Sept.
27 – Oct. 5
As you probably know
by now, I put the name of the towns we visit or pass through in bold lettering,
to help follow on a map. This is for David and I when we get home, but if it
interests you, you could do it too. I sometimes put other places in bold type
if I think they are worth seeing.
We arrive at the hill town of Crestet. Only a few residents and
visitors wander the cobbled medieval streets. We head uphill to a restaurant
where we hear we can get a good glass of local wine. Up and up, narrow
stone-hewn stairs lead us almost vertically up a stone wall. At the top, there
is no reward. The restaurant is closed! We sleep at the foot of the village,
still high above, overlooking a valley, which, in the morning, has disappeared
below thick fog. We stay here for a good part of the day. David's cold has
reappeared. When he feels a bit better we go on to Seguret past lush
fields of grape vines orderly crammed into every inch of space. Tall thin
French cypress trees dot the land contrasting with the tidy shapes of olive
trees, a beautiful silver-green color.
Seguret is another hill town. Its streets are a bit more alive than
Crestet's. The village is lovely, small, quiet and picturesque. We are
enthusiastic about meeting Egbert, the seller of some super fabulous postcards.
His photographs are those taken by a photographer with a great eye and
imagination. Egbert is in his 60s I think, with long grey hippy hair and a
great face and manner. He comes from what he describes as the 'Bible belt' of
the Netherlands. We have a good long talk, mostly about America: Jack Kerouac,
the Beat Generation, Hippies (too groupy for him) and his younger days of
thumbing across America. He is a character that will easily stick in our
memories, someone we would enjoy as a friend. As we turn to leave, a slender
black and white cat leaps and runs in that instantly joyous way they sometimes
do. Is a weather change coming? A smattering of lavender scents the air.
September 29
A storm arrives in the early morning, with thunder and lightening and
hard rain that continues for hours. We reach Gigondas, our third French
hill town in three days. This town is alive and cared for, with folks enjoying
life in small abodes and apartments set kattywampus, all this way and that.
Lots of character, those famously photographed window shutters and doors painted
in French blue patina, flower boxes stuffed full. Always there is the walk
uphill. For us it is to the Cultural Center, which is new and beautifully
architected, a more modern simple style that fits on the street with all the
old stone. Still comes an upward walk to the village church on top, so peaceful
and sweet. Villagers meet and exchange a story or two or wave at someone
passing. Lifelong neighbors.
On to little Suzette. You can see this hill-topper in a blink
of an eye. A white-robed monk arrives at the top and heads down in another
direction, his skinny legs showing above his shoes and socks as he peddles
away. A hunter stands a bit down the road, orange vest, red plaid shirt, and bells
on his dog? What is he hunting? Rabbits, birds?
Wine grapes are about three weeks from picking. Let's see, what town
next? Venasque. Many cars are parked up the hillside. People are walking
up to the town. What is going on? A medieval festival is the draw. We don't
feel like being in a crowd this size so we move on. We can go to a medieval
festival at home, sans castle.
Bright yellow winter crocuses cheer the road edge. Always grape vines.
I think… Grapes are just more mystical than apples and pears. Then up into
rocky gorges into pines and scrubby oak, Luberon National Park. Folks bring
their comfy camp chairs and sit out in the woods, or sleep in padded lounge
chairs. Picnic food is all around, in baskets, coolers, laid out on makeshift
tables covered with gay summery cloths. Europeans are so good at this. Who
needs a back yard with a fence?
Back down the road, the oaks get taller. It is a wonderful drive
today. The ground is covered with sparse buff grass. Evergreens spring up on
the shady side of hills. Wide views. Kinnickinnick. For most of the day the sun
shines but there is a hint of a change in the weather. Have you read, 'Hill
Towns of Luberon' by Peter Mayle. That
is where we are. Gordes. This hill town is touted as a
'must see'. It is a busy place on a late sunny Sunday, the streets full of
tourists. It is too busy for our liking this afternoon. We move on.
Cliffs of white stone, known as tuff, is prevelent in this area.
Sometimes, in the hill pastures, I mistake a run of boulders for sheep. Below
us is an abbey. The fields around it are planted in lavender. Homes seem
tranquil parts of the surrounding land because they are built with the stone
that lies around them. Roads are narrow and corners are a question mark. Is
anything coming? It is all about being pleasant to other drivers on these
roads. It is a must to ensure safety. Often there is an opportunity to blink our
lights and tell an oncoming car that they should proceed first.
We are descending. There are more oaks and less tall pines. A great
drive alone with the elements of nature. Then we are in more fields of agriculture.
