Europe, Episode 6: And the Universe listened

This is a field of lavender, just about the only thing I wanted to see in Avignon, and about the only thing we were told it would be impossible to find.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When we left Paris, I was finally on friendly terms with the city.  I don't think I really understood her before I started learning French but now, every street, every wall, every corner, every train was a buffet of the tongue, a smorgasbord of new things to learn, and I could pick up words and emotion and explain more or less what was going on.  I understood people better and they were more sympathetic to us and I loved just being there and listening to them talk.  

So, I didn't love Paris right away but Avignon was exactly my speed.  

First of all:

Ladies, this is Antoine.  He's one of the most (ahem) efficient waiters I have ever met.  (He was also the waiter who attempted to frighten me on the street corner at night.)

He is concerned when he can't seat people properly.

But he's determined to get it right, you know?

Rebecca and I found him so... efficient, that after walking past his restaurant twice and having breakfast next to it once (during which I didn't take stalkerish pictures of him with a zoom lens or anything), we eventually ended up going there for dinner.  It so happened that the food was delicious but it also started a trend of us choosing our restaurants based on how cute the waiters were.  We would walk past a bunch of cafes, see a hot waiter come out, do a double take and go back to get a seat.  That was how we met Antoine (and Roberto, and Alfredo, and William, and one so handsome we couldn't be sure he existed.  We christened him David Beckham anyway).

To start with however, we arrived in Avignon in an afternoon dripping with rain.  We quaffed a giant lunch and our second coffee of the day and after dropping our bags off at a cute little house in a sandy-laned neighbourhood, went exploring in the drizzle.

Avignon is exactly what I imagine a little town in the Southern part of Europe to be.  The houses are large but cosy, sandburnt to an almost-pink with pale orange roofs, and rain creepers over their walls and wrought iron balconies.  Some houses were walled in with great swags of pink flowers, others decorated with quaint brass doorknockers.  It was quiet, and romantic.

After getting peacefully lost in the neighbourhood for about an hour, Bear and I found our way to the old city.  The old part of Avignon is built like a fort, cocooned in massive sandstone walls interrupted by gates at every juncture.  To plunge in through one of the gates is to find yourself in the past traversing winding cobbled streets and, just outside the papal palace, a large, bleached plaza where people busk and ride bikes.

Outside the old city, the streets throng with devotees of H&M and Printemps.  Inside, they worship in small churches dedicated specially to saints; come out into the evening sun and dine in petite squares filled with the music of trickling fountains. 

In the summer, there is a massive performing arts festival and we found ourselves near several important venues.

The artistic essence of the city is clear; there are pretty little statues or frescoes tucked in niches on each corner, making the town a pleasing scramble of stone, brass and ochre.  

Mostly though, for the two days that we were there, we enjoyed getting lost in higgedly-piggedly streets that parted ways and met up again on various corners.  I particularly liked the second morning, when the harsh Southern sun finally came out to play.

When we'd first arrived, I attacked our host, Gilles, demanding to know where we could go to see the fields of lavender displayed on every postcard.  He shrugged and made the "pfft" sound so common among the French (or at least, my teachers make it at me all the time).  "It is too cold.  There is no lavande open yet."  I groaned and Bear glared at me - the lavender was the sole reason we were there - but I got over it quickly.  

The next morning, we sat under the shade of a spreading tree, ate wholemeal waffles and crepes and listened to the tinkle of water.  Every now and then, a frustrating phantom whiff of lavender would drift on the breeze and I would make a longing face at Bear.

Afterwards, we got up to walk round and occasionally, we would stumble upon sparse pots of closed lavender which I would try to deeply inhale.  "The Universe is listening!"  I told Bear as I stood over a small spray outside a flower shop.  "Maybe it is trying to present me with what little lavender it can!"

We started our wander in the church of one Saint Didier, cool and dark behind thick walls of stone.  Outside, we walked past small merchants and apartments lush with window boxes, some dangling flowers big as bells. 

We bought a box of chocolate for lunch and walked through the largest plaza, stopping to watch a merry-go-round and appreciate the zip of violin and accordion music on the air.

Eventually, when the heat of the afternoon hit its peak, we climbed to a park outside the papal palace to eat slowly in the sunshine along with the first ducklings of summer.

As we licked the last of the cocoa off our fingers, I leaned back and closed my eyes as Rebecca made a suggestion, "Let's see if we can cross the river today and check out the bridge from the other side."

I agreed and we chose a winding, downhill route that opened out over the glittering water.

At the base of the palace, I briefly occupied myself with a woman who was sketching streetside and then later, with shops selling soaps typically scented with lavender and olives where I discovered that the symbol of Provence is the cicada ("Une cigale!" the proprietor proclaimed) and, accordingly, bought three hanging clay cicadas for my mother.

When we'd dragged ourselves away from the souvenirs, we realised we'd come to a break in the road that was different from the crossing we'd found the day before, but decided to chance it anyway.  As we ran across three lanes of traffic and dived into a large, green island in the middle of the thoroughfare, we looked down to find ourselves hip deep in some bushes and realised...

"LAVANDE!"  Bear and I grabbed each other at the same time, laughing in gleeful surprise.  Mound after mound of delicate purple stalks shimmered against the heat-chill of the afternoon wind and we immediately doffed our bags, grabbed our cameras and dropped to our knees.

"See, Shus?  The Universe heard you!"  Bear called to me over the rustling flowers.

The Universe had listened indeed.  I couldn't stop chuckling to myself at my good luck and we spent a very fulfilling sunset hour cloaked in the mouthwatering violet scent, watching fatly furred bees amble about their business.

With the help of my brother's macro extension, I grew deeply absorbed in the miniature cosmos unfolding before me.  (I've realised now that the macro-extension-zoom-lens combination works best for such scenes, providing speed, stability and astounding clarity near the long end of the range.  At any rate, I'm delighted with the pictures!)

Before the sun set, I also acted as a portrait model for Bear and managed to convince her to model for me in return.

(The thing about travelling with only one other person is that they end up becoming your most malleable, amenable portrait subject whether they like it or not.  Thankfully, this time, Rebecca let me practise with various angles and sunrays.)

Despite all the posing, one of my favourite pictures is this odd, dreamy one, shot through a filter, of her more natural behaviour.

We capped the evening by finally getting acquainted with Antoine at the tartine place where he worked.  And thank goodness too because Bear had a delicious salmon tartine and mine, a traditional mix of goat cheese and honey, was an exact replica of my favourite meal in Cannes.  We had wine and salad and for a digestif, Antoine recommended an excellent, sweetly boozy cognac aux amandes  that warmed me for the long walk home.

We traipsed back cheerfully in the darkness, fortified by the hand we had been dealt that day.

Today, thinking about Avignon's last surprise warms me for I know the Universe is listening still.