I have fairly few notes about Arles, which is nice, because I am sweating profusely and have two letters to write.
I am going to give Arles short shrift, as I want to take a shower and stop sweating. I spent most of the early morning and early afternoon waiting for the bus to Arles, which did not come according to the schedule that I had been given. I saw a bus driver reading between routes and another one getting his lunch out of a little refrigerator in his dash board, which might be a common feature of French intercity buses. This was interesting to me because I have, since childhood, thought of things like bus rides and flights as being mechanized: since they follow strict timetables and rely on large mechanical devices, I have often thought of them as taking place without human input.
The most impressive things that I saw on the way to Arles were whole fields of sunflowers, clumps of lavender (cultivated, but not very big), and flower arrangements on roundabouts. The most interesting thing about lavender, perhaps the reason for its being considered so beautiful, is that it does not jump out at one. While scarlet flowers and those orange, crepe flowers that are so bright and common impress one with their vividness, lavender is striking for its lack of ostentation. A silly analogy is that of the woman wearing seven-inch high heels, way too much make-up, and a bizarre, eye-catching, expensive outfit versus the down-to-earth girl dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. Lavender's flowers are not that big compared to the rest of the plant: they are spaced apart evenly, a little like the corollas of bluebells, but are only really colorful on their tips. Their lightness and evenness create a stronger overall impression than the garishness of their more common cousins, roundabout flowers.
Arles itself was not quite as the Romans left it, as it was developed further in the Middle Ages, but it still felt almost like a Roman town must have; it was stunning. Its Roman remains include an amphitheater, an arena, the remains of a bath, one wall of a forum, and a large, arched wall. One walks through it with mouth agape.
Unfortunately, there are very few words for tings that defy description, such as well-preserved Roman ruins. One talks around them, compares them to other, more familiar things, tries to describe them in physical terms, makes reference to history, and uses a million other little tricks to try to transmit one's feeling to the reader, but it does not always work, and one does not always find time for the exercise. Suffice it to say that Arles was amazing and that I was happy to have gone there despite its having taken three hours to cover the 40 kilometers between Avignon and Arles. Nice public transport, France.
I will have to keep my note about dinner similarly brief. I went out for dinner last night, on my last night in Avignon, for the second time in four days, this time taking the recommendation of someone from the hostel. The restaurant that I ate at was not any better, to my mind, than the more touristy restaurant; what was interesting was its spawning my desire to try more nearby restaurants. I discovered, in Angers, that the consumption of French food spurs one desire for further consumption: having tried that amazing set of pita dishes at the restaurant in Angers, I wanted to try its game and pork cheeks. Having tried the doughnuts at the pastry shop across the street from my hostel in Avignon, I came to want to try the apple tart, apple cake, tart with creme patisserie, clafoutis, almond tart, and flan, the last of which I never got around to, as I ran out of time. One of the sad facts of life is that one always has to work with insufficient data: one cannot possibly try all of the good food in all of the good restaurants in the world, just as one cannot read all of the good books, see all of the good movies, do all of the hikes, or visit all of the interesting places. My impressions of French food, based on the limited data that I have so far gathered, have been overwhelmingly positive.
The rain started last night just five minutes or so after I got in from dinner. It rained on two or three of the days, if one includes nights, on which I was in Avignon, and it rained hard. Avignon seems to be very popular with Asian tourists, proportionally more so than any other city that I have so far visited, and it does not appear to be much of a party town, as the hostel in which I stayed was quiet. Finally, it was interesting to note how quickly my frustration over the bus schedule (and, more to the point, my worry that the bus would not come at all) turned to happiness once I got on the bus to Arles. Travel seems to be full of moments in which one goes from happy to sad to happy again in the course of an afternoon, much like life itself.
That seems like a sufficiently sage note on which to end this letter. Goodbye for now!
I am going to give Arles short shrift, as I want to take a shower and stop sweating. I spent most of the early morning and early afternoon waiting for the bus to Arles, which did not come according to the schedule that I had been given. I saw a bus driver reading between routes and another one getting his lunch out of a little refrigerator in his dash board, which might be a common feature of French intercity buses. This was interesting to me because I have, since childhood, thought of things like bus rides and flights as being mechanized: since they follow strict timetables and rely on large mechanical devices, I have often thought of them as taking place without human input.
The most impressive things that I saw on the way to Arles were whole fields of sunflowers, clumps of lavender (cultivated, but not very big), and flower arrangements on roundabouts. The most interesting thing about lavender, perhaps the reason for its being considered so beautiful, is that it does not jump out at one. While scarlet flowers and those orange, crepe flowers that are so bright and common impress one with their vividness, lavender is striking for its lack of ostentation. A silly analogy is that of the woman wearing seven-inch high heels, way too much make-up, and a bizarre, eye-catching, expensive outfit versus the down-to-earth girl dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. Lavender's flowers are not that big compared to the rest of the plant: they are spaced apart evenly, a little like the corollas of bluebells, but are only really colorful on their tips. Their lightness and evenness create a stronger overall impression than the garishness of their more common cousins, roundabout flowers.
Arles itself was not quite as the Romans left it, as it was developed further in the Middle Ages, but it still felt almost like a Roman town must have; it was stunning. Its Roman remains include an amphitheater, an arena, the remains of a bath, one wall of a forum, and a large, arched wall. One walks through it with mouth agape.
Unfortunately, there are very few words for tings that defy description, such as well-preserved Roman ruins. One talks around them, compares them to other, more familiar things, tries to describe them in physical terms, makes reference to history, and uses a million other little tricks to try to transmit one's feeling to the reader, but it does not always work, and one does not always find time for the exercise. Suffice it to say that Arles was amazing and that I was happy to have gone there despite its having taken three hours to cover the 40 kilometers between Avignon and Arles. Nice public transport, France.
I will have to keep my note about dinner similarly brief. I went out for dinner last night, on my last night in Avignon, for the second time in four days, this time taking the recommendation of someone from the hostel. The restaurant that I ate at was not any better, to my mind, than the more touristy restaurant; what was interesting was its spawning my desire to try more nearby restaurants. I discovered, in Angers, that the consumption of French food spurs one desire for further consumption: having tried that amazing set of pita dishes at the restaurant in Angers, I wanted to try its game and pork cheeks. Having tried the doughnuts at the pastry shop across the street from my hostel in Avignon, I came to want to try the apple tart, apple cake, tart with creme patisserie, clafoutis, almond tart, and flan, the last of which I never got around to, as I ran out of time. One of the sad facts of life is that one always has to work with insufficient data: one cannot possibly try all of the good food in all of the good restaurants in the world, just as one cannot read all of the good books, see all of the good movies, do all of the hikes, or visit all of the interesting places. My impressions of French food, based on the limited data that I have so far gathered, have been overwhelmingly positive.
The rain started last night just five minutes or so after I got in from dinner. It rained on two or three of the days, if one includes nights, on which I was in Avignon, and it rained hard. Avignon seems to be very popular with Asian tourists, proportionally more so than any other city that I have so far visited, and it does not appear to be much of a party town, as the hostel in which I stayed was quiet. Finally, it was interesting to note how quickly my frustration over the bus schedule (and, more to the point, my worry that the bus would not come at all) turned to happiness once I got on the bus to Arles. Travel seems to be full of moments in which one goes from happy to sad to happy again in the course of an afternoon, much like life itself.
That seems like a sufficiently sage note on which to end this letter. Goodbye for now!
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| Arles has an amphitheater. |
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