Cherry trees. Grape vines without irrigation. Fewer grapes to harvest but
stronger flavor in the juice. A red house sits on top of a gentle hill,
orchards all around, a scene from a picture book. Pointy cypresses in rows. A
plowed crop field is waiting for its seeds, all so perfect to the eye.
Have you ever tried finding a baguette on a Sunday? We finally stop to
ask a lone pedestrian. “Pull in your belts.” he indicates by pulling in his
own! We nod and smile, somewhat disappointed.
September 30
Roussillon. A must-see. I could not stop taking photographs. Ochre red to pastel
yellow painted buildings. Painted doors of yummy contrasting colors. Good
shops, galleries, restaurants. We parked last night in a parking lot. When we
pressed the ticket button to enter the gate, the meter spat out a roll of
tickets. Hmmmm. Guess this night is free. For breakfast we have toasted sliced baguettes
with raspberry jam and eggs scrambled with red peppers, onions and cheese. A
treat, as usually it is muesli and soy milk. This is a very nice town to
explore.
We map out our next moves. We head towards St. Paul de Vence before
going to Nice. A sunny fall day, car windows open, wafting in cool breezes. We
are still in the midst of vineyards, the leaves now turning red-brown. Another
hill town, Bonnieux. We breeze through its columnar walls, dungeon-like
interior. Again it is a heavenly ride through and over rock-treed hills, ice
cream clouds above. A smile on my face awed by all the beauty. What a world!
David loves this kind of driving. He reaches over and pinches my leg. “Yes,
pinch me! Am I really awake and not dreaming?” We get lost in the narrow
streets of Lourmarin, Cadenet, Villeaure, Pertuis, and Peyrolles. The
secret of satisfying travel in a car; punch the small villages into your GPS
and travel along out of the way roads. Jouques – a community of people
sitting on the banks of a little river, all yelling and cheering. We cannot see
the object of their attention. Perhaps it is an annual boat race? Shadows are
getting long. Evening is on its way. We continue. Rians, Esparron, St.
Martin de Palliares, Varages. Olive trees and taverns. Silans de Cascade.
We stop here. Whew! It is 6:19.
October 1
A slow start. We follow a street cleaner, and then we follow a farm
tractor. Is this a message to take things easy today? We pull over to do some
emailing but are distracted by the aroma of Chinese food. ''What do you think?
Shall we?'' 12.50 euro buffet! Hey it is really good! You never know.
On the road again, still in Provence. Iron filigree. Bell towers. Oak
forests and horse ranges. I ask questions of David. He is so good at climate,
agriculture and how mechanical things work. Groves of eucalyptus and pines, red
dirt in the high hills. Tanneron. The sign says that we are “overlooking
the rest of France!” Vallros. It is cold up here! We see a few
sunflowers and small wild flowers as we come down the grade: prickly pear cactus.
Homes scattered and hidden in the hills. We are in the Alps-Maritime now and
can see the Mediterranean. Pegomas. There are lots of communal gardens.
I have written a note by the town of Moujen. It says 'artists'. But we
pass it by. Always we are making choices. We cannot see everything. We arrive
at the coast in a well-to-do neighborhood overlooking Cannes. Oh yes,
the film festival town. The name is intriguing but still we push on. Roquefort
les Pins. Steep bumpy rock cliffs at our side. Narrow road. We barely miss
scraping the side of the van. La Colle de Loup.
And now we are in St. Paul de Vence, our final destination for
the day. This suggestion has come to us with high marks, in the 'do not miss'
category. We have enough time to explore its streets, cobbled with sun burst
designs and 'racing' small long red pebbles. The town itself is perfectly
restored. No shabbiness. Art shops, jewelry, clothing, linens. Whoops! Linens!
We got caught, spent 200euros on a fantastic silk hand-screened tablecloth. Luscious
reds and yellow golds. David and I often meet on a 'yes' decision when it comes
to fabrics... but 200euros worth?
The paintings in these hill towns are never very good. The artists
have found a niche and do the same thing over and over, never moving into new
and challenging work, never really growing. A general statement; don't buy art
in a tourist town, though of course there are exceptions.
October 2
The close whining of a hedge trimmer wakes us out of a sound sleep. I
guess if gardeners are up and at it, it is time for us to get up too. We walk
to the pharmacy, which has everything available without prescription, and then
on to a church to hand over some clothes that no longer fit, a few sizes too
big I am happy to report. Today we visit the Maeght Foundation, which is just
up the hill. Lunch in the parking lot at our camper table draws two women from
Florida. In amazement they ask the regular questions: “Did you bring this
camper from the United States? How long have you been traveling? Do you sleep
in the van? Do you eat in the van? Can you cook in the van? Where is your bed? Your
toilet?” We never really tire in
answering these questions. It's fun and we make new friends.
