The Last Rose of Summer
This will be a brief, informal update. My computer is in a coma and I'm in a copy shop, using their internet for 5 euros per half hour (that's probably about $7.50 and once again with a European keyboard, of course, and right-handed mouse. I'm in St. Remy de Provence, and on my own, since my cousin Henri had to go back to Paris to work, as it was the end of the August vacation. He brought in most of the Patio furniture before he and Elizabeth left, so it looks a little sad and neglected compared to before. The wicker chairs and the beautiful straw rugs (tapis) are in the storage room of the pool house and the place is denuded. They left one chaise longue for me and the big metal table and three wrought iron chairs with cushions. I wish I knew they were going to wrap things up that way--I would have taken some photos first, because thre rugs added some color and hominess to the place. I didn't think of it when Elizabeth started to roll them up.
The house is just a little way out of town, but separate from other houses, and already updated and remodeled, so I don't have to put up with the noise and dust of workmen, if you read A Year in Provence.
This is a tourist town apparently, and not every one has had to go back to work in Paris yet. School hasn't started yet, although it should in a few days or the beginning of next week. So there are still lots of people strolling the streets and sitting in the cafes. Tomorrow I'll be going on a tour of the places that Van Gogh painted when he was here. I ate lunch across the street from the hotel where Gounod composed an opera based on a poem by Frederick Mistral, a famous literary figure from here. The poem and opera are "Mireio." The opera was first performed here in St. Remy. No pictures available yet, because of the computer problem, and so far,I haven't found a place here that does repairs. More later--I want to check email.
For those interested in food, my lunch at the Cafe Brasserie de la Bourse was brochettes de poisson, riz, legumes, and creme brulee for 15 euros.
August 29, 2006
Now about the house. There are four bedrooms upstairs. The master bedroom has its own bath and the other three share one with adjoining doors. The master bedroom smells like lavender, which is a product of Provence, and grows in the garden.
The ground floor of the house has two more smaller bedrooms. One has a very old fireplace in it, and used to be a dining room, but too small for the table Henri put in one corner of the main room. The main room also has a fireplace, which is used in the winter. There's a kitchen to the left as you enter the house through the old wooden door. The other bedroom is on the other side of the main room, perhaps better called the Great Room, in a section that was added on. The bedroom has large French doors on two sides, now protected by an iron grill. There's a toilet next to the kitchen and then a long old stairway up to my room. The Great Room opens on the other side of the hall from the stairway. The floor is covered with old patterned colored tiles, which probably be called azulejos in Mexico.
onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6436/2368/1600/6987-33%20living%20room.jpg">
The living room, the whole house for that matter is filled with art, and a number of pieces of furniture proudly designed by Henri. The bed in my room and the one across from it, the "matrimonial" or "honeymoon" room because of the romantic gauze curtain similating a canopy, are built of metal according to the Golden Mean. The headboard and footboard are in a certain proportion to each other. There are cushioned armchairs in the living room, also desined by Henri, built for men's long-legged proportions, so that my legs stick out straight in front of me and I feel like Eloise in a big chair. I feel like Eloise in a big chair.
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The
house is furnished with the best of everything, e.g. the vegetable chopping machine ala Cuisinart is a Braun. The knives for cooking are ice-forged steel. The short-stemmed wine glasses are re-cycled crystal, with little bubbles in it, blown by a local artisan. The water tumblers look the same but don't ring like crystal. There's a fance corkscrew hanging over the stove. There's some box wine, vin ordinaire no doubt, so perhaps it's a better quality here than in the U.S., and it's from a local vineyard. From the look of it, the stereo system is tops. I don't know the brand, but the knobs are labeled in English, making it easier for me. The art includes an original print of Confucious from China. I can't remember the year, but either the print itself or the stone from which it was printed is hundreds of years old. Art by Roy Lichtensteing--Henri has like graphic (cartoon) art for some time and I'm sure these are limited edition prints.
A big gray cloud is beginning to float overhead, as it did yesterday, so the sun is fading. At Plum Village, and here, I had bery little problem with a stuffy nose. Whatever I'm allergic to in Albuquerque isn't here, or maybe it's because there's more moisture in the air. I'm feeling a bit tired as the cloud floats in, so maybe Ill take an early siesta. Can't go into town until later in the afternoon, since the bank closes from 12-2 and maybe the stores, too. Wonder about the tourist office.
