Reality, Dream, or Madness? A Trump-ed Tale

I'm not really sure what's been happening in the last several months, maybe longer. Either below me or next to me a neighbor awakens anywhere between three and four in the morning. Doesn't make much noise, but I have heard his or her alarm go off. Okay. I was convinced that the neighbor used the alarm to get to an early morning job on time. I'm a light sleeper, and don't - didn't - awaken to the alarm's sound all that often. When I did, I usually rolled over and fell right back to sleep. 

The alarm seemed, at first, to be a radio station, all news or talk radio. No music, until early this summer - I write near the end of September, just FYI. Because I usually fell right back to sleep I assumed that the alarm was turned off after a few minutes or so, perhaps after the fellow tenant had heard news headlines and/or the weather.

Recently - more than a month ago, maybe 6-8 weeks? I began to find it more difficult to sleep after the alarm sounded, and grew aware that the sound of the news, and added music too, was not turned off for at least an hour. I heard more, listened longer and more intently. 

To the best of my ability I'll try to describe the music, which had become dominant. Bells, church bells maybe, ring out, some talk that I cannot make out, followed by a powerful singer, a tenor, accompanied by what I take to be an all-male chorus. I'd call it operatic, but while the voices are powerful and on pitch they are not as refined as the voices of professional opera singers. 

The listener did not blare out the music, so softly that it was only around maybe 10-15 days ago I began to make out a few of the melodies - I never heard the lyrics - rousing renditions of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", "God Bless America", and most frequently "The Star Spangled Banner". Other songs too, but I didn't recognize them.

To be continued if I dare.

(then a pause in writing this to ponder for a few days)

...OK, I dare. Why listen, I asked myself, to patriotic songs for an hour after awakening? In the middle of the night? And was just one person listening...or maybe more? 

Three bracketed conditions/caveats to consider before you continue reading:

1. [For better or worse, many longtime apartment dwellers, including myself, who started apartment living in 1970 - and I've remained so up to today - often do NOT get to know one another - a mumbled greeting perhaps while passing on the stairs, but no more.]

2. [I am a Yankee liberal, living in a southern State that is among the deepest shades of red in the U.S. I have not made many friends here, primarily because after preliminary chats they have revealed themselves as Trumpists first class. And they take their politics, if that's what it is - more like hero worship? adoration for a demi-god? - very seriously.]

3. [I'm 76 years old, retired for 11 years, and I live alone on the top floor (of three) in an apartment complex in Greenville SC.]

I began to theorize that there was more than one person - a small group, perhaps - involved. And...hold on...that they constituted a cell, as in "communist cell" or the like, in this case a Trumpist cell. Below or next to my apartment lived a small group of far-right conspirators, maybe even terrorists, who in the dead of night quietly plotted how they might join the battle for whatever Trump asked of them, and concocted plans to aid and abet such a person, whispering among themselves to the strains of patriotic music, plotting, say, a successful version of January 6.

I should point out that I didn't think to do anything about it, I didn't even lose much sleep over it. But I believed it. 

And it came to pass that these meetings began to start earlier, closer to 2 am, and to last longer. Hmmmm...

Finally, early on a September night, Something suddenly dawned on me - an epiphany! On this night I was awakened even earlier than usual, about 12:30 am. Sure enough the bells rang, the singing began - just after I awoke. I was gobsmacked! 

I realized that whatever "it" was, it did not occur in the apartment below or next to mine. The plot, the conspiracy, most of all the music, had been going on inside of me. In my brain! 

How did this "dawn" on me? Well, I hear much better in my right ear than in my left - not enough so that my GP or my ENT doctors think I need to get a hearing aid. But when I roll from my left side to my right into my pillow I can hear much better in the first position than I can in the second. For many years I have been using CDs like "Bach at Bedtime" and "Dolcissima et Amorosa" - gentle lute music from the Italian Renaissance - to help me fall asleep, and I've been quite aware of the difference in volume depending on which side I was sleeping. 

