Going overseas, especially anyplace in Europe, sounds exotic. To family, friends and the obligatory social media audience, there's even a haughty preening to it. No matter that some of the thrill is lost in the extensive planning, documentation, airline logistics and finances, not to mention the actual chores of luggage, airport crowds, long flights and the inevitable complications. It's all worth it, of course. The reward and joy of travel is the expanded world view and 'the adventure,' even when things don't go as planned. That, and the differences in how Americans and Europeans do things often presents some challenges and food for thought; several of which are noted below.
I’ve been to Europe several times, but this was my first in France by myself (the family did a trip to London & Paris in 2015). This trip was prompted by my enrollment in a Benny Greb Drum Camp in Limoux, France. I’d always wanted to do one of these communal drum experiences and the notion of southern France with a cohort of Europeans was too exotic to pass up. As I pondered the decision, Martha encouraged me to go for it. We could even make a vacation out of it. After all, you don’t go to France for four days.
Martha went about researching the area and consulting with friends. We’d learned from experience that running from one place to another to see as much as possible was exhausting, but wanted to experience some variety. Managing the balance of sight-seeing with vacationing is a fine one.
With enough “miles” and freshly retired, I decided we could upgrade our flights. I scheduled my departure for Memorial Day, May 30, a few days before drum camp started on June 2, to stay in Toulouse, recover and do some touristy things. Martha planned to follow on June 6. I’d meet her with a rental car and we’d take off.
Flying in the waning days of COVID was still hit or miss. I escaped a disaster getting out of Richmond. I'd confirmed that France did not need any documentation for entry, though I had my CDC vaccination card, just in case. Yet when Jamie dropped me off and I went to the ticket counter, the rep claimed I needed proof of a recent COVID test….”and you have 45 minutes…..I think there’s a CVS down on Laburnum.” What?!? In a complete state of panic, I was sure I wouldn’t make my flight. I raced downstairs, grabbed a cab and had him bring me to the CVS. No testing. He then drove me to a Walgreens. The pharmacy was closed (Memorial Day). Meanwhile, I texted Jamie and told him to come back to pick me up. I went back to the airport hoping I’d still make it. Fortunately, there was a different attendant at the counter, and I found a COVID form on the United app that I quickly filled out. The rep cleared me and even checked my bag. With 30 minutes to go, I just made it.
The flight to DC from Richmond was routine. I know Dulles. On the overseas flight, I found my seat, an aisle in the middle section. and took stock. A couple of drinks came gratis and the meals were decent. I had a heavy, old bald guy next to me. During the flight, his arm flew in the seat back pouches ahead of me. At other times his elbows jerked into my side. And at one point, he grabbed hold of my iPad as I was using it, though jerked back and apologized. I think he was thrashing around in his sleep. I didn’t get any of that.
Brussels was the layover. It was like transiting a shopping mall. Passengers are forced to go through numerous duty-free shopping areas to get between gates. I took the opportunity to get some Euros and waited for the next leg. The flight to Toulouse - like the flight to DC - was routine; a couple hours in a small jet.
By the time I made it to Toulouse it as after 11:00 the next day. The Toulouse airport is an unadorned concrete series of hallways. I was overjoyed to find my suitcase at baggage claim, surviving the three flights. I was prepared for long ordeals at passport control and customs, but the first was breeze and the second didn’t even exist. Just picked up my bag and walked out of the terminal.
I was tired and anxious to get to the hotel I’d booked near the airport; a Hampton Inn. I called them and got their shuttle to pick me up. Then napped. The front desk had told me about a shopping mall a short walk away. I hoofed it there, hoping to get a SIM card for my phone and maybe a bite. It was like any big indoor mall in America, with a French Wal-Mart connected to it. I got a SIM card at Leclerc and a sandwich at a Subway. Then passed out again.
The next day, June 1, I tried to get the SIM card activated; or so I thought. I was prompted to sign up for auto-recharging, but I needed to register an IBAN “International Banking Account Number.” My Google searches told me US banks don’t use IBANs. So my SIM card was useless? I walked back to the Mall and tried to return the card. When she looked over my phone, we managed to jointly understand that I didn’t need to register. It worked already. I felt pretty dumb.
In the afternoon, I started heading past the mall to the Musee Aerospatiale. I’d wanted to see the Airbus completion facilities, which were across the street, but couldn’t get tickets. It was hot and I hadn’t intended to walk the entirety, but it became a goal. Along the way I appreciated the sidewalks along the highways. During the course of the trip, I noticed the frequent use of sidewalks and bike lanes along most roads. Probably a natural function of their population density, but it's a strategy Americans should use. Advantage: France.