The Maeght Foundation. Marguerite and Aimé Maeght set up this
wonderful private museum with the vision of presenting modern and contemporary
art in all its forms, art from our era. Architect Luis Sert worked with
painters and sculptors to incorporate art into the building and gardens: the
Giacometti courtyard, one of the world's most famous 'in-situ' works, the Miró
labyrinth filled with sculptures and ceramics, the mural mosaics by Chagall and
Tal-Coat, the pool and stained glass window by Braque, etc. etc. etc. Also
displayed are sculptures, drawings, paintings and graphic works of the 20th
century by: Bonnard, Braque, Calder, Chagall, Chillida, Biacometti, Leger, Miró,
Ubac, Picasso and my favorite, Franz Kline...and contemporary artists Adami,
Calzolari, Caro, Del Re, Dietman, Kelly, Mitchell, Monory, Oh Sufan, Takis,
Tapies.
Web site: www.fondation-maeght.com
Today we see an exhibit that is built around the theme; Artists versus
Philosophers, a fight between the two factions or as the title says, “Adventures
of Truth. Painting and Philosophy: A Narrative.” The artists take off and leave the philosophers behind
in the dust. The philosophers soon gain the lead, but in the end they find that
they need each other for inspiration and meaning. This is quite a unique trip
through some great stuff.
Back to our car where we find a French couple lamenting the fact that
they hit a pheasant with their Alpha Romeo, its feathers stuck to the grill.
“I'm sorry birdy” they say.
So there is still plenty of time in this day to find a campground near
Nice. Gypsy, our GPS, takes us to a camp in the outskirts of the town of
Cagnes-Sur-Mer. We take showers and wash our clothes and bedding. These items
hang all around our camp spot, over the bushes and in the trees and on one line
streetched from fence to fence. It is now 5:30 pm. They will never dry today. Maybe
tomorrow. No clothes dryers here.
October 3
Nice today. We catch a small bus, number 41, at the RV Park, into
Cagnes-Sur-Mer where we transfer. Always a challenge. We have been told that we
can catch the 200, 400, 500 or 94 into Nice, about a 45-minute ride along the
sea. Our angel of the day speaks up with information and help. He is also
riding into Nice and speaks English, American style, as he is originally from
Texas. Robert by name, he married a French girl and has not been 'home' for 30
years. A very interesting and kind man, he shows us the way to what we should
see and takes us to a metro center where we can buy our return ticket. When an
angel like him shows up, life becomes easy; our questions are answered so we
can spend the rest of the day enjoying ourselves.
We head to the Musée National Marc Chagall, which holds the largest
collection in the world of his work. What a time we have here. It is all so
magical. What a guy! His art is full of personal images of happiness in deep
contrasting color, happiness of his youth and Jewish heritage in the Russian
folk village he grew up in. So, so dreamy in the interpretations of his life.
God is everywhere: in animals, flowers, music and love. Chagall lived in the
United States during the war and then returned to close-by Vence. Here are a
few aspects of his art that I really enjoyed...
Self Portraits! Many. He often looked very feminine, both young and
old. Some of his faces wince or grimace but they always capture him. He does
not show himself as the good-looking fellow he was, with a smile like sunshine.
He portrays himself in other ways, like a donkey head or other animal masks, or
an angel with an important message to deliver.
His wife Bella is so important in his life. She is his beautiful
partner. He dances with her in her white wedding clothes, though he has the
head of a donkey! She is his dear friend and model. Their daughter is Ida and she
is also well loved and revered.
There is often a message of God. He seems to have thought himself a
messenger existing somewhere between God and Earth. He was so sure of God's
love for the world he created, love for all of nature. He felt that Jesus was
the sacrificed Jew for his own race.
In 1954 through 1967, to fill a large room in the museum, Chagall did
17 very large paintings inspired by Genesis, Exodus and Song of Songs. This is
an excellent museum that I am fortunate to have experienced. His images will
always remain with me.
The Matisse Museum is just a bus-ride up the hill. Musée Matisse.
In front of the museum, there are groups of men and a few women playing bocce
ball. I am not sure if that is the name of the game here in France, but it is
played all over. We have the chance to stop and observe. It seems such a social
game yet very serious for some, but always the bantering of words back and
forth. Those fun game words we use to poke fun at ourselves and others.
The museum is an older building surrounded by Roman ruins, with an archeological
museum on the same property. One could really spend a day here. Maybe even get
invited to play ball? For us, it was Matisse we were interested in and only
time enough to take in his work. Although it also contains the most work by
Matisse in the world it did not feel that there was a big variety represented.