My eureka moment came when I realized that the music I was hearing night after night was playing at the same volume in my right and left ears. 

Aha! Oh, no...

Thus it was that I, a liberal who disdains conspiracy theorists, Q-anons and their ilk, concocted a conspiracy theory of my own!

Fill in the blank quiz, if you like, or multiple choice: stupid, dumb, naive, embarrassed? - all of the above, and then some.

Problem solved? Yes...there is no person (not to mention a group) who lives below or next to me that is alerted by an alarm in the dead of night to plot insurrection, no one even who merely needs to get up and ready for an early morning job. In fact there HAD been such a person living below me who did use his alarm in the middle of the night to be on time for his early morning job, but that was at least 5 years ago. That person is long gone.

But really solved?...well, no. Not entirely, because while it is very faint, and while I hear it only during complete silence (right now, as I enter text into this blog foe example, "There is now this music in my brain. And it may never come out." *

"Sweeney hears music that nobody hears." **

Reality? Obviously not. Dream? I wish! Madness? Temporary maybe...but what's with this music!?!

The two notes (*, **) just above are are paraphrases from the theatre. 

Note one - the last line of Equus. I played Dysart many years ago - I was very good.

Note two - Sweeney Todd, from the ballad that begins the musical - I saw the original cast. It was very good.

Bloggo Stranger than Alice: Down the Rabbit Hole in Viejo San Juan, Hunter S Thompson and...Johnny Depp???

Help! Dottore Gianni is sliding down a rabbit hole concocted by an abandoned trip, The Rum Diary, and the Depp-Heard Proceedings

Eh? 

A few weeks ago I canceled a three-week trip to Italy due to Covid complications and personal fears. Somehow, between Fall 2019, when, at age 72 I took my last trip abroad (of many - just scroll down the posts in this blog) and now, in spring 2022 I managed to age many more than 3 years...more like 30. Perhaps some of you have felt the same. I have lost confidence in my ability to cope with foreign travel, which is sad because it is the greatest love of my life. 

I grew angry at myself. How can I be so afraid of three weeks in Europe? Of the flights there and back? Even of getting to and from the airport, for God's sake? I felt ashamed that I let cowardice get the best of me.

Dottore Gianni treated me to a few stiff drinks, and I calmed down. I decided on an antidote, therapy, something to settle my fears. I'd take a very short trip, in my own time zone, to a place that offers a foreign feel but that is still in the US: A three night stay in Viejo San Juan Puerto Rico. No Covid tests (I am fully vaccinated and boosted) either way, no jet lag, and a much shorter flight than taking a red eye from the US to Europe. An interesting, historical to a city and state, a territory that I'd not yet visited. Great!

I booked a Delta flight, and a boutique hotel - very posh, too much so for my pocketbook, but it was for only three nights, not three weeks - right in the center of the Old Town. Next I did what I always do before I travel. Research. I found an unusual history of Puerto Rico from its founding to 1903, just a few years of its acquisition by the US after the Spanish American war. I also found two very short and dull books that describe walking tours of the Old Town, one geared for two days there, the other stuffing the activity into just one. So far so good...but wait...

Since retiring in 2012, in addition to poring over histories and guide books I began to read some fiction set in the place I was to visit. Not a lot that interested me in novels featuring San Juan, except for an early novel by author/journalist/gonzo Hunter S. Thompson (hereafter HST). In case you don't know him he is probably most famous for his novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, his outrageous lifestyle, and...well, let's just say he didn't want his ashes scattered to the wind, instead he ordered them shot out of a cannon. Oh well. My find is titled The Rum Diary, an account of his own time in Old San Juan. The setting  was perfect for me, set for the most part in the old town. The first scene features the protagonist, a dissolute journalist, boarding a plane from the continental US to San Juan. His fellow travelers are mostly Puerto Ricans returning home, but he spots a beautiful blonde and literally shoves the old man sitting next to him, waving for the blonde to come next to him. It doesn't work out, but later...well, what happened after that is not important, but suffice to say that the journalist and the blonde are featured throughout the book.