Only about one-third the size of the Dulles Smithsonian, if that, it seemed dated and bit haphazard. But there was a Concorde that could be walked through. That night, I went to a brasserie only a block from the hotel and had my first course of French duck. It's a delicious bird with so many preparation options, I've always wondered why it is so seldom found in the U.S. It is on most French menus and done in a variety of tasty recipes.
The evening was also a reminder of how differently restaurants and service establishments in France (and Europe) manage payment compared to those in America. Everywhere in France, waiters and even hotel desks and vendors, have handheld card readers that also spit out receipts. No taking your card, bringing back a bill, filling out a tip, having them pick it up again. And all of these readers, as well as most payments, are touchless. Just wave your card over it. This function is available to most Americans, but is not accepted as widely as it is in Europe. Advantage: Europe.
Of course the lack of tipping also makes this process more seamless. Get a check, wave your card, instantly get a receipt and you're on your way. But the practice of tipping, which Americans do and Europeans do not, is an ambiguous one that has both benefits and disadvantages - and can generate a lively discussion among nationalities. On the one hand, it's convenient to know that the bill is the bill. No adding some 20% to it. On the other hand, there is no leverage over dawdling or inattentive service. There is no incentive for waiters to turn over tables. In this trip and others, we've waited what seems an eternity just to get our check. Of course, some of this is cultural. Europeans linger over meals and drinks. Americans eat and dash. Advantage: Depends on who you ask.
On June 2, I walked to the airport, which was only a couple hundred yards, and took a cab to the Toulouse Mirabeau train station. I had purchased a train ticket to Carcassonne and a transfer from there to Limoux for the drum camp.
I had learned from experience that European train tickets identify the coach and the seat you’ve purchased; unlike U.S. Amtrak trains, where you grab any seat that’s open.
The train ride was uneventful. The bus was awful. I struggled with my luggage and in trying to get off ran headlong into two smelly guys trying to get in. There was no bus depot. It was the curb. I had arranged to be met by a fellow named Felix, who was associated with Benny or the Limoux facility. I wasn't sure which. But there was nobody around and I anxiously started emailing him. Finally, the young man came up and introduced himself and apologized for missing me earlier. Felix, who had just started working at the recording facility, drove me back, showed me my room and gave me a grand tour.
Drum Camp was a remarkable experience. One of only three Americans in a group of 21, my classmates were from Spain, France, Germany, Italy, England, Scotland, Norway, Netherlands, Israel and even a young man from Ukraine. The location was called a "residential recording facility" where musicians could relax, compose and record in a tranquil French country setting, complete with lodging, a gourmet chef and swimming pool. Benny was conscientious, entertaining, and personable, spending almost all his time with us, often well into the evening over glasses of wine. More on that part of the experience here.
On leaving, our resident friend, Felix, offered to take several of us to the Carcassonne train station so we could avoid the Limoux bus segment. I shared the train ride back with several other campers until we split up in Toulouse.
Once back at 'gare' Mirabeau, I walked to the Hotel de l'Opera; one of the better hotels on the main Capitoline square. It reeked old, formal French. Mirrored walls; period furniture with velvet coverings, and heavy red drapes; including in my room. I was reminded again of the quaint, (quirky or cheap, depending on your view) practices of European hotels. Minibar, but barely stocked. A half-glass shower, common in most places, though often makes for minor messes. And a feeble internet.
What's more, traveling in Europe - particularly France and especially by myself, was intimidating. I’m not the only American who has felt this way, but navigating a language in which I know nothing, completely dependent on the luck, skill and generosity of people who may not be so willing to help is petrifying. The natural inclination is to gravitate to things I know.
That night, alone in Toulouse, I wanted a drink and needed to get dinner. The bar in the hotel was deserted. I walked down to the Crowne Plaza, thinking an American hotel might be more accommodating. Also deserted. So I took on the outdoor cafes on the square. After parking at a table, a waiter ultimately took pity on me and I got a drink and food. None-too-sure about navigating here, I trudged back to my room.
The next morning I found out that Martha's flight was cancelled and she was rebooked for day. She suggested I get the car, go to the airport and get her. Yikes! That will mean leaving a busy train station, navigating expressways and an airport in a country I've never driven in.