There's a swimming pool, so it reminded me of the movie of the same name, but I can't see it from my room. The big tree and the terrace and pool house are between the pool and the house. My friend France would have loved it. I don't know if I'll swim. It seems cool to me, with the constant breeze, although the thermometer says it's about 70 degrees.
Next to the table there's a covered stone well that is the water source for the house. We're too far from the town's water system.
Other end of season clanup included moving some of the plants in pots to a place behind a low wall, to prevent theft. Apparently, at least one disappeared previously, and some of them are rare.
The garden is voluptuous. There are what I think are crape myrtle trees in pink and lilac still blooming, red begonias, a wisteria, and what I think is oleander. Rose bushes galore because the previous owner fancied them. There's an old pump next to the well, but Henri said it doesn't work. There's an orbor with climbing roses. The sound of a gurgling brook is always present, as water passes on two sides of the house for irrigation. I can hear the water in my room when the windows are open. I hope not too many bugs fly in. I had to swat a few that looked mean. One appeared to be a giant mosquito, but Henri said there weren't any here, and some that looked like wasps.
Sitting here, I can hear sounds. Something fell out of the tree--one of the nuts I guess. Sometimes I hear a car on the gravel road, but it's on the other side of the river, going to other houses. Occasionally I hear unidentified birds. Yesterday a black squirrel ran across the grass.
I don't know where the vegetable garden is. I'll have to wander aroun a bit to find it, and see if there's anything ripe. But then, I haven't used what's already been harvested and left for me. I tried a cherry-sized tomato before bed last night and it was incredibly sweet. At lunch yesterday we had a melon from the garden,b ut it was picked too soon, and was hard and not sweet, having little flavor. All is grown organically.
Thursday, August 31
There's been a change of plans. When I got to the touris office @ 10 (a little late), h9 one else had shown up for the tour, so it was cancelled, and I signed up again for tomorrow. So now I'm sitting on the bus for Les Baux, having determined that parking there is inconvenient. Les Baux is where the word bauxite comes from, but in French it's pronounced Bo, with a long o.
In Les Baux, which is a hilltop village, overrun with tourists, I bought a ticket to see the Chateau, an old castle, with an audioguide in English. It was only mildly interesting, focusing on military defence mostly, and the castle was actually a ruin of what had been built into the rock. I got tired of it and didn't go to alla the sound stations, and besides I was so hungry that I had to eat a piece of the energy bar I was carrying. So, I went out and found a restaurant with a Plat du Jour for 12.50 euros. I ate baby lamb chops, frites (French fries), and ratatouille provencal, which was the same as the leftovers I've been eating at the house. Afterwards had a cafe creme, having looked it up earlier in my phrase book.
Later: Being a tourist is an exhausting business. After lunch at Cafe Aguilar I was ready for a nap but I had to kill an hour before the 3:55 bus back to St. Remy. Bought a postcard. Went into the Musee des Santons. There were bunches of little carved figures. Then I walked down to the bus stop and just sat there on a shady stone, wishing I could go to sleep. Three other ladies who had been on the bus this morning came along to wait, too. One of them had lived in Quebec and spoke English. Flopped on the couch for a nap when I got back to the house, having put a Clifford Brown disc into the CD player.
I think I got sunburned because my face felt hot. I didn't take my hat with me, since I wasn't planning for Les Baux when I left the house. I found the fig tree again and picked as many of the ripe ones as I could without dropping them. Next time I'll take a bowl with me. The sky is cloudless and blue, blue, blue. A few light breezes can be detected by the moving topmost branches of a tree, but not the sound of the mistral that was so strong since I've been here. Only the sound of the babbling brook, or irrigation ditch. I keep looking at the bus schedule and wondering if I should take another bus somewhere, e.g. Arles, to see what I missed before.
I'm thinking I should write something about Hugh Hewitt, the author of Blog: Understanding the Information Reformation That's Changing Your World.. It's the book I found in the house. It was written in 2005, and I think it's already a little out of date, but still interesting. He calls himself Center-Right politically and doesn't think that Rush Limbauch is a radical right-winger, but does think that Daily Kos is "an off-the-wall lefty, willing to say anything...." He hasn't mentioned the Huffington Post. But he proposes various ways to use blogs to promote your business.