It's a nasty book, cynical, violent, downright brutal at times, and although pretty well written it nearly put me off my journey. The rabbit hole loomed before me...

Watching CNN or MSNBC I discovered that at the same very time (and still going on) Johnny Depp was/is in court accusing his ex-wife, Amber Heard, of harassment and of ruining his career. So? Well, it happens that Johnny Depp was friends with HST, one of the gonzo journalist's many manly male pals, but my slide into the rabbit hole began with my discovery that Depp had starred in the film version of The Rum Diary as the journalist. Guess who played the beautiful blonde in the film? Amber Heard. Yes, you heard it here. The two met on the film set and fell in love, and, to steal a line from Eugene O'Neill, were "so happy, for a time..."  After which I suppose they began a slide down their own private rabbit hole.

To be fair, my own treacherous journey (down the rabbit hole, not down to Puerto Rico) had already begun. While I was much more confident of the brief trip to Puerto Rico than the planned much longer trip to Italy, I had already come to feel doubtful and dubious about the journey to San Juan. But this odd and slightly uncomfortable set of coincidences: discovering the "perfect" novel, reading it, being bothered by it, then the seeing reports of the Depp/Heard trial - stoked my doubts about traveling to Old San Juan. 

I can't tell if I would have given up the trip on this weird set of circumstances alone, because the final catalyst, the one that practically buried me in the rabbit hole, came just after. The night before my flight I heard on the news, PBS Newshour? CNN? MSNBC? Doesn't matter - that a meddlesome Trump-ist judge did away with the mask mandate for travel, just hours before my flight. That really put me in a funk as I imagined the confusion at airports and on flights etc. I couldn't sleep a wink at all that night, tossing and turning until at 4 am I cancelled my flight and hotel. I was to leave for the airport at about 7 am. 

It is now a few days later. I am calm. But to Covid, The Rum Diary, Depp and Heard and a Trump-judge I shout to the winds: 

A plague on ALL your houses!

Fact fueled the flames, and fiction flung me down that hairy rabbit hole.

The (somewhat bitter) End

Bloggo Sud de la France-o 12: The Long Journey from the South of France to Frankfurt and my Flight Home

I suppose I could call the first part of this post my "long day's journey (from France) into night (in Germany). There's a theatrical reference in there, for people who like such stuff, but suffice to say that after a never-ending comedy of errors - whoops! another - I finally arrived in Frankfurt.

The day began at the rather fancy TGV station outside Avignon. 

It might have been so easy. Perhaps I was dazzled by the "pomo architecture", which was impressive, above showing the walkway up to my platform, below looking back along the interior of the station,

perhaps I was just tired after a long trip and not wide enough awake for my early journey. However, I found the correct platform, moved into the exact position to step up into my car. I was all set. The train arrived, a bit early I thought for a second or two, but then thought nothing else of it. I found my reserved seat, sat, and relaxed. But when the train pulled out a good five minutes before the scheduled departure, I grew concerned. Then, looking out one of the windows I noticed the position of the sun, and realized I was headed east, not west. Indeed, I was on a train not to Frankfurt, but to...Madrid! The same car number, the same seat, but going the wrong way!

I will say that the information on the track (shown below) was not easily available, and that was certainly a contributing factor, but still...

The first stop on the train was very close, fortunately, at Nimes, which I'd visited on a day tour, just two days earlier. I grabbed my luggage, got off the train and raced into the station, where two or three very helpful if somewhat startled employees found me a train going in the right direction, not direct, but with a change in Paris. Whew! This meant transferring not just from train to train but from the Gare de Lyon to the Gare de l' Este. I had plenty of time, grabbed a taxi with a very friendly driver (not always the case in Paris) who got me there with nearly two hours to spare. 

So I sat down in a nicer than usual restaurant within the station and had a lovely, relaxed lunch, shown just below, a substantial chicken Caesar and a very tasty glass of wine.

