Ten-Plus Years On

The road gave way to various bridges, cutting distance off the potential length of the road if it was to be grounded the whole time. Over millennia water has sliced wedges of earth from the hillsides, depositing them in the oceans. The road is a feat of modern engineering.

I caught a glimpse of a hilltop town far below, perched on a small piece of ground towering over the stormy waters of the Mediterranean. “We have to go there!” I said to Dan. 

We pulled off the Autostrade and began taking a series of roads, slowly making our way there. Within a few kilometres we broke out of a valley to see its Basilica high above us. The town is called Imperia and was historically an important centre in Liguria. It doesn't seem to get many tourists. We parked on the hill top, directly outside the Basilica, in a square of sorts. As the square was packed with local vehicles we had to do a hazard lights park on the edge, outside of the marked spots. This is normal practice in many European countries. In some places I've even seen people having hazard lights meals, parking in no parking zones directly outside restaurants and leaving their cars there for hours with no fear.

 

As I stepped into the Basilica I could clearly hear my own footsteps echoing on the marble floor, somewhat haunting combined with the sound of the nuns in soft song, weeping from niches in the walls. The odour of Frankincense seemed to come from every corner of the vaulted space, adding to the ambiance of the intricate stone work and late Baroque period art. People suddenly appear from nowhere, hidden by the darkness of the recesses, the only light struggling to enter the vast space from the windows of the rotunda high above.

Back out in the light we began weaving our way through the tight streets and small passage-like covered alley ways of the old town. Every so often you'd get a glimpse of the ocean through one of these thoroughfares, fifty or so metres below. I drifted about, taking photos of the little details that make towns like these so intriguing.

 Back on the road we soon entered France. Despite wanting to put a lot of distance behind us today we made another stop, taking a steep turn down towards the sea, entering the tiny principality of Monaco. From above it was just how I expected it. Casinos. Million dollar yachts. High rise. Essentially a playground for the wealthy.

As we descended further I saw the walled town, home to the Prince of Monaco himself, capping the most dramatic headland in the nation. We headed for this and found a park by its base. As we walked up through a door in the imposing fortifications a sign warned us that if we were to enter wearing beach wear, including not wearing shoes, we would face prosecution. Good thing we weren't.

 We joined the throngs of tourists exploring the walled city. We saw the national square where royal announcements seem to be given from and walked through the Disneyland-like streets.

Soon it was time to go. We got back in the car and climbed back out of the ocean-side city state, the light fading yet again. Soon we were driving in darkness. Thankfully Dan was driving because I was exhausted. The drive seemed to drag on forever.

We got to this city in Provence just before midnight. This was a city I had desperately wanted to visit. About ten years ago my Dad had a conference here and I spent close to a week here with my family. I remember loving this place that at one point in history served as the residence of the popes, instead of the Vatican, for close to a century.

The historic centre takes up a huge area, entirely enclosed within high walls. When we got to the city posters announced that a three day festival was taking place. The streets were packed with people but eventually we found a park within the city walls, after the police turned their lights on us and forced us to back down a narrow one way street we'd accidentally gone up.

It felt good to be back. Much of it was exactly as I remembered. I had changed so much but the city hadn't. I thought I could remember certain small details, like how to get onto the city walls, but my memories didn't work in getting us there. In the morning though I discovered this was because much of the city gets locked up at night. Being back in Avignon, walking the same streets I had walked ten years before, a much different person to who I am now, was an interesting experience for me. At this age it feels very strange to visit a small city in southern France twice in a life time, ten years apart. It feels like an eternity. Despite this it constantly surprised me how much I could remember. Small details kept flooding back.

We packed a backpack with two glasses and a two litre bottle of beer and made the five minute walk to the square in front of the papal palace. The square was packed with families and people of all ages, the parents sharing a bottle of wine while letting their babies play on the ground. It was two in the morning by now. We walked around for a bit, sedated by the drive, before giving up and settling down on the walls in front of the basilica to drink our beer.

Beneath us immigrants from Africa breakdanced to stereos they had brought to the square and people strolled around in theatrical dress.

We found some camping on the island in the middle of the river and slept in until ten. It was three by the time we were in bed.

Evidence to the French arts culture

In the morning we visited the city once more and sat down at a cafe. Numerous people approached us, giving us leaflets for various plays and operas, of course dressed in the costume of their part in whatever they were advertising. I love this element of French culture.

We climbed up onto an inaccessible part of the city walls, getting some stares from curious passerbys. Unfortunately there was a locked gate on the first tower, about 70m along the wall, so we couldn't continue. We got back down and visited the tourist part of the wall, the only section of the wall that is accessible for people that aren't willing to climb up. The last bit was more exciting so after a short time we descended again, got back in the car and went to the opposite side of the river to see the historic centre grouped together as one imposing, hulking mass. The photos don't really do the majesty of it justice.

 My only regret in visiting Avignon is that we did not have time to visit the fortress on the far bank of the river that made me so curious as a child. In the daylight it just sat there, almost teasing me. Maybe one day. In a way I was surprised that this mythical fortress existed exactly as I remembered and it wasn't just a distorted recollection of something I had seen through the eyes of my nine-year-old self.