After the hotel breakfast, I took my laundry to the front desk per the service instructions. “Sorry, But we can’t do today. Bring it back tomorrow.” ?! I was checking out the next day, so it was pointless. Any American hotel, especially a fancy one, would make accommodation for a guest - farming it out somewhere. Not simply telling a customer ‘no.’ So I resigned myself to having dirty laundry.
It was almost 9:00, and walking around the area I noticed that most of the shops were still closed, with just a smattering of people opening up or on their way to work. Really remarkable. Over the course of our trip, I learned to anticipate - for better or worse - their lackadaisical approach to hours. Sometimes shops or restaurants were open. Sometimes not. Restaurants were not usually open in mid-afternoon and to Americans who are used to everything being open all the time, it can be unsettling.
Wandering around Toulouse that morning, I happened on a laundromat. Could I figure it out? I had nothing else to do, so scurried back to the hotel, pulled together my laundry and went back. It took me a while, fumbling with the payment machine and washer controls. I was about to give up, when a young woman came in and helped me by pressing a single button. While it was washing, I did a search and found a Starbucks a few blocks away. Eventually I made my way back to the laundromat and figured how to do the dryer, which fortunately was easier.
For dinner that evening, Martha had already made reservations at the hotel restaurant and even though she couldn't be there, I kept the reservation. While I sat there trying to decipher the menu, we texted back and forth as I sent pictures and she tried to translate. Whatever it was, it tasted pretty good.
On June 7th, I checked out and made my way back to Mirabeau train station and picked up
the car. While I was nervous about driving, we're fortunate to live in an age when technology makes traveling, and especially driving, so much easier. I was able to change the “language” of the car to English. With Apple CarPlay hooked up, I could get step-by-step navigation. Speed limits are displayed on the dash. And this model warned of nearby objects and locked itself when I walked away - relieving my wife of reminding me.
Though anxious, I knew Martha was distraught and her needs bucked up my courage and confidence. She had a horrible experience; put back in Economy she had little sleep in a middle seat between two hulking men. When she exited baggage claim, she was clearly shell-shocked. Instead of going somewhere to eat, we grabbed a couple sandwiches and hit the road for our first stop; Albi, in a country bed and breakfast.
Wednesday, June 8
Our hosts, Isabelle and Eric, were former Parisians, who chucked it all and opened this B&B in the country - Le Pignie in Lescure-l’Albigeois. With sheep and chickens roaming the area and restored buildings it was the quintessential French country experience, though our lodging, with a full kitchen, was up to date.
But as we got settled and opened the windows we realized there were no screens. In fact, in all our travels, we never found screens. Consequently, flies were a routine nuisance. They were a presence at outdoor cafes, of course, but occasionally at indoor restaurants. Eating outdoors in the U.S. is not as common, but it made me think; I don't ever recall flies being an issue in American restaurants. How do U.S. restaurants manage that? Advantage: U.S.
We drove into the town of Albi and visited the Toulouse Lautrec museum and the Berbie gardens, housed in an old palace - though we realized later we’d only seen the temporary exhibition. Afterward we wandered the streets to get a feel for the town, had our first drink at an outdoor café and had a charming meal down a side street.
Thursday, June 9
As it was the morning before, breakfast was very communal affair with several other guests at a large country table stocked with cheeses, croissants, jams, fruit, homemade yogurts and breads. We had some halting conversations with several other guests, though they were all French, so we could not easily join in…..and excused ourselves a bit early.
We spent the day in Cordes sur Ciel, one of our favorites. It was a charming town that included a "sugar and chocolate" museum with elaborate creations. The town also had inspiring 'Jardin de Paradise.'
We typically visit art galleries on these outings and wandered into one with an engaging owner who took us into his more elaborate showroom. Martha took a liking to a piece there and arranged to keep in touch about a purchase -- (which we've since made.)
Later that evening, we went to dinner at La Planque de l’Eveque recommended by our hosts. One of the best meals we were to have in France. There is something distinct about the freshness of the ingredients and the style of the preparation that often (though not always) makes French food a truly sensory experience.
Friday, June 10
Again, had breakfast with our hosts and other guests before moving on. Since we hadn't really seen the full Toulouse Lautrec exhibit, we went back into Albi and toured both it and the palace art displays. Afterwards we grabbed lunch at one of the outdoor cafes near the palace; mediocre tourist food.
Then we made the long four hour drive to Uzes; a relatively small town but just big enough to have a healthy variety of restaurants and shops.
