Avignon
On Friday, Jan. 2, I had my last bit of fun, when we visited the grand city of Avignon. I was looking forward to seeing the 14th Century Palace of the Popes, as well as the famed bridge of d'Avignon (folk song we used to sing in high school French class). This is another walled city, and we tried without luck to find parking outside the walls; so Tom decided to plow straight into the downtown, and inside we found street parking with no problem!
Avignon is a very grand city, much larger than Arles, and with a university, so there were students everywhere (and tourists). Walking through the elegant streets to the tourist office (to get a map), past plazas and city hall decorated with French flags, past stately old churches, past the city theater, it seemed all roads led to the Papal Palace.
Here is a palace that actually felt like a palace (photo below). But I'm afraid by the time we got to this point, my stomach was telling me I needed to leave. I tried to ignore it, and we walked up into the lovely gardens behind the palace, to see the views of the famed Pont St-Bénézet bridge (or its remains, to honor Mme. Henry from my 10th grade). But it was no use, and I prevailed upon Tom to cut this daytrip short and head back to Arles. By the time we arrived back, I had a nasty case of what I assume was food poisoning (those damn leftover runny chocolate cookies, I suspect). I spent the next 36 hours in bed, getting up only to keep Tom company while returning the rental car, and then a bare minimum of gift-shopping. Ugh. Thank goodness for ginger ale. (But France had the worst tomato soup; bright red and thick, it tasted like zucchini soup.)
