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| Author : GEORDIEandVIRGINIA | Diary name : Gullibles_Travels | ||
| 23 May 2004 : Avignon - France | |||
| By the rivers of Avignon | |||
| Without any further ado Geordie and Virginia are pleased to announce: ‘From Colonge to Avignon in a Day, or: The Paris Train Station Nightmare’. The journey from Colonge to Paris was great. So far traveling by train has been much better than flying and definitely has my cramp of approval. On arriving at the Paris Train Station we try to find out where our train for Avignon departs from. We have an hour and a half before the train leaves though, so no worries, plenty of time. We go for a long walk with all our baggage and finally spot a monitor. Our train to Avignon isn’t on it. Ok, don’t panic. Still have just over an hour till departure time. There were very few signs around that we could read and we had no doubt that even the muggers would refuse to speak English. Ok, where’s the information desk? There were not many people around and no station staff to point us in the right direction. You’d think that given the French government employs nearly a third of the population in France they could put a couple of humans in their largest rail station. After some aimless wandering (thankfully not in circles) we find an information booth which through some head office management error had staff for the day. Bonus. Virginia is tired but goes to ask what the story is about the missing train. She comes back and says that we have to catch the train from over there. Ok, “Where’s the platform?” “Down there”, she says. I follow the finger and see 4 different sets of stairs. Some going up and some going down and some going no doubt to nowhere. “Which stairs do we take?” I ask. “That one”, she says, gesturing vaguely to all 4. I am already moving before I hear the “I think” tacked on the end. The part of my brain which looks out for timeshare traps and marriage related conversation put the brakes on. I head back to the over staffed information booth myself. After a few quick questions it was sorted. It was the most distant set of stairs, of course. 1 hour to go. We go down the stairs and come to a ticket gate. No one around to purchase a ticket from. Only automated machines. No surprises there. Virginia figures out how to purchase some tickets for the gate. It was only because of her French dictionary that we managed to get tickets for the train and not a canal tour of Brittany. T minus 40 minutes till balls-up. We get to an escalator and a set of stairs. I jump on the escalator with my baggage and turn to find that Virginia is tackling the stairs with her suitcase. One at a time. She must be tired. I get off the escalator at the bottom and dump my gear. I am tempted to sell tickets for the small crowd gathered to watch Virginia lugging her suitcase down the stairs. One big African guy shakes his head at her just the way I do. We make eye contact and he signals his condolences. I run back up the stairs and take over. I carry her suitcase back to the top of the stairs which by this stage involved a total of three steps. “I didn’t want to over balance”, she said. Right-O. Down the escalator. 30 minutes. Starting to perspire. We get to the platform. Our train has just pulled in. I jump on and look back to see Virginia yelling this isn’t the right train. I get off and run back to her. “This train says it’s going to ‘Lyon’, not ‘Avignon’”. I patiently explain that we are catching a train to Lyon station to catch the train from there to Avignon. Somehow in the conversation Virginia had with the guy at the information desk she managed to miss the concept of catching our train to Avignon from another station….. That clarified we watch the train pull away. Ok next train in 10 minutes. I eye the time with the knowledge that if Virginia needs to go pee we are completely stuffed. We get on the next train ok. We are now officially behind schedule and anyone that looks at us can tell. We get off at Lyon to find no information booths, no ticket counters, no directions written in English not even French rail workers on strike. At least the French rail system is consistent. There are about 10 different exits that we could take. Which direction for our train to Avignon? We travel up and down the interior looking for clues to our fading destination. Finally we spot some maintenance guy tinkering with the gates. Somehow we manage to convey to him where we need to go. I think the word ‘Avignon’ gave us away. A finger was all we needed. Off we went hoping that he knew that Avignon was in France. We come to another ticket gate that would on no uncertain terms let us out. It wants a ticket. What ticket? Oh, must be the one we brought ages ago at the other station to get in. Luckily I didn’t biff mine. I knew Virginia would still have hers. She is keeping stubs of all kinds to remind her of this trip. I turn to explain this to Virginia who has, of course, buggered off. Sigh. I wait anxiously. She eventually comes back having nothing better to do and I pass her the ticket. Probably spotted something shiny. (To be fair I find out later that she went to look for a ticket machine. Just forgot to tell me) Ok, 10 minutes to go. We run as fast as we can which is to say with all our bags we nearly broke into a walk. We found a sign showing our platform. I took Virginia’s heaviest bag and sent her packing. I reached the top of the stairs after her just in time to stop her from getting on the wrong train. Didn’t her mum teach her left and right? Long day and we were pretty tired. We jumped on our train with 2 minutes to spare and I asked Virginia how she enjoyed Paris. Dogs. The French love them. They take them everywhere for walks and it is common to see people at a café holding their dogs on their laps. Of course when walking through the small alleyways you have to watch out for little doggie messages, although your nose usually reminds you when to pay attention. One thing I noticed about the French and Germans is that they are very fond of spitting in the street. Often while avoiding doggie handiwork you will also notice little splashes of phlegm. Delightful. Of course Virginia is very taken with the idea of owning a dog and taking it to café where she can have it on her lap and it can do a quick Jackson Pollack on the way home. I have suggested that we “rent a dog” from the SPCA for a week just to see what it is like. One week of cleaning up some doggie pop art should add a dose of reality. While in Avignon we played tourist and took a small ‘train’ ride through the streets. We went though an alleyway and at the end a Frenchman had parked his car and buggered off. We sat there for ages and eventually he returned. Instead of apologizing he started arguing with our driver. The Scotts blood in me was very proud that we only paid for a 45 minute tour and we got an hour. Afterwards we had a snooze in the sun and awoke to the smell of candy floss. They had all sorts of different flavors – vanilla, coco, chocolate (what’s the diff?) passion fruit and boring normal. Yum. The smell of candy floss sure beats the pop art. Avignon has delightful courtyards that catch the sun at different times of the day. One day you might see a café in the morning and its courtyard would be in shadow, the next time it would be bathed in warm afternoon sun and the smell of its hot chocolates and croissants would be irresistible. On the morning we leave Avignon, we sit on a bus winding our way through the streets, in and out of the city walls and around trees planted in the middle of the road. Virginia spots a poster of Brad Pitt in one of his coming movies and almost gives herself whiplash. This is the girl who once bought a copy of Vanity Fair just because it had Brad on the cover. “I bought it for the articles.” She explained with a straight face. Behind us an elderly man with a Fez snores quietly. Avignon has been impressive. The Papal palace built when Avignon was the capital of Christianity was breathtaking. An enormous castle overlooking the river Rhone, it includes two huge chambers for dining and ceremonies. Artists from all over Europe were commissioned for paintings and sculptures with little expense spared. The details from the period have been meticulously recorded by Papal scribes. One feast that they celebrated involved 1000 sheep, 800 cattle and 95,000 loaves of bread. While parts of Europe were starving the heads of Christendom were partying. I can see why Friar Tuck hated the Bishop of Hereford so much. Four days were spent in Avignon and we mainly soaked up the history of the place. We wandered the cobblestone streets and I indulged in trying out each different flavour of ice cream that was on offer. From Avignon we decided to head for Sete. Why? Well it was on the coast and it looked like a nice place to go. Wasn’t in the guide book, but then not everywhere can be. Well Sete was rather a wet sack experience with most shops shut and the art gallery closed. Looks like one of those places that really exists just for tourists and the rest of the year hangs around like a bad smell. Probably would be much busier and more exciting next month which is the start of the summer season. We left the very next day. On to Marseille! Oh, I’m expecting an email from Sophie to say that Pollack wasn’t pop art. | |||