Les Ponts
Trip Start
Mar 29, 2006
1
57
232
Trip End
Feb 28, 2007
Avignon,
France
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Lots of cereals and soft bread rolls for a change. It was an extra this time but worth it. Off about 9am and headed for Avignon et Le Pont de. 70 km of highway. Nothing terribly exciting. Nice rolling hills to start with. Not a lot of lavender I'm afraid much to Anne's dismay. I think we are out of season. Lots of grapevines though. Acres and acres of them in fact...but we'll talk about them later. And cherries. Trees full of fruit. At least we are in the season for something. As we approached Avignon it became more and more commercial and industrial.
This was a large city and we were very lucky to hit the ring road at the right spot and head in the right direction towards the old part of the city near the Rhone river
Magnifique
. We passed city ramparts on our left, the river on our right and a bridge in the near distance which I immediately, right or wrong, labelled the Pont d'Avignon. All of a sudden there was a big blue P pointing towards an arched gate. I wheeled under it and found myself in a queue to get into a car park. It was one way in and out so we had to wait for some temporary lights to change whence we drove into an underground car park via the usual ticket machine and boom gate. We emerged from the car park to find ourselves in the middle of a centuries old square with the Palace des Papes towering above us and the cathedral alongside. What I thought was remarkable was that they had dug out a four level underground car park under these ancient structures and they had not fallen down!We wandered out of the square into cobbled side streets and followed the signs to Pont St. Benedict which was the true name for the bridge of Avignon. We paid 6 Euros for the privilege of walking out over this very old stone bridge which they admitted had been rebuilt several times. It stopped halfway across the river. I was assured that it was not always the case! I really felt like I was a part of history then even if my knowledge of the bridge was limited to the words of a stupid song. The Avignonerons incidentally did not dance on (sur) the bridge, they danced under (sous) Le Pont D'Avignon. A little dangerous on top with all those wars so they built a dance hall underneath...or so I'm told
Pont D'Avignon
. We walked back through the streets and found the Place de L'Horology which was wholly devoted to (not clocks ) feeding tourists. The square was covered with tables and chairs arranged outside the kitchens on the perimeter. We needed to make phone calls but had discovered earlier that French phones do not take cash. So we set of in search of a phone card. We purchased one in a tabac down a busy shopping street off the square. Now for lunch. We sat ourselves down at one of those tables and enjoyed an enormous salad with smoked ham and an omelette with ham and cheese. Very nice too.
There seemed to be no phones in the square so we had to retrace our steps to the musical bridge where there was a public phone outside an information bureau. We had to ring Felines to see if we could come in a day earlier. But the card would not work. I asked the lady in the bureau and she put me right. I had to scratch the card to discover my secret numbers which then had to be entered into the phone. Something like our Optus calling card unlike others we obtained later which needed only to be inserted in a slot.
We retrieved the car and set off for a place on the map that I had circled called Pont du Gard
Pont Du Gard
. I had it in the back of my mind that it was a must see but could not remember why. We had plenty of time so away we went to look at another bloody Pont. It was in a northwest direction and well sign posted. The directions however led us into a huge parking lot with tickets and boom gate which made me suspicious. What are we getting into. There were a few tour buses parked in the distance. Once parked we could see no signs to indicate where to go so we and another couple had to go to the car entrance, shrug our shoulders as if to say...where now? She understood and pointed towards a large white modern building in the distance towards which we now walked, still wondering what it was that we were headed for.
We entered a sort of plaza where there were ticket prices on signs, an outside eating area, a museum and a theatre. I was not too happy at the prospect of paying to see another bloody bridge. We walked through this complex following some family groups along a dusty path and 'behold' there in front of us was the most magnificent bloody bridge you will ever see next to Sydney Harbour Bridge...LE PONT DU GARD.
It was the legendary Roman aqueduct in all its glory
Sur Le Pont
. It was part of the system that brought water from the highlands to the north to Nimes two millennia ago. And in typical Italian fashion the Romans dug tunnels and built bridges rather than go around the hills and valleys keeping the channel all at one level. It was stunning. A series of stone arches on three levels constructed over the river Gard. There were remnants of the continuing waterway across the land across the hills on each side. The lower part of the aqueduct was wide enough for a bus to drive over and we hung around on that walkway for quite a while. And it did not cost me a cent! I apologise to the French authorities.While I went climbing Anne was kept amused by the antics of a group of youngsters fooling around in dingies on the river below. There was much laughter and screaming as the kids pushed each other into the water...and that was just from Anne.
We walked back to the main complex. I ducked down to take a look at the museum which was out of this world as far as modern technology went in the way everything was displayed. Well lit artefacts, dioramas showing the construction, a cinematic version of how the Romans did it and lots of audio explanations. It was a quick walk through for me. I could have spent hours there but Anne was waiting on ground level.
Off to Nimes now to find somewhere to stay. We went round and round that town getting lost in the one way side streets. We followed hotel signs which seemed to disappear after a few corners but even when we did find one we could not park the car. Eventually I found a park just short of an evil looking hotel on a corner. We both entered its dim foyer and a scruffy looking man just looked at us and shook his head. We assumed that that meant, 'no room at the inn', so we gave up in Nimes. It was just too big so we set off south towards Montpellier but not a hotel anywhere along the route until we reached Lunel. There were two hotels right on the town limit. The first had no vacancies but they directed us up the road to the Mimosa which looked decidedly scruffy at first but turned out to be a very nice spot, albeit on a busy road...and only 48 Euros a night plus extra for brekky.
Because we were nowhere near town we were forced to eat at the hotel. The menu looked appetising and we could sit out on the patio with other guests...but it was a terrible meal. Our first course was described as a grilled cheese on toast. It was a whole camembert grilled and melted over chunks of bread which had been soaked in garlic. It was presented in a dish the size of a cereal bowl. I could barely get through a third of it. It was so rich. I do not think the cook had any idea of the portions required. I can just see him/her looking at the scribbled instructions for the entrée, breaking up some bread in a bowl (as it no doubt said), covering with a portion of camembert (as it no doubt said) and sliding it under the grill until brown (as it no doubt said). What was not said was the word small.
Our main course was duck but it was served with an evil tasting black, burnt, mushroom mess and a ratatoui swimming in oil. The duck was alright. I had half expected it to come waddling up to the table in its entirety. For dessert I had a 'floating island'...a meringue and custard dish which would have been delightful in a parfait glass but it had been scooped and I mean scooped into a huge cereal bowl and it was just too much, Anne had a 'chantilly crème'...a thick, gooey, sweet, sickly sweet, two inch thick tart. One mouthful and both of us had had enough. Even the wine was, shall we say...tart.
