No, I wanna rule the Holy Roman Emprie from here!
Trip Start
Aug 08, 2006
1
7
27
Trip End
Oct 18, 2006
Avignon,
France
Sunday, August 20, 2006
After changing trains in Marseilles, I touched down in Avignon around mid-afternoon. I decided to just walk into town to find a cheap hotel on my own. I prudently passed up the first couple I saw heeding my own proximity to train stations rule this time, but settled, too soon it would turn out, for the fourth or fifth establishment I came across. It was requisitely cheap (50-euro) and had en suite facilities (such as they were) and I was anxious to drop my gear so I could start exploring as I was only planning to spend a short time here; that evening, the whole next day and then off to the next stop the following morning. However, it became clear after walking around for a couple of hours that I had chosen poorly. I encountered no fewer than 37 other better looking hotels costing on average about 8-euro more per night than what I was paying for the hovel I was to retire to that evening. Even a short walk up the same street I was staying on would have paid huge dividends
Avignon streetscape
. Ok, tuck this away I thought to myself; patience in this situation next time. But as it turned out, I spent next to no time in that room other than sleeping. Avignon is a fantastic, old walled city that just invites you to stroll. And so I did that first afternoon, around the Palais des Papes (where the Papacy resided during the great schism of the 14th century) and the adjoining gardens, then down to the famous bridge, the Pont Saint-Benezet, which now only spans half the Rhone river due to collapse in the middle ages and unsuccessful repair attempts.
I stopped off in the late afternoon/early evening at a little pub called the Red Lion for a beer and to edit the photos I´d just accumulated. As I sat enjoying a locally brewed red lager, I was excited to see a band loading into the pub for the night´s gig (especially since it was a Sunday). "I´m coming back here tonight," I thought to myself. Then later, as I tucked in for a fine meal at a little open air Brasserie, I saw four street performers begin to unpack their gear. This town is just full of music! These guys had two guitars, an upright bass and an accordion player. In addition to a swinging version of "Sweet Georgia Brown" they played all manner of wonderful Latin/jazz standards and a few other compositions I didn't recognize
Cardinal
. It struck me immediately that I was listening to the Carlos Santanna of accordion players. I mean, this guy did things with the squeeze box I didn't even know were possible. But as good as he was, after one or two tunes it became clear that he, the rhythm guitarist and the bass player were all there really just to add flavor for the lead guitarist. If you've ever seen or heard of any of Al Dimeola, John McLoughlin or Leo Kottke, that's the echelon we're talking about with this guy. I've NEVER seen a street performer this good in my life! His left hand flew up and down the fret board like it was no more difficult than chewing gum for him. The best I can say is this dude ripped. As I finished my entré and their set was winding down the bass player started to pack up and indicate to the others that they should go (where I did not know, but I desperately wanted them to stay through the cheese course). The rhythm guitarist leaped into a highly affected melody like Sublime meets Husker Du and the lead guitarist unbundled his axe and picked up on it with a blistering lick that fit so well, but in a just-off-the-top-of-his-head sort of way. I couldn't believe it. As bassy indicated again that they'd better be moving on, Carlos, the accordion player, felt the vibe and just couldn't resist, so he strapped-in again and they were off. A truly bad-ass jam (if that's possible for a flamenco/jazz ensemble) evolved
I have no idea what this building is
. I enjoyed them so much I bought one of their CD's. My second purchase of a durable good in Europe, which I'm determined to keep to a minimum this trip. What a lovely dinner; and the food wasn't bad either.My friend Brady has implored me to be more thorough in re-capping my culinary adventures (thought I had been) so here's how dinner went that night: the first course was a terrine of foie gras with embedded spiced cherries along with a compote of cherries and toast points. This was followed by Grillet du Bouef (medium rare & very tasty) with a potato and 3 cheese galette. I chose to finish with a cheese course instead of desert, which included Roquefort, camembert and another semi-hard cheese I couldn't identify for sure, all washed down with a half bottle of 2003 Chateau de la Gardine, Chateauneuf-du-Pape (the regional varietal here), which was spectacular. So much so that I tried to book a day trip to the Chateauneuf region the next day (Monday), but they didn't have any tours leaving again until Thursday.