I left the restaurant, and looked contentedly to see what platform from which my train would leave. But there didn't seem to be a time listed. Oh dear. So I took myself to the ticket office and they told me, "Oh, that train has been cancelled." Sacre bleu! The first alternative was the following train in the same direction, but alas that was full. Fortunately I was far from the only person involved, so hours later a special train pulled into the station. No reserved seat, no first class, but there was room for everyone. 

So on I boarded the train, which was headed to Strasbourg - right direction at least - arriving at 6:41 pm. Once there we passengers had to rush across several tracks to a tiny 3-car shuttle that, stuffed to the gills with all of us that had been on the "special" from Paris, took us just across the river to Offenburg, in Germany. We hopped on a waiting train there that took us, via Karlsruhe and Mannheim, to Frankfurt AT LONG LAST! It was 9:08 pm, hours and hours later than I'd planned. 

But! My travel troubles were still not quite over. I have flown into and out of Frankfurt a few times, but I don't always book the same hotel. For this trip I had booked one very close to the station, but in the pitch dark I had no idea how to get there. I went to the taxi stand, but the first driver in line refused to take me. The hotel was too close, he was waiting for a more lucrative fare. There was a second taxi, so I tried that one (there was no one else even waiting for a cab!) and that driver seemed willing until the first driver had some words with him. Neither would take me. So I set off in search of the hotel, cursing drivers, taxis and Frankfurt in general, when I spotted a cab empty of passengers driving down the road, and waved him down. He was the friendliest fellow in the world. After explaining my dilemma to him he shook his head regarding the other drivers, and said, "At this time of night you would never have found your hotel." He got me there in minutes. I paid him the fare, and the same amount again for the tip, which he richly deserved. 

After that long, wretched travel day, I checked in, and once in my room (the photo below, and under that the view from the window) fell almost immediately into a deep, deep sleep.

The next day was mine to do as I liked in Frankfurt. I did a casual bit of exploring. I had on an earlier trip seen the tiny old town, the Goethe house and the cathedral. So I started with a nice long stroll on the wide tree-lined path next to the River Main

then crossed the river on a footbridge 

and spent a good bit of my day at The Städel, hardly the Louvre, but a very good art museum.

The collection ranged from old masters to relatively recent work. I photographed several of my favorites, among them a beautiful Botticelli. I'm a sucker for his gorgeous women!

I found a late 18th century painting by Tischbein that I used when teaching my theatre history class, of Goethe relaxing on his travels through Italy.

Courbet was represented by a bucolic landscape of Frankfurt itself - very little of that "in the country" style remains today.

But I found myself most enjoying the works of late 19th-early 20th century modernists. I got a kick out of a Max Ernst sculpture called "Lunar Asparagus"

I loved the darkness (he's not often "light" is he?) of Munch's "Jealousy"

Max Beckman amused me with his "Still Life with Saxophones

That's enough examples for now, but I hope will give you a taste, not just of the museum collection, but of my taste!

While still across the river, I photographed the skyline opposite. In case you doubt my statement that there's not much bucolic about today's Frankfurt, here's a bit of it

It remained a rather pleasant if very cloudy day, so I crossed back over the river and strolled leisurely along a major thoroughfare whose name changes every few blocks, next to which several Frankfurt highlights can be seen. The well-designed logo with the Euro in blue and stars of gold surrounding it indicates the location of the European Central Bank. 

Not far from there on the other side of the street is Opera Frankfurt. There is an old opera house in town, but this is the place where highly innovative productions are performed - some have said that many of the stagings are TOO innovative.

Next to the Oper is a rather attractive statue/fountain

I was headed back in the direction of the Hauptbahnhof, ultimately to return to my hotel, but first to have lunch. I found what I wanted at Kakadu, which features a well-stocked bar

I chose a German...well, Austrian favorite, Wienerschnitzel, and was not disappointed. 

The beer was tasty too - the "king" of beers? 

Maybe not, but when in Germany it's hard to go wrong, and König suited me fine.

The closer one gets to the station, the more crowded, both with people and with eateries, the area becomes.

