I was really looking forward to going to Arles for its associations with Van Gogh. There were two minivans of us — about 12 or 15 people — all students from the various language schools in Montpellier, and I had some delightful companions. Hegla, born in Germany, now living in Switzerland, shared the back seat of one van with me and in Arles, during our free hour, we joined up with a lovely young Englishwoman and another German girl, and had a cup of tea in Le Cafe La Nuit, Defying our teachers at our respective schools, we spoke English the entire time.
Today was an incredibly long day. I left the apartment at 8 am, and returned around 10:45 pm. After class I had lunch and then went to Arles. Returning from Arles, Helga and I hurried over to Gare St. Roch (the train station), where I paid the obligatory 50 cents to use the facilities, and then she very kindly walked with me to show me L'Eglise St. Roch — the site of the concert I was attending that began at 8:30 pm. I found a place to sit and a few minutes later, who should come in and make her way to a seat right next to mine but Jacqueline and her friend (another Martine).
The concert was one of Corsican music. According to Jacqueline, it was the president of Corsica who welcomed the crowd (I didn't know there was a president — it is part of France), and then four men, all dressed in black, came out and the concert began.
This was some of THE most incredible music I have ever heard, and the stone walls of the ancient church provided the perfect setting. They began singing a cappella, and the sounds were so resonant, soft, and sweet. They began with some religious chants (which could possibly be described as a mix of styles — Gregorian chant and very, very light barbershop quartet), and from what I could tell from their comments between songs, they also sang us traditional songs from the culture, as well as love songs. Every once in a while one fellow accompanied the singing with an acoustical guitar, but I loved the a cappella music more. The music was so full of purity and tenderness, and awakened such yearning in my heart. As the concert went on, there was one point where I was listening so intently that I was surprised to "come to" and find that tears were streaming down my cheeks.
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| The entrance to the (former) Roman bridge over the River Rhone. |
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| A pont (bridge) that had been built by the Romans and bombed by Americans in WW II. I don't know the name. Our guides were terribly lackadaisical, not providing us with much information as to names and dates, etc. |
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| A street leading up to the coliseum in Arles. |
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| The killing of Le Taureau is now banned in parts of Spain. In France it is only killed in Arles, Nimes, and Beziers. I have read about the art of the bullfight and, even though it's not something I would want to see, I have an understanding of why it is considered an art. After the killing, the meat is eaten, and I wonder if it makes any difference to le taureau if he meets his end in an arena or at Tyson. |
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| This is a bridal party of some sort — I assume it's a bride and her friends. In France, the law requires a civil ceremony prior to any religious ceremony that the couple may choose. The civil marriages take place at "City Hall" (the mairie in a village; le hotel de ville in a larger town). This in the city square, adjacent to the Cathedral of St. Trophime. |
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| Une voiture provided by city officials for all bridal parties to use for their photos. |
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| The garden in the hospital in Arles, where Vincent stayed. |
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| Le Cafe de La Nuit, now Cafe Van Gogh. Being here was very evocative for me. My three companions and I sat at a table — I sat just under that black plaque on the wall — and we had some tea. |
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| Just one little section of an average little patisserie. I think this may be my next pilgrimage — shooting and eating in as many of these places as possible |
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