Provence and Occitanie: Day 6
- lendroitheureux
- Jun 5
- 13 min read
Updated: Jun 29
Avignon: A Palace for Pontiffs, a Bridge Dance, and Water Wheels
In Provence and Occitanie: Day 4, I discussed the difference between the TER and TGV trains and the stations which accommodate them. On our trip from Aix-en-Provence to Avignon, we booked a high-speed, TGV train which covered the entire 41-plus-mile trip in about 19 minutes. So that’s about 130 miles per hour. It’s pretty cool. My 4.5-mile bike commute to work also takes about 19 minutes, from one side of the city to the other. In the time it takes me to sweaty pedal my way to work, without leaving the city, this train took us across Provence and over 41 miles. Trains are fast.
As the TGV station is a bit outside of town, we needed to find our way there. I spoke with the concierge at Hotel des Augustins and they were profoundly helpful. In fact, concierges throughout our stays in Europe have been wonderful with their assistance. Whether it be advice about a local eatery, how to get to a metro stop (and how to use it), where to find a bottle of wine and corkscrew at 8:45 p.m. in Paris, or how to get to a train station outside of town, the front desk people at hotels are an invaluable resource. I will do a post about some of the more memorable interactions with the denizens of the desk in the future. But for now, on to Avignon!
A coach bus leaves regularly from Boulevard Victor Coq, just a seven-minute walk from the centrally located landmark, Fontaine de la Rotonde. Tickets cost less than 5 euros per person one-way, and they can be easily purchased at kiosks on the street. This isn't a “bus station” per-se, but instead a street-level transit way with a protective overhang and large passenger vehicles lined up for departure. It's very simple, and the ride to the station was quick and comfortable.
I don't remember the train trip from Aix to Avignon. It went by in a literal blur. The Avignon TGV station is also outside of the town center, so be prepared to find transport into town if you land there and want to see old Avignon. We had a rental car waiting at the TGV so we were all set. We always use SIXT in Europe as they have been reliable, friendly, and even upgraded our ride each time with no extra fee. This time we got a brand new BMW. I was literally the first customer to drive it. I'm not a car guy and don't know what model it was.
After a short drive toward the historic center of Avignon, the mighty, muddy Rhone came into view and then quite quickly the old city walls and ramparts appeared. We were staying at Hotel Regina, smack in the heart of the town. They had a discount deal with some of the parking ramps, so of course I chose to park at “Parking Palais des Papes.” It's a hair’s breadth away from the Papal Palace, underground, below one of the most important historical sites in all of France. I believe I have buried the lede. Avignon used to be the seat of The Holy See. Palais des Papes is the old Palace of the Popes. Back in the 14th century, for reasons we will leave to arcane and anachronistic medieval politics, the popes moved their digs from Rome to southern France, notably Avignon. Suffice to say that the French monarch, Philip IV, wanted to have the powerful (yet meddlesome) pontiff under his thumb and close supervision. Also, Rome was somewhat in a state of disarray, so I have the feeling that some of the church leadership were more than pleased to move to Côtes du Rhone rather than receive a dagger between the ribs.
We checked our bags at Hotel Regina and began our grand tour of Avignon, starting at the Papal Palace. We walked across Place de l’Horloge, a large plaza lined with the opera house, old city hall, and a few touristy cafes. There’s the ubiquitous carousel (merry-go-rounds are everywhere in France) and the eponymous clock tower can be seen over the rooftops as it rings throughout the day. I always appreciate a good Moliere statue staring at me, and there he was, outside the opera house, sitting legs crossed, thoughtful tilt of the head with hand holding head in a quizzical, yet snarky, manner. Perfect!
It was raining. It didn’t matter. The walk from Hotel Regina to the Palais des Papes was only about 5 minutes (longer when you take your time, take pictures, and soak in the ambiance, as we did), and mid-day rain in France hitting cobble stones is one of the great pleasures I find in life.
