South of France

"Nous avons besion de trois billets a Aix-en-Provence aujord'hui."
"Le hotel, c'est tres loin d'ici?"
"Parlez anglais?"

We took several long trains to get from Barcelona to Aix-en-Provence in the south of France. We talked to a Canadian woman who was visiting a friend and planning on cycling around the countryside that she herself had backpacked through when she was our age. We talked to an English man on his way to house-sit for a friend who clarified that the loud group of boys behind us was speaking Catalan and who explained the Spainish rail system to us. Upon arriving in Aix, a little old Frenchman who spoke no English offered to help us find out hotel. He explained that we'd need to take a bus. So he walked us around town, up some stairs and over to the bus depot where he asked after the right bus for us and sent us on our way. After I made us get off a few stops too early, a kind man at the gas station called us a cab and the woman who pulled up in a cab commented on the size of our bags in an amused voice, happy to bring us all the way into the hotel.

And that's pretty much how the south of France went. From Aix-en-Provence to Marseilles to Avignon, people were kind and helpful. (Sometimes a little too kind- the cat-calling we had been warned about in Italy didn't rear its head until France.) As we watied at the bus station the morning after our arrival, we were offered a ride, which we declined, but later, as I watched an kindly French grandmother hitch a ride on a similar truck, I began to realize that hitchhiking is a legitimate thing here. In general, despite the heat, it was a lovely place to spend a few days.

Marseilles saw Pam and I spend a day climbing the hill to Notre Dame de la Guarde to look over the city and see the islands featured in The Count of Monte Cristo,

wander down to le Vieux Porte to eat a wonderful crepe and walk up and down the busy streets, ordering icees and posing with statues. That night, we watched French movings on TV and talked over the characters with our own interpretations of what their lines should actually be.

Aix-en-Provence is a small town, though charming. By the time I had arrived to catch up with Christine and Pam in the afternoon, we had time to walk over to the astrological clock

 (apparently those are big over here) and find a Tex-Mex place for dinner before catching one of the last buses back. We sat in the upstairs room of the tiny restaurant, talking about Cosmic and Chapel Hill and all the things we missed but would be back to soon.

Our day in Avignon was quite nice, spending the afternoon walking by street performers and actors in town for the festival.

This jazz band was Pam's favorite.

We saw the famous bridge,

 and the Palais des Paupes,

amusing ourselves by stopping for this jazz band or that acting troupe. Pam whiled away the half hour we waited for our train by taking pictures of the Fabulous Invisible Man wearing her battle-torn Sparkly Toms.

Back to Marseilles for one last evening wandering down to the concerts by the Old Port and then we had to say goodbye. We were all splitting for a few days at least- Christine to Belgium to visit the chocolate and the waffles in Brussels, me to Lyon to see a friend and visit a few churches and Pam back home to follow her miracle European adventure with a trip to DC and a return to work. Even the most pleasant of times must pass away. (Why do I always have to sound like a consoling greeting card when I'm sad?) But I have unequivocable proof that out time with Pam was amazing beyond the scope of the word- I cried as I left her to a couple hours' sleep in a hotel in Marseille. Maybe it's part of having a life that seems almost like a movie from time to time- you learn to shed tears at the appropriate scenes.

Nah, it must be because I really miss Pam.

Still, reaching beyond our halfway point in our journeys, we carried on. A quick trip over to Lyon and I left the south of France behind with its good food, good peopel and good memories.