One last photo for you, of the Hauptbahnhof - view it, there is little question that it is haupt.

The next morning, very early, I caught a train to the airport, and on a travel day unlike my nightmarish train fiasco, fortune fortuned smiled. Several hours later I was back in the US, and only a few hours later back home. With a few exceptions it had been a wonderful three weeks.

I am writing this account nearly two years later. Thanks - not - to Covid I have not traveled abroad since, but I hope to in a few more months. I have booked a flight to Rome on 24 November, and am very excited, though the closer I get to my departure, and the more the Delta variant continues to plague us, I fear that I might have to cancel still another another trip across the pond. I so hope I will be able to make the trip, and if I do then shortly after you'll hear from me...if not then sometime in spring of 2022 - if the gods of plagues and travels allow. After all, la vita e troppo breve per Dottore Gianni...ciao a tutti!

Bloggo Sud de la France-o 11: Last Day Trip from Avignon, to Orange

 Orange! Yes another ancient Roman city in Gaul, another place I visited on my own waaaay back in 1999, and the very last day trip (also on my own) of my very last trip abroad to date (Covid's fault, not my own). Located only a half hour or so from Avignon, with plenty of daily trains to and from, quite easy for me, and much desired by me. 

The reason? One only, though I am sure there are others. I had a great urge to re-visit perhaps THE best preserved ancient Roman theatre in the world. In 1999 it was high on my list, as I was in Europe specifically to photograph famous performance spaces for my theatre history class. Ithaca College's slide collection was a woeful mess when I was offered a job in the Department of Theatre Arts. And while I began building the collection from my earliest days at IC, I had to wait for my first sabbatical leave to really (truly, madly, deeply) increase it.

The center of old Orange is easily enough reached. I discarded the idea of a taxi as it was a pretty day, and instead walked briskly for between 12-15 minutes along a road that took me directly from station to ancient theatre.

The theatre is impossible to miss, and once found it seems at once a big deal and not a big deal, as upon entering the plaza on which it stands/of which it dominates, this is what the visitor is confronted with the huge (see white van at lower right for perspective) rear wall of the scaena, or scene house - overpowering, and not terribly attractive:

Once inside, after paying a small entrance fee and walking through the at least as small souvenir shop, I was first caught up, looking to my left, in the front wall of the monumental scaena frons (the front of the scaena as well as the backdrop for the pulpitum, or stage. 

Then, looking to my right, I couldn't help noticing the cavea, the tiered, semicircular audience space.

As I climbed up into the cavea, each time I stopped and turned back on the journey up, I got a an increasingly full and quite grand view of the most imposing scaena frons and in front of it, about 5 feet off the ground, the long, thin rectangular pulpitum, or stage. 

As Stevie Wonder used to sing it, "higher and higher."

So! scaena, scaena frons, pulpitum, cavea - get it? got it? good! There WILL be a quiz. There is only one statue on the scaena frons, that of Augustus Caesar, dead center. To get a better sense of what it might have looked like in the days of ancient Rome - or in this case Gaul - imagine the other niches on the wall also containing statuary - splendiferous, right? You should also notice three doors, largest at center, the other two flanking it. 

(Above, the central door and the statue of Augustus.) Those three doors were used as entrances for the actors. Two other entrances/exits, at each end of the pulpitum. In ancient Greece these would have been spaces from which the chorus entered. But in the Roman era the chorus, a seminal part of Greek drama, was eliminated. But the end entrances were used, one of them said to head to the agora, or center of town, the other to head out into the country. Romans also loved spectacle, and frequently large parades were added to the drama, participants entering at one end of the theatre or the other.

Some of you have by now had enough or more than enough of learning about the parts of ancient Roman theatres. But I want to show you two more photos looking at either side of the stage and beyond.

I climbed higher in the cavea, on the hill it was built. The actors would have been pretty tiny from this height, but to the right there's a great view of Orange's rooftops, and beyond, the mountains.

