Thursday, July 13, 2006

Bliss à la Provencale

Decided at the last minute (before I went to bed) that I would take a day trip to Arles, another town in Provence, yesterday.

Got on the train at about 10:30 and was there until about 6 that evening. I took a stroll through the market, watching the Arlesians catching each other up. I wonder what my life would have been like if I had grown up in a small town like this. How different it must be than the American suburbs. Or New York City.

Arles has a huge roman ampitheatre that is still mostly intact, where they still have bullfights and all sorts of events. Parts of the Ampitheatre have been renewed: sandblasted, and the limestone is peachy and clean, the color of a baby's skin, and smooth. But other parts are graying and speckled with age-spots that climb up the wall in patterns like ivy. When the hot provencale sun beats down in the afternoon, these shadowy parts of the ampitheatre stay cool and wilting tourists gather and chatter in their different languages, making a busy little symphony which rises into the air and floats over the souvenir shops surrounding the the great circle of stone.

Across the street is the Van Gogh museum, which (as it boasts in proud letters) is air conditionned! The current exhibit is a collection of Spanish engravings of bullfights and works by Picasso, who was perhaps the sport's most famous fan. I take a peek but I'm not much for depictions of the goring of animals, and although I do like Picasso, I decide to search out other amusements.

Down the Rue de la Clôture is an ancient Roman theatre, built in the first century. I pay my petit prix (admission) and the man at the counter asks me if I speak a little english. "I only have the pamphlets left in english, is that ok?" I smiled.
I climb the steps and enter through a vomitory and stare out at the seats before me. I imagine them full of people, imagine the voices of the actors booming out over the theatre like rumbling low bell-tones. I walk to the stage (where they are setting up for what I assume must have been a concert) and hurry back to what was at one time the backstage, now littered with bits of broken history: stones from corinthian columns, their ancient engravings giving them a wavy appearance. I sit on one of them and stay for some time.

Wandering through the medieval lanes of old Arles, I come upon la Place de Forum, where I find un petit restaurant which suits my taste and has a nice wine list. I sit and enjoy une salade paysanne and a glass or two of cold white wine, light and sweet, making the sun beat softer down upon the streets, and the breeze play tricks with the leaves above the terrace where I sit. I read Molière and laugh to myself.

After lunch, I wander around the bits of Arles that Van Gogh immortalized in his paintings. I find an ice-cream shop which claims to make all their own ingredients. I choose peach, almond, and ginger, and I wander past the golden café, the hospital gardens, and finish my petit séjour with a walk along the Rhône river, back towards the train station, to the spot where Van Gogh painted the Starry Night over Arles.

A blissful afternoon.

To follow it up, I went to La Tour de la Défense that night, by Copi, which was like Oscar Wilde meets Martin McDonough who then revel in the sex and drugs of the 1960's; it left me with plenty to ponder until I went back to my hotel, took my long-awaited COLD shower, and went to bed.

Even though this morning I awoke hot and already sweating (at 8:30am)I was happy.
I got into town and bought myself a little breakfast of nectarines, pastry, and orange juice. Then I went to a play called Le Paradis Modeste, where a little clown goes in search of his companion who has died, through many different versions of the afterlife.

Now I think I'll have a little snack, and head up to the Park to grab a precious city view. Maybe I'll find a bookstore along the way. Tonight, La Poursuite du Vent, and tomorrow morning at 6:30am I leave for Italy.

I better work on my Italian!

ciao!
Deb

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