At The Train Station

In A Writer’sParis, Eric Maisel explains that he likes to write in public places and that for him, bus stations, especially those with international connections work well.  There, he says, “every few minutes a drama unfolds.”

As it was, the first drama of my recent trip to France unfolded at the train station in Figueres, before I had even left town, as I was waiting to catch an early morning train north to Cerbere for the first leg of my journey.

A few drops had just started to fall as I left home, although not enough to open an umbrella.  But before long real rain was coming down and my umbrella went up.  I kept myself relatively dry and figured the suitcase would take care of itself.  Later, when I unpacked in Avignon, I found that suitcases do not necessarily take care of themselves and some of my clothing had become wet.  But that wasn’t the drama.

At the station there was, as is usually the case, a very long line to buy tickets from the single open window.  And as always, there was an employee walking the room to tell us that if we were paying in cash, we could buy our tickets on the train (theoretically if you don’t board with a ticket in hand, you face a fine).  I chose to forgo the line and board.  My ticket to Cerbere, France would cost 1.90 euros and I had enough cash for that.

Waiting at the platform for my train, the promised drama began to unfold.  The train for Barcelona begins its run at this station and was sitting, available to be boarded.  To reach it from the station, one had to descend the stairway, pass under the tracks, and climb back up on the other side.  At the top of the stairs at the station end stood a man with a large suitcase.  His wife was some feet behind him, evidently hesitating to take the plunge.  He was shouting at her and she was shouting back at him, but to add emphasis to her point of view, she was also stamping her foot. 

The drama would have been more complete if I could actually hear what they were saying.  Unfortunately, I was too far away to hear what they said or even what language they were shouting it in.  I presumed that their dispute had to do with whether or not to board the train without having bought their tickets at the station.  Then again, they could have been arguing about anything, as couples do.  However, unlike my own train that still had some minutes before its scheduled departure, theirs was just about to leave.

When the loudspeaker announced that the train was departing imminently, she gave way.  He, having a head start, arrived at the train first, but the doors had already closed.  Now we were getting to the real drama.  Would the train leave without them?  And if it did, how would the two react?

But the station master quickly put an end to my drama.  He called out to the engineer to open the door, and the two were let on.

With my drama thus deflated, I was left with my own thoughts and expectations for the week ahead.  There would be no drama with a companion.  I was travelling alone.  There would be no arguments, no compromises.  For me, travelling alone is easy in some ways and difficult in others.  I have done it many times now, and I love the freedom to plan my own itinerary, set my own schedule, and do things at my own pace.  But evenings alone can be difficult and of course, there is no one to share impressions with.

First sojourn would be in the monumental, riverside town of Avignon.  I’ve been there so many times now that it’s become my home away from home. 

The Hotel Colbert
My room off the patio was through
the small brown door at the back

Colorful city-run bike sharing

Oh my!

One of several favorite restuarants

Coming up from behind the
Palais du Papes

The Popes haven't always lived in Rome
Sometimes they lived here in Avignon

Le Chapelier Toque, another
favorite restaurant and probably the best

Baba au Rhum to die for
I was so anxious to taste it I didn't wait to take the photo

N.B.  The train station in the photo above is not Figueres -- it's the much prettier Portbou.

Avignon Revisited

While Avi was here visiting, having never been to France, we went to Avignon.  The city was as engaging as ever, good for walking, good for eating, good for taking photos.  I managed to fit in my usual walk across the Rhone River to Villeneuve-les-Avignon and the requisite short stroll along the rue des Teinturiers – my favorite nook in the city -- where the 19^th century dye works used to be and where you can still find some of the old waterwheels that ran the industry, nestled in among the huge plane trees.  We also visited some nearby villages, but more about that another time.

The French have the reputation of being unfriendly, but I have not found that to be true.  After my trip to France last year I wrote a post about the café where I had my coffee and croissant each morning and the friendly barista who worked there.  I went back to see him (and have a coffee and croissant) on my latest visit.  He didn’t remember me at first, but it didn’t take long before he did.  He was as friendly as before and this time I managed to take his photo.  Voila!  Meet Bruno from the Tapenade Cafe.

 

Bruno

 

Palais des Papes (Palace of the Popes)
approaching from the rear

 

Palais des Papes

 

 

 

 

Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse, l'on y danse
 

 

Across the way is the bistro Ginette & Marcel
a great place for a snack

 

No Michelin stars, just homey atmosphere
and home cooking

 

Rillettes!

 

Most people were snacking outdoors

 

Breakfast at the Hotel Colbert

 

 

City ramparts

 

Rue des Teinturiers

 

 

Photos of France are not complete without
CHEESE!

 

 

Rue des Teinturiers

There are several things I like about Avignon.  I like that there are many very good restaurants, some of them very expensive (and probably worth it, although I haven’t tried those myself), some affordable enough if you’re splurging on vacation or for a special occasion, and some where you can eat well in a delightful environment for 10 euros or less.  Then there’s the river.  I’ve lived all my life near an ocean (or sea) and at this point, I prefer river.  Some places have rivers but no riverside sidewalks or paths (Tortosa is one such place; the promenade along the Ebre is lovely, but it’s only about two blocks long) whereas you can do a lot of walking along the Rhone.  And third is the rue des Teinturiers, a wonderfully atmospheric small street in the heart of Avignon.

 

 

 

 

 

I had written in an earlier post that the rue des Teinturiers was the most evocative street in Avignon.  But evocative of what?  Of tranquility, of beauty, of a village and of a time gone by.  And why, you may ask, would you want to feel you’re in a village when you went to all the trouble to go to the city of Avignon, famous for its gigantic granite palace?  Because the grass is often greener on the other side, that’s why.  And sometimes you get to have both.

 

 

 

 

The canalized Sorgue River runs along the tree-lined street.  Here is where the 19^th century dye works were housed that once made the cotton printed fabrics that Provence is still known for.  You can stroll along the river, beneath large leafy plane trees, passing small, mostly funky shops, welcoming cafes, and the occasional waterwheel.  If you go in October as I did, when there are not many people about, you might even be transported to another time.    If you prefer to be transported directly from home, get yourself one of these music CDs, Les Grandes Chansons Francaises or Piaf: The Voice of the Sparrow.

 

The End