Avignon, in installments

We boarded our TGV this morning for the one hour 12 minute, 228km trip south to Avignon. Our carriage had broad, comfortable seats, but unfortunately it was hermetically sealed. Not a breath of fresh air circulated throughout our trip. Looking down the rows, I could see the other passengers, heads, lolling, struggling to stay awake, and succumbing, as I did, to the lure of sleep. It was like a class outing of Hogwarts students practising their Somnolence spells.

A new station specifically for the TGV trains, which pass through en route to Marseilles, has replaced the old station we remembered from 2010. The only café offering was Starbucks. My first (and only) experience with Starbucks was at Venice Beach, L.A., I had read great things about this exciting new concept. There were at that time no Starbucks in New Zealand, so I was expecting something special. The tables were packed with carefully posed Beautiful People. Alas, for a regular at Astoria and Pandoro in the days of their glory, the grey fluid I was served, tasting mildly of old socks, was a real let-down. I’ve never been in a Starbucks since.

The Hôtel de Cambis, converted from a nineteenth-century apartment buildng, turned out to be perfect for location - a short walk to everywhere, with a generously-proportioned room, high ceiling, large, comfortable bed and a shower Neil reckons is the best he has found on our trip. We dumped our bags and went out looking for lunch. We found a simple but perfectly-cooked pasta at Rossini’s around the corner, followed by the best espresso we have found in a long time. Unfortunately we were sitting 20 metres from a huge plane tree - my nemesis when we were in London in 2010. I am great tree-lover for most species. Not this one. In early summer (now in France), they fling vast amounts of pollen with sharp little needles that cause instant strong allergic reactions in susceptible people like me. Nose and eyes pouring, sneezing, coughing, I headed for the nearest pharmacy, waving a photo of the offending plant. The pharmacist sold me a packet of tiny antihistamine tablets. I took one as soon as I got back to the hotel, lay down on the bed - and woke up two hours later. So not so many pix today!

P.S: I was intrigued to see, in a high-order menswear store ,a very Gallic rooster kitted out in pink and black, rugby ball ready to kick - branded with “Eden Park - Rugby Legend.” You can see it on the window, above Aston Martin Racing, among others. Turns out this brand was founded in 1987 by French Rugby icons Franck Mesnel and Eric Blanc., then playing for the Racing Club de France, who decided to establish a high-end clothes brand. My memories of Eden Park as a child in the 1960’s run to more mud than chic. I must say their stuff is very stylish!Okumaya devam et