Driving in France, or in Europe for that matter, is naturally intimidating at first. In the cities, it’s downright nerve wracking. Streets twist and turn and little cars swerve around traffic circles. And as we unfortunately discovered several times, there are narrow streets that can draw unsuspecting foreigners into a dizzying maze of ever tightening curbs, walls, pedestrians and even cafes. This not for the feint of heart Yankee.
Oddly enough, though, driving on the main roads or especially the expressways/interstates would feel familiar to any American. Curving, free-flowing traffic with 18-wheelers, RVs and Harley’s (if more racing type cycles). Slower traffic to the right, though a much bigger disparity in speed from an Interstate. The cars are smaller and the speeds might seem slightly faster, but the signage and logic or them feel like home.
The roads themselves - especially the expressways, are in fabulous shape. Smooth and free of any potholes, bumps or warping. Tolls are paid like most everything, with the swipe of a card (if you don’t have the equivalent of an ez-pass). One of the biggest adjustments are traffic circles. Between towns there are circles every mile or two and more frequently in cities. After the adjustment, they’re more logical and efficient than what a European colleague called our American “all stop” intersections; which he found confusing. Advantage: France.
Driving into Uzes, I was struck by the 'plane trees' that line so many French roads. The dubious legend is that they were planted by Napoleon to shade his troops, but now they're a major hazard for drivers. As with many French towns, the roads were tight and crowded. We got our host, Fabienne, on the phone and she helped guide us into a parking lot.
In contrast to our last stay, this was an in-town B&B; La Maison Rouge. Our room was situated over the owner's garage and we simply had to go out a back gate to walk to restaurants and shops. The stairs up to the rather stark room were like stepping stones. The air conditioning was adequate, but the internet connection was basically non-existent.
The long drive that day left us too tired for much of a dining search, so settled on a nearby café, Le Vieux Café. Pub food, but adequate.
Saturday, June 11
Unlike our previous host, Fabienne, did not encourage communal dining. Breakfast was had on separate, rather small tables in the garden after picking from the assorted spread in her kitchen. It included the usual; juice, croissants, jams, yogurts, cheeses and meats while she served us coffee.
It was Saturday - market day - when vendors set up stalls in towns. And little Uzes was supposed to have one of the best market days in France. It was, in fact, enormous. A huge variety of stands of everything from produce to fish, meats, flowers, then soaps, wines, dresses, jewelry and art. The streets were jammed with people. It was a logistical wonder they set up in the morning and had everything torn down by 1:00 pm. Martha had a field day looking at dresses, etc., while I people watched. We bought a bottle of an aperitif that we could combine with wine and stashed both in our host's kitchen fridge.
After a brief siesta, we visited the medieval castle and climbed some intimidating, curving steps up the tower to the roof; though a large portion of the place - the 'apartments' - were closed off. A duke and dutchess actually live there periodically and limit visitors when they're in residence. The outing ended with a stroll through a medieval garden, learning about plants that were used to treat ailments and conditions in the dark ages.
Back at the house we chilled with our first swim of the trip in the small pool and sampled the aperitif and wine. That evening, we went to a restaurant where Marth had made a reservation. Down a small side street, le Bec a Vin had a breezy open air courtyard with trees that covered the diners.
Sunday, June 12
Breakfast from our hosts, along with their begging little French bulldog, Oscar, who loved your empty yogurt cup. An excursion day, we had to make a pilgrimage to Arles, the home of Vincent Van Gogh when he cut off his ear, created some of his most famous paintings and ended life in an insane asylum.
There actually isn't much to see of Van Gogh there. The 'yellow house' and his haunts are mostly gone - though we saw sites of two Van Gogh paintings: Le café de nuit and Courtyard at the Hospital at Arles. We toured a Roman coliseum and theater some 2000 years old - and where productions and bull-fighting are still held. We also found a Roman cryptorium; dark and creepy. Imagining the lives of the people who built and wandered these halls made them come alive.
During the course of the trip, the weather grew gradually more oppressive. There were days around the south of France, when the temperature was in the high 90s or even 100 degrees. I was grateful Martha made sure that every place we booked had both air conditioning and a pool. It became our strategy to sightsee earlier and sit by the pool during the heat of the day.
