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.

Madrid, Seville and Barcelona

OK, so I have to be honest, Spain is a blur for me. This is what I get for waiting for so long to blog about the places. I could go look back at my journal but that would take some time and then I'd spend at solid hour reading and writing and reading and thinking and searching for reasons, missing the seasons, the autumn, the spring, the summer, the snow... You get the picture. It's much safer to sally onward without the journal. And honestly, now that I'm sitting comfortably on a bench by the Thames on a sunny day in London, I have little desire to travel back to a place where I sweat through my clothes on a daily basis and began every conversation with an awkward attempt at breaking the language barrier.

Not that Spain wasn't wonderful. After a few comfortable days in Barcelona pretending this was just a normal summer (sleeping in, watching TV, bumming around in my pajamas and occasionally venturing out into the city for nourishment), we travelled on to Madrid to visit Christine's friend Meredith who I had met once or twice. Meredith retrieved us from the train station, let us stay in her apartment and acted as a tour guide around the city. It's interesting and wonderful at the same time seeing a place through someone else's eyes, not having to figure out every detail on your own, being guided through streets another person knows familiarly. We walked by the Imperial Palace, the Puerta del Sol, through gardens and around streets. Madrid is primarily a city in which people live, its sights a lovely break from the incessant babble of tourists that had been Rome. From trying sangrea to playing British Trivial Pursuit to eating tappas and visiting a piano bar, Madrid was a wonderful time to be had with friends, another nice entry in the saga of the attempt at a regular summer.






Then we went on Seville, a city I have to admit I'm in love with, though I can't quite explain why. It was a bit difficult finding our hostel, but Meredith came with us again and guided us around the city. We walked down by the cathedral and over by the university, exploring a place that I vaguely knew from visiting my senior year of high school. It might just be the nostalgia that I love, but walking again through the cathedral and over to the Torro del Oro sealed the city in a happy memory. That and the random things that make me smile, like Seville organges hanging from trees in squares to finding Amistad street on a trip over to the train station.

Of course, the best thing about Seville was that Pam was there. She arrived the day after we did, running with her duffle bag to hug me in the train station under the huge departures/arrivals board. It's wonderful to actually see good friends, to have them around to share the hours of your time, to have a fresh ear to talk to, a familiar change in dynamics. It was a great moment, having all three mermaids united, laughing over strings of incomprehensible inside jokes.





So together we walked around the city, waited on train tickets and enjoyed the end of our time in Seville. We took a train back to Barcelona and again made our way around town, Pam taking time to shop with Christine and wander to La Sagrada Famillia and down to the seashore with me. I took a morning to myself to walk around the Gothic quarter, enjoying the feeling of being transported back to another place and time before rejoining the group for dinner.

Thus Spain passed pleasantly by, if you can call hours spent in ridiculous heat pleasant. I can. I saw churches and earned myself weeks of reading- Spanish cathedrals have distinct choirs and peculiarities in style whose interpretations are much more manageable now that I've grown accustomed to the space in this particular kind of church. Christine spent time with friends, absorbing the Spanish culture and venturing around. Pam glued us all together and helped the time pass easily by. A cheerful Spanish blur.

Honestly, you can't deny the cuteness of this picture.