And to the left, the remains of an ancient Roman Temple

The wooden floor of the pulpitum is pretty obviously newer than the rest of the stone theatre. It was placed there in the 20th century for summer productions of opera held here - still held, though I'm fairly certain that in summer 2020 no festival was held, probably not this summer either.

One last shot of the scaena frons and pulpitum, with a few people looking at it, just for perspective.

All in all a beautiful theatrical experience. 

In the Place du République, the square next to the theatre, there are several places to eat - I had a good omelette at one of them before heading back to Avignon.

In addition, there is a small museum of history and art, admission included in your ticket to see the theatre.

I found this statue (see below), in the square and facing the gigantic scaena, dramatic and impressive, if somewhat enigmatic. 

I had to do a bit of digging to find the "meaning." Want to know what it is? An artist named Injalbert created it. "The theme of [his] composition is 'L'ame antique remettant le flambeau de l'art au genie moderne' ('the spirit of antiquity re-igniting the flame of modern art')." Get it? Got it. Good!

And on walk back to the rail station, I couldn't help noticing this clearly impressive (well, impressively named) place - New Jack. Has a ring to it. I'm afraid that I remain Old Jack, but glad to see that there's a newer, younger, brighter version.

And that is that! Except for a few details, travel nightmares and the day I spent in Frankfurt before I flew back to the U.S., which I'll write about in my next blog, my last trip abroad pre-pandemic came to an end. What a journey! I only hope that those of you who read this blog will have at at least as much fun, good weather, and new adventures, as I did on my three weeks in the South of France. 

Au Revoir et Merci!

Bloggo Sud de la France-o 10 : Two Day trips from Avignon (Vauclose, Rousillon & Gordes; and Roman Sites

The day trips I took from Avignon are proof that Provence is relatively compact. I refuse to drive in Europe. I don't like to drive even at home in the US. Trains are for me, but when I can't get to a place by train I sign up for organized day tours. Full-day trips are available, but at my age I tire easily, even on  8-9 hour tours, whereas 11-12 hour tours have become out of the question. Avignon is rife with long-ish tours but I was able to see a good bit of the area around it on half-day organized mini-van tours.

The first of these excursions led me to the Luberon, an area filled with hill towns in beautiful settings, brought to a life of sorts by Peter Mayles in his books on the area. I think I must be one of the few people that don't enjoy reading Mayles, possibly because I'm a pauper and he was clearly wealthy enough to rig up a posh villa in this expensive area. Ah well, doesn't matter, he is of course mentioned in organized tours, but I prefer a Luberon without the condescending tones of that author. 

The tour I booked included a stream that seems to spring out of nowhere, near Vauclose (just outside the official boundaries of the Luberon, but every bit as beautiful), the dramatically set gray-white town of Gordes, and the beautiful, ochre-hued village of Rousillon. 

Driving off the main roads as we neared Vauclose, we entered an almost Medieval world. The church there looks like it was not so much built, as grown naturally out of the land. 

We were given time on our own, and could choose to walk uphill in an attempt to find the secret source of the stream that runs above and through Vauclose, or to stroll/shop around the tiny town, or simply to have a cafe au lait and pastries. 

I chose the first option, walking briskly up a not terribly steep hillside along what seems a magical river.

The photo above is not doctored. The emerald green is achieved by the algae that cover the riverbed. Perhaps the sun and the time of day added to its appearance, but I was mesmerized. 

Walking closer and closer (and up and up) to the source there is more than one rushing streams - three by my count, though I think legend has it that there are seven - which gradually converge into the river that flows peacefully through Vauclose.

There are tales about the source of its origins. My favorite has a traveling minstrel asleep on the way to the spring awakened by a nymph... there's more to the story, diamonds that reveal gushing streams of water, etc...but isn't that enough to tease you into a quick "Google" to read a bit more on the subject?

The mysterious atmosphere is aided by a cave most of the way up the climb

and if you have enough French you might get hints to the secret of the Fontaine de Vauclose (below). 

I did not have the French for it, and I never discovered the secret, alas, but after a bit of a climb up I was able to ponder it as well as to enjoy the view on the lovely walk back down to the village.

