Je parle d’Arles

I once had a jigsaw puzzle depicting a picturesque French city. The puzzle showed a cafe with a menu board and sidewalk tables, a woman peddling her bicycle down a narrow cobbled street, a man walking a dog, and potted flowers hanging from the balconies. Arles made me feel as if I stepped into that scene.

Prior to our arrival, the primary thing I knew about Arles is that Van Gogh cut off his ear here. The motivation for that act must have been internal; this city could not have inspired it. Arles seems about as perfect as a place can be.

Before I get too poetic about it, I’m compelled to inject a small dose of reality into this travelogue.

La belle France has its share of ugly, just like everywhere else.

For sure, France is an exceptionally beautiful country, and the places that tourists are most likely to go can make it hard to put the camera down. But on the slow train from Marseille to Arles, we passed some areas that reminded us that France is an industrial country which comes with industrial blight.

Granted, not far past the industrial area, the scenery shifted to olive groves, farm fields and hilltop stone villages. Plus, the slow train in France is faster than what passes for high speed in the U.S. (not that I would know, since it only runs between D.C. and Boston), so I spent the ride envying the French of their transportation system regardless of what I saw out the window.

Now on to Arles.

On the banks of the Rhone River in Provence, Arles is an ancient city that was a major commercial hub during Roman times, as we learned at the Musée departemental Arles antique. Today it is popular with tourists, who come to get lost in the winding, picturesque streets while enjoying the delicious sun-kissed cuisine of Provence and walking the footsteps of Van Gogh legacy (hopefully with their ears intact).

Arles is possibly the most pedestrian-friendly city I’ve ever visited, although I may update that opinion when we return to Montpellier, which previously held the title.

We are staying in a chambre d’hote (French version of a bed and breakfast) that feels like a fairytale manor. If you ever come to Arles, I highly recommend La Vagabonde, which has a warm and welcoming hostess and is ideally situated for exploring the city.

A suite fit for Sleeping Beauty, a.k.a Leah.

The Arles vibe is so relaxed. Each narrow street seems to end in a small plaza encircled by restaurants and shops. Central tables are occupied all day and into the evening with people enjoying their coffee, lunch, aperitif, or diner, simply sitting with their friends or family as they share conversation and the pleasure of each other’s company.

Wine in the pleasant plaza near our inn.

This evening, as we enjoyed the aperitif hour (I ordered a pastis, which may be a cliché of Provence, but I had to do it), we were amused by a group of children running around the square with ice cream cones and trying to keep their dog from following two other dogs who were leaving the square. People at nearby tables were leisurely sipping their drinks. One glass of wine to be savored for an hour. We saw no one reorder or get refills. One drink is enough and takes as long as you wish it to take. No one will rush you or push you to order more.

Pastis.

Some random observations ahead.

The Roman amphitheater, or arena, is one of Arles’ top attractions, and Roman sites are thick on the ground here. Not well-preserved is the cirque, which was a chariot racing course. We saw a diorama of it in the museum and it occurred to me that humans haven’t changed that much in 2,000 years; we now just equip it with motors and call it Nascar.

Chariot racing, a.k.a. ancient Nascar.

France is a quiet country. My husband has a small hearing problem and loud noises bother him. In recent years, eating out in U.S. restaurants has become generally unpleasant for him due to the volume of music and other diners. Here in France, whether we are at a table inside or out, we can have a conversation in our soft voices. We don’t hear the conversations of nearby diners, who also speak quietly. And music, when it is present, is low enough to be barely detectable. However, motorcycles, which are among the loudest forms of transportation, are more common here, particularly in Marseille, but at least they pass quickly.

The highlight of the day was meeting up with our northern Michigan friend Madeleine, who lived in France for nearly 20 years and hosts small private tour groups in her beloved Provence. We joined her at the Arles market and had a delightful few hours browsing the stalls, sharing a delicious lunch and visiting with her ex-husband, a chef and cooking instructor. Madeleine knows a lot of people in Arles, as she lived here for 12 years. I haven’t had the pleasure of taking one of her tours yet, but another friend who enjoyed one last winter said it was the best trip of her life and an outstanding value. You can find out more at Cuisine Provencale if you’re interested.

Your future tour guide? And those olives, wow.

Another favorite moment was getting close to a large olive tree in the garden outside the ancient Arles museum. Just the smell of the olives in the market this morning (Madeleine was buying lots of them for her tour guests) made me want to toss my U.S. passport in the bin and stay in France for the rest of my days.

Can you see the olives? Unfortunately, a sign said not to pick. Of course, I know they only taste good after they’re brined.

A flat-bottomed boat raised from the bottom of the Rhone near Arles and painstakingly restored; now in the Arles antiquities museum.

I’ll leave you now with a few more photos of the beautiful city of Arles.