On this hot day in Arles, we took some relief in the Reattu museum and the church of St. Thalimine before heading back to Uzes. On the way, Martha was curious about seeing Nimes, which turned into a hairy driving experience. It was more modern and didn't hold much interest. We came, we saw, we left. One of those risks in traveling. Sometimes you find a gem. Sometimes it's nothing special.
Monday, June 13
After our routine breakfast, Martha had found another outing - La Roque- Sur- Ceze. Another irresistibly cute, quaint old town. We walked to the top of the village and found a café on our way back. Crammed between some French-speaking locals, the service took forever (impatient Americans!) and we resolved to be more careful in our dining selections if we didn't want to waste an afternoon waiting for a check. Leaving the town, we followed a trail along a river and watched locals climb down to swim among the rocks; despite the many posted 'interdicte' warnings. On the way back to Uzes, we stopped in Saint-Quentin-La-Poterie, known for its pottery, but it was a Monday and the shops were closed.
Oh, well. Back to the Maison Rouge for a swim and some orange aperitif and wine. Probably from fatigue, we tried Le Vieux Café (pub food) again and had another frustrating experience trying to pay our bill.
Wandering the streets and squares that evening, with American 60s and 70s music wafting from the shops and cafes, the charm and utility of French living becomes more obvious. Whole parts of the town are shop-lined streets with just pedestrians (and maybe the occasional motorbike or even car). Squares that are rimmed with cafes where people mingle and kids play by the fountain. It's a more tight, communal and social environment. In contrast to Americans who primarily live in their cars between shopping and dining. Advantage: France.
Tuesday, June 14
Martha came up with another excursion for us; a series of small, quaint, historic towns further north.
The first stop was Montclus. Very small and not much to see, but had lavender fields outside the village and was, of course, charming. The roads along the way are stunning. Huge flowering bushes line the roadways, with fields of sunflowers or lavender; tunnels of over-hanging 'plane' trees and even landscaped traffic circles.
The next stop was Aigueze, also small but bigger than Montclus and had a number of cafes and an interesting cemetery. With a number of noticeable tourists and busy bistro, we had a thankfully quick meal and popped up a side street for glacé. The next stop was Cornillon; cute, very small and very quiet, taking only 15 minutes to walk around. The last stop was Gourdargues which had a canal running through the town center. Cute but not worth a special trip. By this time, the heat and driving had wiped me out. I sat down for a beer at a café while Marth looked through some shops.
Back in Uzes, we took advantage of the pool again and our wine regiment. Then to L’Uzege restaurant - one of our favorites - for our final dinner in Uzes. I'd seen it from the street the night before and thought it promising.
Aside from a few inconveniences, we found Uzes to be a charming and practical base of operations. There was a hopping night life that was convenient to access, with a good variety of restaurants and shops, but wasn't overwhelming.
Wednesday, June 15
With our last breakfast at Maisson Rouge, we settled up with our hostess (gulp$!), packed up the car ….. and had parking problems getting out of the lot, with a dozen cars parked behind us. Fortunately, we had some sympathetic onlookers who told us “it’s always broken” and helped us break free.
On the way to our next stay, we stopped at Pont du Gard, the remnants of a Roman road/aqueduct. Probably one of the more institutionally touristy places we visited. The parking lot included RVs and motorcycles groups (Harleys in France!) with kitschy souvenir shops. So I bought a t-shirt!
Our next destination stay was Aix en Provence. The largest city of our trip, it promised to have a wider variety of urban attractions than the historic country sites we'd just left. On the way, I again got flummoxed following the GPS through Avignon, ending up on local roads. Pulling into Aix, I found parking on a side street and we started walking to Cour Mirabeau, the main drag, to get our bearing. I could already tell that driving/parking was going to be a hassle.
While traffic circles make driving more efficient, they accelerate it driving in a French urban environment. Smaller and quicker vehicles in tighter quarters in unpredictable streets, they seem flung by centrifugal force in and out of curves. One of the more annoying adjustments for a U.S. driver is the lack of traffic signals on the opposite side of intersections. If you're the first at a red light, you better not overshoot the line, because you'll either have to crane your neck to see the one above you or heed a miniature stop light on the pole to your right. Are they cheap or are we over the top? Advantage: America
Late in the afternoon, we checked into Le Mas D'Entremont. More of a hotel resort. Very romantic Provençal French country feel, but requiring us to drive into town.
The heavy, sweating desk clerk, Paul, showed us around and escorted us to our room. I felt sorry for the poor guy walking into our air conditioned room. Cozy and more institutional than the B&B we'd just left, it had a patio overlooking the dining courtyard and, supposedly, a number of amenities. But it also had weak internet service; another recurring problem in French establishments.