Very few of the delicious colorful and patterned ones that I admire. I note
that his friends Picasso and Renoir show up in the Matisse painting style. We
learn from others. Try to take the good and use it in our own ways. There was
much of his early work. I greatly admired the examples of his drawings, though
it was quite curious why he always treated the hands lightly, a few swipes,
sometimes leaving them out altogether. Did he feel they were not important or
did he have trouble illustrating hands? They are difficult to most. His drawing
style was definitely his own, strong and sure, a genius at line drawing. When
he was 73 to 76 he designed the Chapel of the Rosary in Vence. He was 81 when
the building was completed.
Another part of his art that is familiar to us all was well
represented, in fact perhaps too well represented, his Cut and Paste era. At
the end of his life when he was ailing, this seems to be the way he expressed
himself. Shapes of color pasted on paper. Designs that are quite modern. The
family gave all these pieces of paper to the museum, even the leftovers. It did
start me thinking about single shapes, the importance of simplicity
Two important artists in one day, in museums devoted just to them.
Bus, bus and bus to home, always with the angst of being unsure of
where to get off! Val Fleuri is our main home stop before the last leg. Here we
met an Australian family who are staying at the same park as we are. Traveling
fools. Sarah the daughter has been traveling alone for three years, sometimes
meeting her parents. This is her time, having already worked and graduated with
two degrees. Her parents are going everywhere! Japan, Canada, the U.S. and
Europe. They gave us information on where to park in Venice, both central and
cheap. We will look for it!
October 4
We are on the bus to Nice again. More to see and now we know our way.
We watch for the dome of Le Negresco hotel, our clue to press the 'demand arrêt'
button. The dome is gorgeous, a peach color with soft blue and ice green top
notch. The main part of the building is white, decorated with rot iron, a bit
like the New Orleans style.
We walk through the Massena Museum gates next door, once a prince's
palace. Very beautiful rooms representing clearly the style the family lived
in. There are murals of the family, paintings, clothing, jewelry, war paraphernalia,
etc. My favorites: three paintings in a gathering room, child angels that
represent the arts: painting, music and philosophy.
These buildings are on the wide promenade street next to the beach so
we walk the promenade east toward the central old town. Today there are
sailboat races. Flags of many countries fly. Folks are gathering to watch. This
event is called the 'Extremesailseries'. Boat specs are posted: 40 ft.
long, 23 ft. wide, 1,250 kg weight, mast 62 ft., mainsail 764 ft. square, jib
82 ft. square, gennaker 256 ft. square, top speed 40 knots. And the crew:
bowman/agile crew deploying and retrieving sails, helmsman/steers the boat with
tiller-arm, tactician/the man with the plan who finds the best strategy,
headsail trimmer/controls the jib for balance and building speed, mainsail
trimmer/controls the biggest sail and how much horse power the boat can manage.
ALSO, a guest sailor is on the boat, usually a VIP of sorts who get 'the ride
of a lifetime'! The race is not ready to begin so we continue on. David has
explained much to me, being a crewmember on many big boats in the Great Lakes,
boats that have participated in the American Cup. He says this race will bore
us.
We have a sandwich and 'frites' in the old section of town at an outside
table, watching this busy French world go by. Fortified, we catch the Hop On/Off
bus to see the bigger city. It is a lovely place. Soft pastel colors of palatial
homes on Cimiez Hill: aqua, pink, a few red, gold-yellow. Brilliant
architecture. First founded by the Greeks, then Romans, the flavors live on. Casinos,
museums, hotels, apartments, all high-end. Palm trees. A tropical beach accent.
We head back to our home on the campground.
October 5
We are now heading east toward the Italian Riviera. Always, in the
towns we pass through, people have white bakery bags. They never seem to miss a
day of shopping for bread and savory and sweet treats. They leave their homes
for this purpose only. A walk to the bakery and enjoy a few bites on the way
home.
We are high above the Mediterranean in the French Alps that come
straight down to the sea. Côte d'Azur. The coastal blue, blue sea. The
towns are colored yellow and orange. The hill, valley and coastline road leads
us to the Italian Riviera. Menton. Ventimeglia. We are in Italy!
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> From the Talmud.
“Do not be daunted
by the enormity of the world's grief.
Do justly,
now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.
You are not
obligated to complete the work,
but neither
are you free to abandon it.” (Thanks to Pastor
Andy)
> Older European ladies
keep up with fashion. Leggings with short
skirts, leather
jackets, very high heels, hair colored and styled. Why
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