In any case, as I sat finishing my cheese, I began to ponder a question that had come to me earlier in the day. When, exactly, did they begin to include nipples in the manufacture process of mannequins? I mean, I'm sure its been some time, butI'm doing a lot of window shopping these days (as a matter of course rather than choice really) and it occurred to me today that all the female mannequins have rather pronounced nipples on them
Is half a bridge better than no bridge at all?
. I first noticed it on one and then began to pay attention to see if it was a one-off or a recurring motif. And this, really, is so gratifying because it is exactly the kind of heady matter I've been longing to contemplate ever since I became unemployed. Truly, at this pace I'll be able to lick world hunger by the end of this trip. But I digress.After my philosophical turn, I made my way back to the Red Lion to check out the band I'd seen loading-in earlier. I took several notes on these guys, but I just don't have the energy to give you the full rundown. Let's just say the guys on the street were better. These fellas were able to make the Red Hot Chilli Peppers' "Under the Bridge" come off as the happiest, bounciest tune about heroine addiction I've ever heard. And their accents on some of the songs, like the hard "t" in "Don'T Let Me Down" by the Beatles, made it almost comical. But what else did I have to do? So I stayed and ordered another Guiness. I remember at one point requesting some Bob Dylan and they made a half-hearted attempt at "All Along the Watchtower," the singer only knew two verses, but then they launched into "Sweet Home Chicago" and called me up on stage to sing with them (they had asked where I was from earlier when making my request). Let's see a beer that afternoon, one more before dinner, half a bottle of wine, two more beers after dinner - "Sure I'll sing with you!" As I recall, it was a rousing success
Little Pope
. Soon after that I finished my beer and navigated the little alleyways back to my lodgings. It was a good night.The next day I started out at the Musée Calvet's archeological outpost and then hit the art museum of the same name. Both were mildly interesting. I did like the touring exhibition at the latter, Nordic (mostly Danes) painters from the 14th-18th centuries. After, I did the tour of the Palais des Papes (audio guide and all), which lasted a surprisingly long time. As I had risen late and forgone breakfast, I decided to get some lunch in the square outside the Palais. As I rounded the corner into the Palais I heard a wonderful soprano voice rendering a middle ages dirge accompanied by a lone guitar. I strained to find the woman with the lovely voice and was surprised to find instead a man singing falsetto. I'd thought the voice was good (not great however for a soprano), but once I found out it was a man singing I just couldn't look away for several minutes; likewise the significant and growing crowd there with me. Astounding. Anyway, lunch was simple; salad Niçoise and some local rosé.
After that I went back to the Jardin at the Palais and did the most wonderful thing. I found a shady spot near a grand statue and some very interesting pine trees (not like the firs and balsa we have back home) and I laid down to just think and alternately close my eyes or stare at the trees and sky above. I did this for two hours, perhaps more, with no desire to move or be doing anything else in the world. It was utterly fantastic. I haven't done anything like that in I don't know how long.
I had seen a river cruise advertised earlier and knew the last one was to depart in 40 minutes or so
Mary ( I believe)
. This was my impetus to exit the gardens. The boat ride itself was relaxing as well, in it's own way, but less than thrilling. Other than a reverse angle of the town and close-ups of the half bridge, it was barely worth it.I went back to the hotel to clean-up a bit and then out for dinner. In an attempt to find a restaurant who's prices would mitigate the previous evening's extravagence, I chose poorly. Sorry Brady, no details for this one. But the next morning after checking out and before heading to the train station I asked the hotel clerk where one could find really great croissant and coffee. He indicated that the best bakery in town was just down the block and there was a café across the street for coffee and so I had a fantastic, if simple (perhaps my favorite), breakfast of one freshly baked, buttery croissant and a double espresso.
Fully juiced up, I hit the rails again. This time I was off to my first port of call in Spain; Barcelona.