We immediately unpacked and headed for the pool. Martha had made reservations for dinner at the hotel that night. Outdoors and very stylish - though warm and expensive. The food was good, but not particularly memorable.
Thursday, June 16
Instead of paying the 22 euros each to eat breakfast at the resort, we braved the drive into Aix. And it turned hairy. Following GPS directions can sometimes lead to problems. We followed its guidance to a parking garage only to find ourselves winding down narrow cobblestone streets with pedestrians and shops. At various points there were large cylinders that rose up in the middle of road, set off by a trigger on an adjacent control panel. That worked several times as we desperately tried to find our way out. Finally we reached one that wouldn’t move. We were at a dead end and trapped! The road was too narrow to turn around and several woman were now telling us how to get out - in French. We finally got the message to back up enough to turn around and exit onto a proper road. Taking a few turns I finally found a garage. The smallest most confining garage I’ve ever seen. Inching my way up to the 10th level, I was sweating hitting a wall or another car.
When that trauma was over, we struck out into the old part of Aix along the Cour Mirabeau, where it was their ‘market day’ with lots of vendors. We first found a café that overlooked the market and had a delightful breakfast of eggs, bacon, bread and jam and coffee. Afterwards, Martha spent much of the time wandering through dress stalls and shops while I parked myself and people-watched.
Strolling through the crowds I heard German, Italian, Spanish and, of course, Brits and Americans. The Germans, or Northern Europeans were easy to spot, many of them sporting funny brimmed hats that seem too small for their heads.
There is this popular self-denigrating American illusion that we are more overweight because of our lifestyle. But in all the public settings we visited, there were plenty of pudgy Europeans. In the aggregate the US may have an obesity problem, but they’re not too far behind.
While Martha periodically poked around in shops, we threaded our way along the Cezanne path in the old part of Aix and visited the Cathedral…..another church; though this one was definitely more substantial. It was 1:00 and if we stopped at a café, it would be at least 2:30 before we escaped. Instead, we picked up berries, cheese, jambon, wine and water and headed back to the resort; getting lost again. It was a continuing theme in Aix.
That evening, I braved driving again. Marth had made reservations at the Petite Prince and we tried to calculate and navigate to parking that was closer and easier. To no avail. I ended up disoriented and parked in a lot that I figured was close enough and we had to walk some half mile up and down side streets, sweating. Fortunately, we got a spot inside with what passed for air conditioning.
The European idea of air conditioning turns out to be slightly cool. As opposed to American air conditioning which often requires wearing a sweater in the depths of summer. Martha was constantly uncomfortable with the anemic cooling, which was made worse by the lack of top sheets. Another French theme, only a bulky comforter on top, there was little way to moderate our sleeping temperature. Advantage, America.
We could have eaten again at the hotel/resort restaurant. But it was outdoors and hot. And expensive. We had a minibar/fridge in our room, so over the next three nights, we continued a practice of picking up cheese, jambon or meats, bread, berries (their strawberries are a revelation!), wine and sweets, just to eat in our room. We could just hang out on the patio outside.
The concept of minibars in hotel rooms seemed to be a novel attempt at copying some American swank. But they were small and lightly stocked. Hoteliers haven't yet gotten the concept that these fridges can be money-makers if they're stocked with overpriced treats. Advantage: American business.
Friday, June 17
We’d debated going back to Avignon. It has tons of history and felt like an obligation. But parking is outside the old city and requires walking. - a lot. And it was so hot. And we’d already seen so many ‘historical’ old things.
So Martha came up with another option. We drove to the Mediterranean coast to Cassis. Again, I had to park at a distance from the town center. We immediately found a café for coffee and croissants. Then went for a boat tour around the 'calanques', cliffed peninsulas and inlets. A refreshing contrast to other parts of southern France. It was crowded and touristy, but I loved the seaside vibe and could park myself there for months. They were having THEIR market day, so Martha went browsing again (she bought some five dresses on this trip!) I people watched until we found one of the cafes facing the harbor and had a delightful lunch - with a whole fish. We searched out ‘glaces’ and made a stop at a grocers to pick up a snack/dinner before the drive back to Aix.
We were stuck in traffic - like any American expressway at 5:00 on a Friday afternoon in a city - but it was still surprisingly short. Cassis is only about 30 miles away, or about 40 minutes each way, which in America might be a suburb, but for the French, was a different world.