The courtyard outside of Palais Des Papes is quite vast (the entrance to the underground car park is located there), and one can imagine the incredible hustle bustle, pageantry, noise, crowds, and sheer cacophonous medieval clamor that occurred there each and every day during the 78-odd years the popes resided in Avignon. Kings and queens, aristocrats and merchants, troubadours and visual artists all vied for attention and favor, and every one of them passed through the cobblestone plaza.
For ticketing and entrance fees, we opted for the Avignon City Pass which gave us access to the Palais des Papes, Pont d’Avignon, and the Jardin des Doms garden right outside the palace. There are quite a few more attractions available on the pass that we didn’t take advantage of. If you plan on visiting Avignon and want to see even a few of these sites, it’s worth looking into the Avignon City Pass. The cost of 24 euros at the time of this writing and ease of use made it well worth the effort.
I've heard it said that Palais des Papes is something of a disappointment because it's virtually empty. While it's true that the treasures, splendors, and worldly excesses have all but disappeared along with the popes and anti-popes that prowled its halls, the palace itself is not only worth a visit, it's a must-see site; a destination in and of itself. We spent about 3.5 hours inside, wandering the halls, taking in the fine courtyards, gasping at the views and appreciating the statuary, gargoyles, and sculptures. This place is huge! We take our time when exploring sites like this. I know this because I often see other groups or families start when we start, and they zip on ahead never to be seen again. So perhaps 3.5 hours is a titch on the high end for Palace visiting time, but we didn't get bored in the least.
The kind staff offers a tablet/iPad-type device that you can carry around and scan various QR codes in different rooms. The screen will pull up an image purporting to show what the chamber looked like back in the grand papal days of the 14th century. We borrowed one and used it sparingly. I think they may have had an audio tour as well, but we didn't bother. There are always placards and signs explaining things, and sometimes following a tour gets tedious. We go where we want!
Speaking of doing what I want: while most of the rooms were not only bare of decor, the fine, brilliant paint and frescos that adorned them had all but faded throughout, creating that old-timey stone castle interior look we are all familiar with from, well, seeing castles via any medium like TV, movies, or video games. But, and this is a grand big but, there are a couple chambers (bed chambers, chapels, and office rooms I believe) with the wall paintings still extant. And boy howdy how extant and grand they be! Holy Moly! Bless the anti-pope! Hues of brilliant sky blue with vine patterns forming a mesmerizing wall decoration that makes it difficult to believe the colors are 700 years old.
There are a few painted rooms cordoned off that one can only look at, but there are a couple larger rooms you can walk through that have shockingly aqua walls. It seems as though blue was a favorite color of the popes or medieval rich people in general or that this particular dye or paint has some extra staying power. Regardless, it's there, it's great, and you should go see it. There are signs in the painted rooms asking people to not take pictures. I, of course, in my hyper flatulence and extreme excitability, did not see the sign in one particular room before snapping a few shots. I adhered to policy thereafter.
The lack of decor inside the palace gives the modern-day visitor a great perspective on how vast the rooms and great halls are. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you, gentle reader, that when we stood at opposite ends of certain halls we could barely see each other. Once, I decided to dip into a side chamber off a great hall and Lani lost me. I was lost in the eyes and faces of the men sculpted into the sarcophagi I found. Lani, after backtracking and searching for a while, finally found me and scolded me like a medieval nun would berate an errant pottage boy. No matter. I was standing in a 14th century pope's house and beaming, blissful, and bright as Benezet building a bridge.
In the lower treasury room (which only the Pope, his chamberlain, and the treasurer could enter), large sections of the floor stones had been pulled out. The rectangular holes were covered in clear plexiglass (not before many people had tossed a voluminous amount of money from all over the the world into the various pits). These were hidden treasure vaults, used to store some of the most valuable and prized papal loot. It worked. These hidden alcoves remained hidden until 1985! Simply amazing!