I would have gladly spent a bit more time there, but I came, I saw, and so what if I did not conquer? 

We moved on next to a view in the distance of Gordes.

That great view was all we were to see of it, and it was certainly enough me, mainly because during World War II Gordes had been a hive of the resistance. The Germans bombed it nearly out of existence, enough so that it had to be rebuilt from scratch after the war. Its charming setting from a distance is more than enough, as the place itself is "new to look old" per the guide. One from the group of three older American couples, ardent worshippers of the great god Trump, complained that Gordes was listed on the tour and insisted that we should see it, but though he grumbled about it he was overruled by the great ruler of that city, Monsieur Jackie, who forbade any Trumpists from entering his city (looks a bit like me...hmmmm) 

The truth is that the same fellow had made us VERY late in leaving Avignon, at the set time of departure he was MIA. Turns out he had driven the few minutes from his inner city hotel, but couldn't find a place to park and dropped his wife near the meeting point, then kept on driving to find one. Our practically saintly guide patiently explained via the wife's mobile phone that there was a place very nearby where he could park, and, led to it he did, but by the time all was said and done we had been kept waiting nearly an hour by a couple that couldn't find it in themselves to walk the short distance from their hotel. Of course he complained as we were driving how this would never have happened back home, that we had much more room and availability to park back in the good old US of A. The ugly American rears his head! But the polite tour guide explained that we had to get back on schedule (he didn't SAY as much but this was clearly because of the boorish American).

All this nonsense settled (though the guy kept on grousing) off we went towards much greener pastures.

Did I just write "greener"? I should have called our next and last stop "more ochre-esque" if that's the word. For, while the large amounts of limestone in Provence are the common building blocks for much of it, the beautiful village of Roussillon is made mostly from the rusty-reddish rocks that surround it and is best known for its hues of ochre. 

Above, Roussillon as we approached it.

The ochre surrounding it (above and below)

And a few of the results in the city. A small ochre-hued road

Different shades of ochre in the houses as we approached the farm market

Even the foliage is ochre! Granted I visited in autumn...

The bright and beautiful Roussillon could not be topped and was best saved for last. In spite of the ugly American(s) it was a fine tour.

********

On my third day in/out of Avignon I climbed into another minivan with 5 or 6 others (more Trump troglodytes I fear, but one very nice British fellow) and a VERY smart guide to see a few of the many Roman sites in the area. This, after all, was once known as Gaul, and several cities date back as far as Ancient Rome.

Two of the best-preserved are located in Nimes, our first stop. First we had a look at the beautiful Maison Carrée. 

There have been several restorations to the building, originally built before 4 and 7 A.D., but its basic shape and layout have not changed. It is an excellent example of Vitruvian symmetry and balance (think Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man drawing), named for the ancient architect Vitruvius, not only important when he lived, in ancient Rome, but tremendously influential on the Renaissance. Below is the entrance.

Next, still in Nimes, we visited the admirable amphitheatre, one of the largest and best preserved of the many that dotted the landscape of Roman Italy and conquered countries. 

Built in about 70 A.D.,it is still in use today, mostly for special events and bullfighting. Thus the statue of the matador, along with his faithful assistant, Dottore Gianni.

It was being prepared for an event of some kind when we visited, so the interior was cluttered and a bit of a mess. Hardly the Colosseum, but much more complete.

There are also views to be had when you get to the top of the upper tier.

I had been waiting for decades to see these two monuments, and I was not disappointed, though I was crushed that our tour did not include the apparently brilliant brand new Museum of Rome. Had I allowed more time on my trip to France I would have returned on a train from Avignon just to visit this on a solo visit, but...

Walking back to our van we stopped at an interesting if somewhat unusual statue:

One might guess that this is a Christian statue, Mary the mother of Christ perhaps, but she is more Marianne than Mary. But she is the Lady of Nimes, standing figuratively as well as literally for the city. The "Marianne" I just refers to a symbol of the French Revolution, young women who were every bit as much involved in toppling the monarch as their men. Atop her head would seem to be a crown (if Christian, Mary, Queen of Heaven?), or halo -  mais non! Instead it is a tiny model of the Maison Carrée!