Saturday, June 18
By this time, I'd learned my lesson about driving into Aix. We Ubered in. Another Market Day. We found a café and had the obligatory croissant, coffee and juice.
Another noticable difference in French cafes is the smoking. It's more common in France than it is in the U.S. and readily accommodated. While not permitted indoors, there are ashtrays on most outdoor dining tables. Advantage: U.S.
In Aix that day, we visited an art center at Hôtel de Caumont with a Raoul Dufy exhibit, a good shirt film about Cezanne - the hometown hero of Aix - then ate lunch in the fancy café in their historical rooms. Beautiful, but hot again. Aix, like many towns in southern France, is dotted with public fountains built by the Romans that are beautiful structures, and actually used for drinking. The heat made them understandable.
We also visited Musée Granet which had two buildings. The collection in the Chapelle had lots of Picassos and other great works. Then picked up some supplies for dinner in our hotel room and called an Uber to get back. Easy peasy…..and I didn’t have to drive.
Sunday, June 19
What to do on our last day in Provence? We didn’t want to tackle Aix again, but maybe check out the lavender fields that the region is so famous for? Martha scoped out a few towns north of Aix that were noted for them. On the way out we stopped in a cute roadside café/shop near Lourmarin for coffee and croissant. The scenery was breathtaking with plane trees along the road, lavender fields and stunning mountains along wicked curving roads. The driving was like a road rally, spinning around hairpin turns in narrow lanes, inches from oncoming traffic with no shoulder. Absolutely the most gut-twisting drive ever.
Eventually we got to Roussillon which is famous for ocher, a red substance that was mined for use in buildings - and evident in the structures. Very touristy, but with a fabulous set of art galleries. Over my many years with Martha, I've developed some specific tastes in art and was tempted to buy several pieces there. In the first shop we entered, Carpe Diem, I almost bit. But with each gallery, the choices became even more impressive. Now tired, hot and hungry, we had lunch at an outdoor café and succumbed to cheeseburgers.
It was hot, but we headed down to Apt looking for ice cream; ultimately disappointed in the look of the place. Very quiet. So we made our way back to Lourmarin and wandered through and, again, visited several art galleries. Martha decided to buy one that was made with resin. The gallery owner/artist had several made from resin and epoxy mixes that caught my eye. I don’t consider myself an artist by any stretch; but I have seen several pieces that inspired me to try and duplicate them. Copying, really - but still pushing my own creative envelope.
Coming back was another driving fiasco. We stopped in the same little shop outside Lourmarin for some bread, wine and sweets. Then nearing our resort decided to find a grocery store for some fruit. Some winding, narrow miles later we came upon a “Geant” food store buried inside a huge shopping mall, in which the produce department was a major hike, then struggled with paying for it. Then trudge all the way around the complex to get back to the car. Then took a wrong turn getting on a highway that took use 10 miles down an expressway, then 10 miles back, then back up the winding, curvy, scary road to the resort. All for a couple little boxes of fruit. It was an experience for the record books.
We couldn’t wait to jump in the pool with some cool drinks.
In the meantime - I’d left my laundry to be done by the hotel (screw the price!) on Thursday evening as we went out. Now it was Sunday night and I’d asked them twice when I might expect it. We’re leaving in the morning(!?!). Sweaty Paul promised to take care of it.
Monday, June 20
The next morning we pulled our bags together and I went to check out. Most of my laundry was finished the night before, except for a pair of shorts. The shorts were nowhere to be found and the young woman at the desk struggled so much with English that I gave up.
We got on the road and did the 4+ hours all the way back to Toulouse. On the way we stopped at a roadside rest stop - very much like any you'd see in the U.S, complete with Starbucks and Burger King. We still had croissants.
I needed to return the rental car with a full tank of gas, but couldn't seem to manage getting to a working pump. I resigned myself to paying the extra; like so many other things on this trip. When traveling, you naturally want to minimize unneeded expense. But sometimes, through ignorance or safety, it becomes an unavoidable cost of the adventure. (insurance, extra SIM card, laundry, etc.)
Returning the car was nerve wracking, but I considered it a major achievement that I'd driven over 1000 miles in some of the most challenging situations and hadn't put a scratch on it.