Good thing we wandered in this palatial palace for over 3.5 hours, as it was raining quite hard outside. We could see and hear it from time to time while playing papacy, and when we walked outside to the grand plaza, all the stone and cobble was wet and slippery. That is one of the things about touring around old European cities with medieval-esque town centers; the cobble stones and other non-asphalt surfaces can get quite slippery. I know this goes without saying, but wear sensible shoes and watch your step. Not only because of the slipperiness, but also for the odd surface-level changes or weird items that may protrude from the ground or walls lining narrow streets. For example, there are a number of iron half-circles embedded in stone walls and walks. They were, and are, used to scrape mud and, ahem, other debris off of one’s footwear. If one isn’t paying attention, they can also get caught in one’s footwear and topple one over, painfully. Avignon is one of the more cobbled and slippery town centers we have visited. Watch your step.
Now that I have wiped your attention span with the iron bar of my words, I would like to refer back to St. Benezet, whom I previously mentioned building a bridge. St. Benezet’s Bridge, or Pont de Avignon, is a quite famous semi-span into the Rhone. I say “semi-span” because only 4 of the original 22 arches still remain, and the bridge is more of a pier now with a gatehouse and a chapel (yes, of course, there is a chapel on the bridge). Christian myth and legend has it that, in 1177, a young shepherd boy named Benezet had a vision that God told him to build a bridge over the Rhone where it passes Avignon. I am sure it was the almighty Lord having a say, and not the fact that rural folk needed a reliable passage across the rushing waters in order to get goods to the urban market. Anywho, the local church folks finally got into the idea, the bridge was built, miracles occurred during its construction, and Benezet is a saint. The original wooden bridge was largely destroyed and the current stone structure came to be around 1234. The bridge is well-known to young people (and former young people) who have studied French in school as the eponymous “Pont d’Avignon” of song. I will not sing it to you. You can look it up. Suffice to say it’s a dandy little diddy about dancing on the deck of the bridge. “ON Y DANSE, ON Y DANSE!”
And dance we did! I like to say that I am the first, and only, white man over 50 from the USA who did a Crip Walk on St. Benezet’s Bridge in the month of March. If you can disprove this truism, please do. You are most likely familiar with the C-Walk, a poetic form of dance and expression created in the 1970s by gang members in Los Angeles. It has evolved over time and penetrated mainstream culture as evidenced by almost any Kendrick Lamar music video and Serena Williams at the Super Bowl LIX halftime show. Was it cultural appropriation on my part? Perhaps, although I have not capitalized and profited from my “dance.” Anywho, I did one. It was the worst example of a C-Walk in human history. There is video evidence and none shall see it. It shall never come to light, unless someone challenges my title as “First and Only White Male Over 50 from the USA to Crip Walk on St. Benezet’s Bridge in the Month of March.” And even then, probably not. ON Y DANSE!
The bridge is a short stroll from the palace, and is included on the Avignon City Pass. It has outdoor elevators for disability access (which is never a given at these old historical monuments). I have read reviews of the bridge on various on-line forums and review sites that have panned it, giving it a poor rating because…. It’s a broken half bridge and boring with nothing to see. I say phooey to that. Not all of France is Versailles and not every monument and site will be glittering gold. Take them for what they are, relish in the history, the stories and the fact that untold numbers of people, from royalty to popes to peasants roamed the paths you'll be walking. You don’t have to linger long on the bridge to get the essence of the experience, but take a peek at the chapel and definitely do a dance, Crip Walk or otherwise. The bridge is cool.
After our foray into dancing Côtes du Rhone, we walked the old city. There were a few sites that we had to check out before heading to the hotel to check in. Place Saint-Didier and the fine Gothic 14th century church of the same name, the old city walls and ramparts, and water wheels! Yes, dear reader, at the top of my list of things to see in Southern France were the still-a-spinning water wheels of Rue des Tienturiers. Tienturiers has a small canal running its length and thus became the center of the city’s textile industry, starting in the 14th century. Now, it's a bucolic, shade tree stroll with many cafes and even more theaters. I knew Avignon had a large, annual theater festival (begun in 1947), and yet I was unprepared for just how many small theaters line the streets. In the summer months, especially July during the festival, I'm sure that Rue des Tienturiers is packed with throngs of tourists. On our day, it was quite quiet. A few locals milled (see what I did there?) about, sitting at cafes and relaxing in the late afternoon. I just wanted to see water wheels!
