Fields of lavender

The lavender fields of Provence are a full sensory experience: vibrant colors, the dull buzz of a thousand of bees, the rough scratch of the knee-height plants, the heat of the summer sun overhead, and of course, the pervasive scent of lavender. The fields are in bloom from mid-June through early August, and the season conveniently coincides with Avignon's month-long theater festival. We timed our trip to catch some nature and the first weekend of the city's celebration.

The weekend began with Friday evening's TGV ride that brought us into Avignon just before midnight. After a bit of a fiasco catching taxis, we managed our way to our hotel, outside of the city as lodging within city borders becomes outrageous in July when the theater festival lures in countless tourists.

Things seemed to be going smoothly enough, though we started to question when our car rental agency proved so difficult to find. The cherry on top was the discovery that the agency had completely lost our reservation, and this after hours of effort over the past couple weeks to find any rental agency with cars left when we realized with such short notice that we'd indeed be needing to rent. (Avoiding this adventure, Esteban and Peter opted to stick to the original bike rental plan that took them to another region of Provence.)

Providence being on our side, there just so happened to be another car rental agency across the street from the one we tried, and the second just so happened to have two four-seaters left for our group of eight. It was just before noon and our plan to see the lavender fields, though barely hanging on by a thread, was pulling together.

There were inevitably a few more hiccups: realizing one of our drivers only knew how to drive on the opposite side of the road, running low on iPhone batteries on which we were reliant for our google maps, and nearly stalling for lack of gas, everything somehow worked.

Luck was certainly playing with us this weekend. When we asked a friendly-looking middle-aged couple to snap a photo of us overlooking the lavender fields, we were surprised to learn that 1. they were American, 2. they were professors, 3. they were scientists, 4. the man was, oh you probably don't deal with this much, studying neuroscience, and 5. he was Professor Malinow, someone whose work both Sam and I read regularly! I suspect Professor Malinow, who works at UCSD (in San Diego) has never before found himself confronted by a cheering fan club, certainly not while vacationing in a tiny town in the south of France. He seemed a bit confused by the matter, but his wife certainly got a kick out of it. We had to, of course, get a photo to capture the occasion. Sam tried to take advantage of the situation by googling Malinow's latest articles and speed reading as we walked through town afterward, but it was a one-time run-in. Somehow, though, this wasn't too disappointing. Not only were we charmed by the little town of Sault, whose market has been up and running on Wednesdays since 1515 (loved that street sign!) but we soon were (literally) leaping through lavender fields. It was hard to complain, even if Sam wasn't securing a dream post-doctoral position that afternoon.

Back in town that evening, we got drinks, caught up with Peter and Esteban, and generally amused ourselves with the theater festival posters, street performers and actors creatively selling their plays. (Sam was quite the ladies' man, as you can see.)

Avignon, a medieval walled city, is famous for its bridge which, unlike its London counterpart, really is falling down. The bridge slowly collapsed over some years and, well, no one could be bothered to replace it. This somehow earns it a sort of distinction, and tickets are sold for those interested in walking atop the half bridge. Along the Rhône river banks we caught sundown and I even got in a little nap and a few rolls down the hill. It was a long, beautiful day, and the first summer sun we'd felt this season. Things couldn't get much better, until of course we got to dinner where we thoroughly confused our waiter and had one hell of a three-hour meal. What could be more proper when in the south of France?

France may be hardly Catholic, but it's held on firmly to the sanctity of Sunday. The buses that took us from our hotel to the city center were on the Sunday schedule, only running once every few hours. To kill the time and satisfy our empty stomachs, we soon found ourselves, much to our surprise, sampling the fine cuisine of Buffalo Bill's restaurant, where we might even have the good fortune to win a trip to the USA! (At the least, this was somewhat more exotic for some people than it was for Esteban, Peter, Sam, and me: our group of friends hailed from Russia, India, England, and Italy, so this could still be considered a "cultural experience" of sorts...)

Luckily, the cultural exploration did go a bit further after lunch: we spent our afternoon (post-bag-check hunting) in the Pope's Castle, whose construction began in 1335. You may not have realized (or remembered) that the pope wasn't always based in Rome. In fact, for around a century there were popes operating out of this very castle in Avignon. The Italians, of course, weren't entirely pleased to see the seat of power leaving the country, and the trend didn't last for long. The drama began after a Frenchman, Clement V, was elected pope in 1305. In 1309, Clement V moved the papacy and the succession of French popes who followed brought the church more and more under the rule of the French king. Although the papacy returned to Rome in 1376, rival popes (so called "antipopes") continued to rule from Avignon during what was known as the Great Schism until 1417. This castle doesn't hold a candle to the Vatican. It's mostly unfurnished and decorated with museum-like signs outlining historical events and the importance of a given room. The castle did beat out the Vatican with its resident cat who charms visitors as he proudly patrols the castle. (I hadn't seen any feline friends inside the Vatican museums.) We were fascinated to learn that it was only in the 1980s that some of the vaults hidden under the stone floor boards were discovered, still filled with papal treasure after all these centuries and various lootings. Somehow hidden treasure sounds like such a thing of the past. Who knows what other treasures may still lie hidden within the castle?

We wrapped up the evening with one last lap of the town, complete with lavender-flavored ice cream and a communal attack on several hunks of watermelon over a park bench. The laughter that surrounded our impromptu snack had me smiling more than I had all year. I hardly wanted to board the train home. What a wonderful weekend with perfect weather, beautiful sights, and such warm company.