We got an Uber to our last stay, the Hotel Soclo and were pleasantly surprised. Near the University of Toulouse, it had a beautiful back patio with pool and bar service. A serene oasis in the city with a very pleasant and stylish room. After unpacking, we went for a walk and essentially duplicated my initial foray three weeks earlier. Went to the Square and I showed Martha the Hotel d l'Opera. She was not impressed by Toulouse. Somewhat dingy, it's more a working city. But it has its vibrant and attractive sections.
Back at the hotel, we took a break in the pool - then strolled over for dinner at La Côté du Bœuf, which was supposed be a good meat restaurant. O.K., but we were somewhat disappointed. The duck tasted more like tough beef.
Tuesday, June 21
Our last day in France and decided to just relax and get psyched for the long trip home the next day. It started with a delightful breakfast at Hotel Soclo with an elaborate spread of eggs, bacon, sausage, a wide variety of cheeses, breads, fruits and sweets. I wished we were staying there longer.
I spent part of the morning setting up our Uber pickup for the next morning and confirming our flight check-ins.
Getting antsy, Martha decided to go for a walk by herself. Then I soon followed and strolled around the University, down by the river and then made my way across the Capitoline and found a cute neighborhood anchored by a church, St. Sernin, with a beautiful interior and an organ recital in progress.
I also came across what looked like a pseudo-pub, the George & Dragon. In France you really don’t find bars, taverns or pubs like you would in the U.S or U.K. That just doesn’t seem to be done. It’s more of a sit down and be waited on culture….and doing a lot of waiting yourself. Likewise with convenience stores. Americans have 7-11s and the like. The French have small grocery stores and specialty shops, but nothing comparable for quick, ready-made supplies. Probably just cultural things one adjusts to. But, Advantage: America.
Walking back to Capitoline square, I was just a tad hungry so grabbed a sandwich and Orangina and stood in the square with it when Martha passed right by me. We watched some talented buskers, then headed back to Hotel Soclo and a dip in the pool.
For our last dinner Martha found a restaurant, Chez Emile, in St. George's square that was highly rated. I had the most delectable cassoulet. A "working-man's" meal; a sort of stew with white beans, sausage and duck that is earthy, but melts in the mouth. Definite comfort food. I have to find this in the U.S.! Outside it was pouring, but the streets and squares were packed with young people, especially around small disc spinning booths. We later learned there was a music festival going on.
Wednesday, June 22
I did not get any sleep during the night, but we finished packing quickly, checked out and our driver got us to the airport by 6:40. Checking in was a breeze. The flight to Munich was easy. We had a four+ layover in Munich and had to navigate the sections for different categories of fliers (international transiting, etc.) We got a couple of drinks expecting to sleep on the flight. Then the first trauma. The line to get through customs check for the American flights was a zoo. Long lines of people freaking out about making their flights. We jumped into a short line just as they added new officials.
When we got settled in our more comfortable seats, Martha was especially grateful, given her awful trip over. After eating, I slept a good part of the way, listening to a rainfall sound in headphones.
Arriving in Dulles, all seemed fine and I dropped our bags to transfer for the domestic flight to Richmond…..only to discover our flight was cancelled! They'd rebooked us on a flight the following night?!? It's now 10:00 p.m. and we're dog-tired. It's pouring out. We took a shuttle to the rental cars. They don't do one-way trips. Martha looked up an Uber ride to Richmond. $160. Done. After some trouble connecting with him, he cheerfully drove through driving rain to Richmond. I was so exhausted, I nodded off periodically. How did I ever think I was going to drive it on a dark, stormy night.
Home finally at 1:00 a.m.
The final judgment was that this trip ranked as one of our best; despite the airline snaffus. As it turns out, we did end up having three very distinct experiences. In Albi, we had the French country B&B, with the communal country breakfast (with a guy who cleans solar panels)! In Uzès, we stayed at a B&B that was in town, a short walk to cafes and shops in a slightly larger area (though still not big). And then Aix; a much bigger city staying at an inn on the outskirts of town.
Over the course of three weeks, I became accustomed to navigating French customs and institutions; and even got better at deciphering the language, though Martha's French skills got us through most of the translation. Like many Americans, I was initially disoriented (again) by the casual, herky jerky customs of the French -- and Europeans generally. Cars on narrow streets shared by pedestrians and motorbikes, shops and restaurants with unpredictable hours, and tight quarters, generally; all things that Americans find sort of loosely goosey. It's not as regimented or predictable as most of our society. But therein lies some of the charm as well as the adventure; learning how others live and appreciating both our differences and similarities.
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