I thought I had seen water wheels at some point in my life. Then, while planning the trip, it occurred to me that what I compartmentalized as “having seen” in real life were actually images from video games like Skyrim, Kingdom Come Deliverance, and even Zelda: Breath of the Wild. My fantasy RPGs had shown me water wheels, and I'm sure movies and TV as well, but I wasn't sure I had seen one (or four as would be the case on Tienturiers) before my real-life eyes. I grew more and more excited as the time drew near to promenade down Rue des Tienturiers and watch working wheels. Honestly. I was not disappointed. Yes, they were slowly spinning relics of an era long past. Yes, they weren't functional in that they weren't running looms or milling grains. Yes, the wee little endorphin producing water wheel in my brain popped off and started spinning wildly as I finally got to see the turning and churning delights in person. The street was so peaceful, and the wheels nary made a sound as they labored on with their eternal roll to nowhere. I loved it all!
After finally checking in to our hotel, we took a short walk in search of a bottle of wine and snacks (Hotel Regina is ideally situated close to everything you would need by foot). We relaxed in our high-ceiling, two-balcony chamber and looked for a nice spot to have dinner. I had read a blog post on La Ramoneta, a splendid website about Southern France by someone who lives there (via Amsterdam), in which they highlighted an Avignon restaurant called C’est la Vie. I used La Ramoneta quite a bit when planning this trip and this is but one example of how it really came through. C'est la Vie is a Middle Eastern bistro with a tiny interior (three, maybe four tables) and a few outdoor tables. It was threatening rain and quite windy when we decided to walk there. Upon arrival just before 8 p.m., we were informed that they were expecting a group of 12 at 9 p.m. So we had a choice: skip it and go elsewhere, or huff and puff and eat our meal in a most uncharacteristically French manner: quickly. We chose the latter, and decided, wisely, to sit inside, and are happier for it.
The owner/host of C’est la Vie can only be described as outgoing, friendly, gregarious, and enthusiastic. Ok, perhaps one could use more similarly glowing adjectives, but I'll stop at four. We are both very accustomed to Middle Eastern food, so we dove right in. We began with a small hummus and bread entree, and then I got a Mediterranean Plate with falafel, hummus, tzatziki, and a salad. Lani got a fish of the day on a bed of vegetables with sweet potatoes. Both were perfect. Along with a carafe of red, we were set. We were placed at a cozy table cozily situated next to two sisters, locals, who were lightly juiced from the bottle of wine they were sharing with their meal. I say lightly juiced because what happened next seemed all too un-French to me: three parties (us, the owner, the sisters) struck up a rather raucous conversation. It was quite fun, and yet I couldn't help but think about how many times I was told (via blog and vlog) that the French really keep to themselves at dinner, and one should keep voices down and don't intrude on others’ space. None of us were intruding and the conversation flew from the one of sisters' in-ground pool (it gets very hot in southern France) to visiting New York City to the owner telling me I should not have planned to visit Nimes on this trip and that we should go to Gourdes instead (I did not take his advice), to drinking morning coffee, Nostradamus' house, and dental visits.
We laughed, we shared photos, we did not cry. Through it all, we ate like champions, finished our meal in the record time of one hour, drained the last drop of red, paid our small bill (a very affordable restaurant, C’est la Vie), said our Bon Soirees to the sisters and were just stepping over the threshold when the 9 p.m. party of 12 was arriving. Somehow the owner had already cleared our tables and pushed them together for the merry band of diners, and all involved were pleased.
We strolled back to the hotel in a light sprinkle, nicely sated and ready for rest. And rest we would need, as we had a car waiting in a pope's garage with the intent of heading off to Arles the next day to see Roman remains and all things Van Gogh. Tune in next time for all the fun and exploration from Arles, the North of Camargue, France!
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