Next on our itinerary, the ancient city of Uzès: And ancient it is, another Roman-founded town, beginning in the 5th century A.D. it was known for its civility and tolerance, as a group of Jews settled there at that time, and Ferrol, Bishop of the place, is said to have been friendly in general, even inviting them to eat at his home. For this he was reported and forced to turn on his guests, forcing them to become Christian or to leave the city. He later was made a saint. One would like to believe it was for his tolerance of the Jews, but more likely for the opposite reason. Jews were expelled from the area in 614 A.D. In the early 8th century it was taken by Muslims who made the city its northernmost stronghold, but the legendary Charles Martel took the city. But Uzès seems to have been prone to tolerance. In the 13th century a small group of Jews was hosted there, along with Cathars (a Catholic heretics violently opposed by the Church proper.

Whatever its history has to offer, today the old center of Uzès (one of the entrances to the center is pictured above) is mostly pedestrianized, and to walk through its warren of tiny streets is to head back in time. We were given a good bit of time to wander. A few photos of streets, lanes, and alleys that I found particularly appealing.

Several of these tiny thoroughfares converge on a tree-lined square, which to my eyes, compared to the rest of the center is huge.

Also extremely pleasant! I chose an outdoor table at a tiny cafe and indulged in my first glass ever of Chateauneuf du Papes. A friendly and attractive woman suggested that I try a small platter to go with the vin extraordinaire, and the result was a perfect mid-morning snack.

As one blogger put it, rather crassly (but I don't always reject the crass): is "a village that just oozes charm." (In fact I wish I'd thought of it!)

Last but certainly not least, a place just outside Uzès, not a town, simply a site and what a sight!

Our final stop was the most exciting of this tour. I have seen photo after photo of the Pont du Gard, but none really prepared me for experiencing in person. 

Before I go any further, I can explain (in a way that our very bright tour guide did not) a connection between Nimes, Uzès and the Pont du Gard, other than "Roman Sites." Indeed, our guide admitted that in Uzès there are no sights from Ancient Rome in the village. It dates back to Rome, but seemed much more Medieval when I explored it. The connection is an aqueduct, the most famous (and visible) section of which is the legendary Pont du Gard. But much of the aqueduct's course was underground. Uzès is important in that the source of water for the aqueduct is located just next to it. Not far from Uzès is the most visible portion - the Pont du Gard. How does Nimes fit in? As the destination of the aqueduct, 50 kilometers from its source, is that city. The entire purpose of the aqueduct was to provide water for that important Roman city.

How about that? You're very welcome.

There is a very nice if a tad touristy area built up only a short walk from the Pont du Gard. Here's a plan of it posted at that area.

Here you'll find shops, eateries, all-important rest rooms and a small museum on the topic of aqueduct. From there one proceeds along a path that turns slightly to reveal a first view of part of the Pont.

At that slight turn you can see three olive trees - you can see a boy walking towards them, and a plaque which explains that one of them is more than 1,000 years old.

In part it reads" I was born in 908 A.D. in Spain and was planted by the Pont du Gard in 1988 - 1080 years later."

Might this have been done because in 1985 the Pont du Gard was named a World Heritage Site? Or to make the area around the Pont more beautiful? I've read both theories, but cannot be sure of either. 

The closer I walked, the more dramatic the Pont became.

To see most of the Pont, cross to the other side, take a brief walk away from it and turn back:

Wow! Correct?

There is an even better view, but for that you must own or rent a kayak, or canoe, as the smart folk pictured above did. Had I more time...but I did not, alas.

The Pont du Gard ended the trip - talk about saving the best for last...and with that I end this post. I am saving the trip I took on my own, to see the Roman theatre at Orange, for the next one, in which I'll also describe the comedy of errors of my getting back to Frankfurt and flying home.