
Cheese shop!
Our guide gave us four hours, which felt luxurious after our shorter stops earlier. We spent about half of it eating.
Since we had done a (disappointing) wine tasting in Cyprus, it would have been a shame to miss out in France. One of our last stops was at a town that made our own hometown look positively lacking in wineries. (That is astonishing if you know where we live and that I last heard we have over 200 tasting rooms.) However, we had the best tasting experience of my life at the one winery we visited. We also spent a startling amount of money to ship six bottles home, so I hope they taste as good as they did in their hometown. I still remember the disappointment of montepulciano poured at home versus in the actual town of Montepulciano.
Our guide wanted to show us one more sight outside of Vinó Villagé**. Having a palace in Avignon is so tiring that the papacy also established a summer residence, Chateauneuf-du-pape***. History happened dot dot dot and then WWII saw France occupied by Nazis and this fortress became excellent artillery storage. As it became clear the Germans were going to lose, depending upon which tour guide you listen to (ours or the other small group I made sure to slowly saunter by), either the Allies or Axis blew up the castle. Regardless, it was a structurally unsound decision for Chateauneuf-du-pape.
Before Boom
I can’t believe how much we got to see today! I have enjoyed Marseille, and look forward to another full day there, but it was great to get out of the gritty city for a day.
*I still long to browse the shop that was just opening as we were leaving. It sold only white woman’s clothing. Oh, that came out wrong. All the clothing was pristine white. And it didn’t look like they sold men’s or children’s wear. I know I was saved from myself by not being able to shop here, but there were lovely frocks in the window that begged to be taken across the Mediterranean with me. Sigh.
**Please, just let me have my outrageous French accent.
***Chateau/Castle new of Pope, for those who, like me, pretend they can read Français.
It took me half of our 5 days in France to learn that it is Mar-Say, not Mar-Sigh (Say Mar-say is my mnemonic device). It was an excellent sign how I would massacre all my attempts to speak polite French, but what I did poorly, I also did cheerfully….which is easy to do with a croissant stuffed in one’s mouth.
I was surprised to hear that Marseille, for a long time, was considered a Place to Avoid. Drugs, unsafe streets, rough and dirty, all made this original port city in France not worth visiting. It has cleaned up its act considerably, but even Rick Steves, aka St. Rick, still calls it “gritty”. That is not what we experienced, however.
We got to stay in La Panier, aka The Basket, aka Old Town, where the alleys are narrow and zigzagged, old and charming. Okay, maybe it’s a little gritty. With such tight spaces, grass doesn’t grow, and the puddles you see are certainly from man’s best friends, not rain clouds. It is also a place that drips street art, sometimes disguised as graffiti. For instance, it was much easier to remember our apartment was opposite this lady than to look for the street signs.
The cathedral* is far too beautiful to be sharing the stage with an overgrown gummy bear, which has no stated explanation. It’s probably just part of the Weird Marseille tour. Between Cathedral de la Majo and some of my favorite Egyptian antiquities, I am leaning towards stripes for the temple Dwayne will be constructing for me.
Cathedral de la Majo is about to get crushed by Gummy Godzilla.
I find St. Rick a useful guide for traveling Europe just right, but he made a miss on Marseille. Of the 10 things he recommended in the city, Longchamps was not #1, or even on the list. So when Kyla, Dwayne and I scootered several kilometers after a disappointing visit to the Palais du Pharo** to come face to face with this,
Thanks, Bing, for helping me go back in time to find an image that gives the scale of this “water feature”.
…well, I thought that for the first time, Dwayne would wet himself. It’s amusing to see him bodyslammed by a new muse.
This grand and exhilerating monument is flanked by museums of fine art and natural history, unfortunately both closed on our Monday there. Longchamp was designed to celebrate the arrival of water to Marseille from a canal about 175 years ago. C’est magnifique. It checks all the boxes for seductive structures:
Curving columns and balustrades
Arches
Wonderful statues of people, animals, and mythology, both realistic and whimsical
Winding staircases
Waterfalls…falls….falls…falls
Greenery and pools
Artistic details
Friends, this is a masterpiece of civic art and pride, and what I have loved about Marseille is that people use the green spaces to play, relax, eat, picnic, stroll, and just enjoy the setting.
The only disappointment of Longchamps was that it was a great, grand, immoderate opening gate to…not much. These gardens behind it are sparse and uninspiring. It did encompass an old zoo that is now billed as the Funny Zoo, but the hilarity of pink lionesses and blue tortoises is tempered by the realization that not long ago, zoo animals lived in such cages. However, one passes through the Longchamps waterfall extravaganza on the way out again, which quickly overrides any Funny Zoo melancholy.
Marseille is an odd part of Provence, France that isn’t at all what southern France is reputed to be. Next, Dwayne, Kyla, and I take a day tour to proper Provence, visiting France’s Most Charming Village (population 22), the famous Roman aquaduct bridge that you can’t name but will recognize, and kiss-me-right-now Avignon.
*Okay, a cathedral. The cathedral, Notre-Dame de la Garde, sits on top of the hill overlooking the city and is the popular tourist choice. However, the Cathedral de la Major is more important Catholically as a basilica, and for my eyes, a more beautiful structure, inside and out. Even in front of generic Funshine Bear.
**One would think (Denise did think) “Pharo” and “Palace” would be a more interesting combination.
Needopedia 