sur le pont d'avignon

You all might have noticed that my brain is wired in such a way that one word, phrase or object will instantly call up a song. For instance, when I hear the words “Last night” I either think to myself, or, more often than not, sing, “Last night I watched him sleeping, once more the nightmare came…” from Miss Saigon. Or, even more ridiculously, when I hear “Marseille,” I think “Allons enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé…”
[Four years ago, when I was spending the weekend with some French friends in Normandy, I was in the kitchen (which was open to the living room) while my friend’s mother talked to her cousin about his recent move to Marseille in the living room. As I was pouring myself a glass of water, I thoughtlessly began to sing the Marseillaise. And though I had been singing quietly, conversation in the next room ceased. Raucous laughter followed a brief pause (for the sake of clarity, I was not involved in the raucous laughter).
“Oh!!!!!!I (gasp for air between bouts of intensive giggling) knew (HAHAHAHAHA) you (ha….ha…HAHAHA) looooooooved France, but I (gasp….ha. ha. HAHAHA) didn’t realize you loved it (heh) that much!!!!!!! Our little American who hums the Marseillaise in the kitchen!”]

That being said, you all might imagine my first reaction to Stéphane’s invitation to Avignon….

Yes. That’s right: “Sur le pont d’Avignon, on y danse, on y danse…” This time, though, Stéphane and I laughed together, which was decidedly more pleasant. Anyway, you can only imagine my delight at actually having found myself “sur” the pont d’avignon. It was lovely and exciting for me; the above picture was taken on the bridge. I was too timid to actually pretend to be dancing in circles for my photo, though the thought did cross my mind. But then, just when I was contemplating being that silly, I saw a Chinese girl about my age striking a sort of jazzercise pose for her picture. It was at that point that I thought perhaps I would not dance on the bridge. My apologies to all disappointed parties.

Other than the famous "Pont," I visited the Pope’s Palace (or…“papal” palace?), strolled through the adorable but cold and empty streets, learned why people talk so much about “The Mistral” and otherwise had a wonderful time. First of all, knowing nothing about Catholicism and knowing almost nothing about old European history, I was not aware that the seat of the Catholic Church was in Avignon for over a hundred years, beginning the 1300’s. And so, much to my surprise, there is a fairly ornate, medieval Vatican of sorts in the southern part of France. Also surprising (and funny, especially) is that on the medieval frescoes in the papal chambers are naked women bathing. Maybe they had different definitions of papal chastity back then…? Unfortunately, no photos were allowed inside the palace, so you will all have to come see for yourselves what I am talking about.

Now. The Mistral: before I encountered it in real life, my reaction to the mention of the allegedly cold and bitter wind that blows through the south of France on occasion was the following: I am from Michigan—don’t you think I know what glacial winds are? Apparently, I did not know. No no no. I definitely did not know. The much talked about Mistral turns out to be a wind that approximates those nasty Canadian polar winds that sometime knock around Michigan in the dead of winter, but the Mistral is colder, stronger and sneakier. The Mistral swirls and slaps, whistles and squeals across the corners and roofs of houses, and you can hear the gales coming from afar from the groaning and snapping of the trees. You’ll say “oh, but we have that in Michigan.” Yes, we do, but the Mistral is worse. Soooooo much worse.

Needless to say, there are few tourists in Avignon this time of year. But despite the Mistral, the narrow, cobble-stoned streets; the sunny, sycamore-lined squares; and the not exceedingly expensive gourmet restaurants with exceedingly fresh, inventive fare, were all so charming that I can’t wait for the opportunity to go back one day for the festival in the summer time.