It was Wednesday, seven days into a nine day trip to France, and we were clearly not yet in the rhythm of Provence. We’d spent the late morning wandering through Beaume de Venise, Vacqueyras, and Gigondas and we were getting hungry for lunch. I had brought a couple of local cheeses and an artisanal saucisson sec with us, so all we needed was a baguette and a scenic spot to eat. No problem, right? We’re talking France – there’s a boulangerie on every corner in every town. We headed into bustling downtown Vaison la Romaine and found……nothing. It wasn’t that there weren’t any bakeries; we quickly spotted four or five as we meandered around. It’s just that it was about 1:30 PM and they were all closed. It seems that in France, the bakers open up early, around 6:00 or 7:00. They stay open until they sell out of their morning bread and then they close until 3:30 or 4:00 when they open up again for afternoon trade. We hadn’t gotten out of the hotel until 10:00 or so (our 10-year-old daughter saw to that), and it hadn’t occurred to us that there would be no bread available at lunchtime. (The horror!!!) After a mile or so of walking around the town, we finally found an open boulangerie and grabbed our baguette as well as a couple of pastries for dessert and headed back to the car. Now all we needed was the scenic location. And after driving back and forth on winding streets in attempts to get to the old part of town, we finally parked in frustration at a dead end and ate while sitting in the car facing a steep, weedy hill. Not exactly what we had in mind and somewhat emblematic of how well we fit ourselves into the Provencal lifestyle on this, my first trip to the area. Still, we had a great time and that is a testament to the pleasures available in the south of France.
We started this whole thing off by driving from Sacramento to Millbrae, a town adjacent to San Francisco International Airport. Our plan was to stay at a cheap motel the night before our departure that would allow us to park the car there for the length of our stay. This was a great way to go – the cost was nearly identical to the cost of parking at the airport, the car was in a fairly secure underground lot, and the shuttle to the airport was quicker and less crowded than the airport parking buses. It also allowed us to avoid the stress of having to worry about traffic issues getting in the way of us making our flight. The motel itself (the Quality Suites) was not great; a bit shabby and musty, but it served our purpose. We spent the next morning walking around Millbrae, a surprisingly charming place with a lovely downtown and many beautiful Mediterranean-style homes dating from the ‘20’s. The shuttle took us to the airport in plenty of time for our 3 PM flight to the Marseille airport, connecting through Paris. This was a nice way to get to Provence as the cost was identical to that of flying into Paris. We were later told that Paris – Marseille is a new flight for Air France, possibly offered to try to lure people away from the train.
The flight was uneventful, although the connection in Paris was tight. They had almost completed boarding by the time we got through passport controls, on a bus, out of one terminal, into another, and through security. We landed in Marseille in the late morning and groggily made our way out of the airport where we took a shuttle straight to Aix en Provence.
In Aix, we stayed at the St. Christophe, a nifty art deco style hotel right off of the main square at the southwest end of town. Our room was nothing too fancy, but it was clean, quiet, roomy enough for the three of us, and well-priced. Aix itself was fine for starting off the trip but not terribly exciting. There’s a university there and students were very much in evidence. The place has a bit of a “party hearty” reputation (we noticed it referred to as “Sex en Provence” in one guidebook) but we didn’t find it too noisy or crazy. Cezanne is the city’s favorite son and you can still sit in some of the cafes he frequented and visit the studio in which he worked during the latter part of his life. That’s about it for Aix, though, unless you have the wherewithal to shop for brands like Hermes, Prada, and Armani.
We did manage to have some great food in Aix. The highlight was at a place called Bacchanale, where they actually use the “T” word (that’s “terroir”) on their sign to push the idea that they do local cuisine with local ingredients. My supper featured a terrific dish they referred to as “lamb confit”. I don’t know if it was actually cooked in fat as per duck confit or if “confit” can also refer to braising. Either way, it was the most meltingly tender and richly flavored piece of lamb I’ve ever had. Dessert was cold banana soup with fennel-licorice ice cream. The soup was a puree of banana with a concentrated flavor that paired beautifully with the light licorice flavor of the ice cream. It was an inspired combination and something I’d like to try making at home. Our shopping funds went primarily to La Cure Gourmande, a wonderland of chocolate and cookies. They specialize in truffles of various types, Provencal specialties like chocolate “olives”, vividly flavored fruit-filled hard candies, and delicious little cookies filled with chocolate or raspberry. It’s a fun place to shop as they offer up lots of samples. We were there at the end of the day and when they rang up our purchases, they gave us a large tin of chocolate olives and cookies which probably contained the leftovers from what had been opened for sampling. (Never underestimate the power of a charming ten-year-old when you’re traveling!) We snacked on these for the remainder of the trip.
We quickly discovered that Provence is big on aperitifs. The hotel offered a number of local specialties including Figoun, a wine-based infusion of figs, fig leaves, citrus, and botanicals. It’s dark, complex, and somewhat bitter; sort of like a weird version of Campari with fig flavor. Another was Melopepe, a sweeter drink with an orange flavor something like Aperol. Of course, pastis is everywhere in a wild variety of brands and colors; apparently, a lot of people around there like their licorice. Much to my wife’s consternation, though, we discovered little in the way of cocktail culture. No Brandy Manhattans for the entire length of the trip!
After two nights in Aix, we packed up and dragged our luggage about a half a mile to Europcar to pick up our rental, where we had our first “out of rhythm” experience. It never occurred to us that the car rental agencies would close at noon. (I was a bit stunned by this revelation until I realized that they re-opened at 2 PM.) This wasn’t ideal as our jet-lagged daughter was not doing well with pulling her suitcase through the streets. Nonetheless, we had to drag everything back to the hotel where they stored the luggage for us while we went and got coffee and pain au chocolat to while away a couple of hours.
Once they re-opened, Europcar was great to deal with. They had the best pricing of the rental agencies we could find on Expedia and they were efficient and friendly. One thing I found interesting was the difference in cost between a manual transmission car and an automatic. Within the same class of car, one with an automatic was nearly twice the cost a car with a manual. We ended up with a VW Passat wagon with a diesel engine and a 6-speed shifter. On the plus side, the car was roomy, very comfortable, and smooth-riding. The engine was a torquey little number that made the car easy to drive in city traffic. As is the case with modern diesel engines, there was no visible smoke and little of that diesel clatter. The thing must have gotten great mileage, too, as we drove all over Provence for four days and used up only ¾ of a tank the whole time. On the negative side, the car had some significant blind spots caused by the rear roof pillars and it had a maddening “collision avoidance” system the beeped loudly whenever we started the car up and tried to back out of a parking place. I finally figured out how to turn the stupid beeper off after three days or so.
Driving in Provence was an interesting experience, and another instance where I never really got in step. I take my driving very seriously – I use my turn signals, I respect other drivers, I try not to impede traffic – and I hate it when others do not do this. So perhaps it was time for my judgmental attitude to receive a little karmic adjustment. It took me quite a while to figure out the etiquette involved in turn signal usage when in a roundabout. There were times when I drove in a confused and spacy manner and it also took a while for my wife to get the hang of navigating. It really wasn’t my personal mission to piss off every other driver in Southern France, but I think that sometimes appeared to be the case given the honking and shouting I encountered. Sometimes, it’s best not to understand the local language.
(Next, Part 2 - L'Isle sur la Sorgue and its environs)
