Saturday 10.9.2010

Grand Tour

It’s another crispy clear mountain morning. John hustles out early to find the patisserie from yesterday to repeat the best ever chassons du pomme but it has disappeared. We did see a place a bit farther down the main village road and they are open with plenty of selection. On his way back John sees that a large truck has moved and the little patisserie was hidden behind it but c’est la vie. As we gather we now decide that the chassons du pomme today are even better than yesterday so we have a new leader.


We wave au revoir to our humbled mountain and begin our grand tour of the French Winter Olympic sites. Our route today follows the mountains for the first hundred miles beginning in Chamonix (1924 first Winter Olympics), through Albertville (1992), and finishing in Grenoble (1968). We do find the Olympic venues in each of the cities and are amazed at the size of Grenoble, a very big city. The drive is scenic following streams and mountainsides, but a bit slow and tedious.

Leaving Grenoble we gas up the car and fuel ourselves with some supermarket take-away ham, cheese and egg sandwiches. It’s well after 1:00 so we reprogram MMD to see if she can find a speedier route for the rest of the day. She curls us in a fish hook shaped route to get us paralleling the main highway, hopping on when there are no tolls and hopping off when there are. She is pretty amazing.


We’re back in farm country now as we plow through south central France on our way to the Cote du Rhone and our weeklong stay in Provence. The highlight is the nougat town of Montelimar which is dominated by a huge nougat factory and nougat shops on every corner. You learn something new every day.


We are finally passing through the vineyards of Provence and into our new home in Arles. The south of France has been multi-cultural since the Romans showed up a couple thousand years ago and is now home to an influx of North Africans, Gypsies from Eastern Europe, and of course, retired Europeans of every ilk.

Our home for the week is on the edge of the old city and the neighborhood feels very Moroccan/Algerian. Out our front door is the parking lot for the area so while the drive up appeal leaves a lot to be desired, the interior of the house is very nice. First floor living room and kitchen, second floor study (with computer) and master bedroom and bath and third floor bedroom with half bath and rooftop terrace.


It’s 6:00, the day has turned gray, we’re tired from the drive and we take a cursory walk around town before collapsing in front of “Strictly Come Dancing” on the BBC. We stir a bit at about 8:15 to find the closest place for dinner.

There is an Italian (again) place a couple blocks down with a few tables outside and mostly full inside. We snare an inside table and as we look around we realize everyone else has also just arrived. No drinks on tables, no food on tables, a few menus floating around and one server running her rear end off. She has a perfect ballet performance as she pirouettes from table to table taking orders, opening wines, moving menus to the next table in order of arrival. Yes, it’s slow but the food is fantastic (Mary a Mediterranean fettuccine pasta, Pat a Bolognese penne and John a perfectly seasoned and sliced Italian steak) and the server’s efficiency is a beautiful thing.


Our walk back is easy enough and we’re taking the day off tomorrow. We all read until late.


Today’s weather: Clear turning to overcast, low 38, high 70.