I’d come to the western edge of Vaucluse for three days to visit the city of Avignon, the vineyards of Chateauneuf-du-Pape and the town of Orange. Before leaving on a trip like this I typically imagine that I’ll eventually write at least two texts:
– something practical about a subject that I’ve usually defined in advance, in this case a round-up of some of the nicer hotels in Avignon, and
– something that I come upon by following my nose, with or without some guidance from local tourist officials or others in the know.

In relation to the second article, I thought upon leaving Paris that I might compare my experiences in and impressions of Avignon and Orange with those described by Henry James in “A Little Tour in France,” which the American (and eventually British) author wrote in 1883, recounting his six weeks of travel of the previous year. I may well get around to that, but in case I don’t I take this opportunity to recommend the book, particularly for travelers who enjoy meandering around France and for bloggers, journalists and other writers interested in learning some of the basics of good travel writing: observe, research, experience, encounter, favor well-informed opinions over clichéd commentary.

Upon my arrival in Avignon, however, I forgot about Henry James’s little tour when, sitting in a café waiting for my first appointment of the day, I read in Vaucluse Matin, the local newspaper, that an Avignonnais had won the national title as best coffee roaster. I added him to my list of people to meet while in Avignon, and by the end of the day I’d decided to base an article on individuals who are cheerfully in tune with the workspace they inhabit.

This is not that article.

Instead, I’d like to introduce you to the individual that fit the bill for that theme in Orange: the cat Diva.

On the way in I’d spotted her splayed on the ticket counter and on the way out I found her again contemplating life by the illustrated gladiator books. A woman behind the counter introduced me to Diva. She told me that Diva had adopted the Roman Theater of Orange as her backyard about eight years ago. Her indoor home is the ticket office/boutique at the entrance and exit to the theater.

I learned much else that afternoon during a tour with Rose Papalia, an excellent guide with the Orange Tourist Office: about the Théâtre Antique and Les Chorégies, Orange’s spectacular summer festival of opera and lyrical music, about the museum and its fragments of a Roman cadaster, and about the arch on the opposite end of the Roman town. The Roman wall in Orange is the only remaining Roman theater wall in existence in Europe. I might have written at length all that, fascinating as it is, but this Diva isn’t mentioned in the audio-guide that you can listen to when visiting the theater.

Individuals such as Diva aren’t rare, but because we tend to plan trips in terms of sights and meals we all too frequently ignore them. Which leads me now to regret that I didn’t go speak with the person sweeping the stage by the 2000-year-old theater wall where Tosca, Aida, Carmen, Macbeth and so many others have died in the past 40 years alone.

But I did meet up with a young backpacker: me, 30 years ago.

You see, I had been to Orange before while backpacking through Europe on some ridiculously low number of dollars a day. The number stayed especially low that particular day in Orange because I had managed to see the Roman Theater without paying the entrance fee by climbing up the hill behind the hemicycle and standing on the edge of the cliff for a glimpse.

Looking up from where the town’s top Roman officials would have sat, here is where I stood.

© 2012, Gary Lee Kraut

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Another night in Menton; another great meal. Thursday my friends and I went to Menton’s night parade and fireworks display, the last one during the Lemon Festival. We ate beforehand and I wish I had the name of the restaurant as it was brilliant, but alas, I forgot to write it down and nobody remembers the name. It’s a shame, as that was one of the highlights of the night.

The parade itself was a bit disappointing as it mainly consisted of the various village settings made of oranges and lemons that I reported on earlier. Or maybe it was a bit disappointing because we had been going to the far more spectacular night parades in Nice where the crowds were enormous and more international and showing more enthusiasm in the streets, with people always dancing and having fun. The crowds in Menton were mainly French.

At this point I must make an observation about the French; they are lovely people but at musical events they just don’t dance or express themselves like the English, Americans, Germans, Swiss, Dutch, etc. I once went to a Status Quo rock concert in Marseille and NOBODY got out of their seats until the last song. (Except us.) How anyone can sit through Status Quo’s rocking tune, “Whatever You Want” without even moving their heads is beyond me.

Most of the people in the crowds were elderly as well, and the rest appeared to be parents with small children. I recall a remark by my teacher Jean-Philip about Menton, that the population was mostly retirees and that he hadn’t visited Menton in a while because there was nothing of great interest to do there. I understand his point but I still hold to my opinion that Menton is quite elegant and easily manageable for the tourist who wants a French seaside town flavor without all of the excessive tourist trappings.

There are benefits to attending a smaller parade like Menton’s: when it slows down, you can walk right in between the various acts to take pictures. To illustrate this point I present a photo taken in the middle of the parade. I also had my friend Gaby take one of me and a flower boy while the parade was stopped. And since the theme was “Music from Around the World,” we were treated to different tunes throughout the parade, of which my favorite was the country and western band—it reminded me of my home state of Texas. Oh and I must mention that the amount of Silly String was probably less than 10% of that used during the Nice parades.

The fireworks were rather special, particularly as they illuminated the sea, and well, who doesn’t love fireworks? The whole event, while sedate compared to the Nice Carnival, was nicely presented. We all headed for the train station, satisfied with our meal and the festivities.

Here’s a little rant about France’s lack of services for public transport, particularly during special events like the festival. There are no buses leaving Menton after 8 pm, so everyone must take a train to get home if they don’t live in Menton. The majority of people seemed to be headed east, as we were, in the direction of Nice and Cannes. Add the fact that SNCF cancelled the two trains before the last one heading east, which was also delayed for over an hour, and you have a recipe for disaster. The chaos that ensued was palpable.

The fireworks ended around 10 pm but at nearly midnight there were still hundreds of people waiting for a train. The police were already there in advance, waiting to quell any possible riots and to keep people from being pushed off the platforms. I was with a bunch of Swiss friends who complained about the lack of services and how in Switzerland this would never happen. I have to agree; the timing was pretty bad and in many countries, including the US, there are usually special buses and trains added to the schedules whenever there is a special event like a festival. But not France. Why not France? I would really love an explanation to this phenomenon.

Anyway, the train finally arrived and for about 10 minutes we couldn’t even breathe, let alone move as the crowds pushed forward to the doors. Most of those in the crowd were senior citizens who moved ever so slowly onto the train, which delayed us getting on and prolonging the feeling of being crushed. I worried that some elderly person would have a heart attack and still end up on the train as we were slowly ‘carried’ to the doors. It was a nightmare that really only ended when we arrived in Nice, at which point I vowed to never again stay out past 8 pm outside of Nice.

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