Nicole called, inviting me to visit her on Saturday and I can stay overnight, but she has a grandson's birthday party at noon. I'll have to check with Patrice, the taxi driver, about his availability to take me to Avignon for the train.
Friday, September 1, 2006
The peaceful countryside has been disrupted. Apparently there's a construction site on the other side of the little river/creek and they started work at 7 or 7:30a.m., so I could hear them through the open whindow while I lie in bed. This afternoon when I came back from my excursion about 2:30 or 3pm, they were still going, something that I imagined was a cement mixer, a rhythmic sound of gravel in a tumbler and then the roaring of trucks. I was hot , and it was 78 degrees outside, so I wanted to take a nap on the chaise while I waited for a load of laundry to finish in the machine (it took about 1 3/4 hours!) but it was too noisy, so eventually I went inside to lie on the couch.
Today I got up early again, at 8a.m., to go to the tour about Van gogh's Paintings. There were eight of us this time and it was very interesting. Took us traipsing through the countryside to see where he painted olive trees, etc.
After my nap, the noise has stopped, but there is some smoke outside that smells like explosives or gunpowder, coming up south and west of here. I hope my clothes on the line don't smell of it. I heard something that sounded like a shot. Now a siren-like sound, maybe the fire engine going to check it out. Meanwhile, something that sounds like the rhythm of hammering has stopped and started. A voice calling and an answer. Maybe I'll investigate. NOthing on the east side--the truck was there and people talking , then the truck left and apparently finally found it in the west. I walked in that direction and found the garden, beyond the swimming pool. I couldn't check out ripe produce--I think I saw an eggplant--aubergine--but the garden was flooded by the irrigation ditch. There were some fruit trees and spindly olive trees in that direction. I heard sounds of putting out the fire and clouds of white smoke rising and then a kerosene or diesel smell. On the way back, I sat on the swing, a wooden bench like a porch swing, for a few minutes, and thought it would be a good place to meditate, next to the pool. As I came back to the terrace, the gardner arrived, so I told him about the fire. He thought the noise was a tractor so I did pantomine of smoke rising, saying "feu" and "fume" and held my nose to indicate smell. He walked over to check it out and came back confirming, saying that it was a car (voiture). So, big excitement. I ws thinking, I should have called thefire department, but how would I tell them where it was, en francais?
Sounds like the fire truck left now. So, something to report to Henri if he calls.
Back to the tour this morning. It included a view of Glanum, the Roman ruin across from Les Antiques (which I went to photograph later). At the end we went into the public part of the cloister to see the reproduction of Van Gogh's room. There were other tourists, families with kids traipsing around that part, too, and a few residents--obvious Down's syndrome or dwarfs, with staff accompaniment. There was a display of artwork, quite good, by "depressed women" residents, a few looking like imitations of Van Gogh. The paintings are for sale, with 1/2 the proceeds going to the artist and half to pay for the art teacher and supplies.
Cypress trees--tall, slender evergreens--some of them around Henri's house as well.
After the tour I went back into town, looking for a beauty shop where I good get my nails renewed. They wanted 41 euros for a remplissage! (What we call rebase or fill). Couldn't do it today (and tomorrow I'll be gone to Marseilles), said she had openings for Monday. I said I'd let her know. I don't want to pay that much. That's about $52.50. Costs $12-15 at home.
I went back to the car to get something, planning to look for a place for lunch, and met a couple from Alaska, looking at the city map. Brenda was a teacher, but opted out to take care ofher kids, both adopted from Saipan. Bill is a lawyer. They fly over to Europe quite often, having friends in Luxemburg and Hungary. They were driving a BMW convertible. Brenda said it only takes them eight hours from Fairbanks, flying over the pole and they often get free tickets on a charter, first class, because of Bill's business contacts. Tough life! They were planning to go down to Arles and then along the coast--Nice, etc. Wanted to see the beach. I left them a little before 2pm to go back to the tourist office for another tour of stories about St. Remy, but no one had signed up for it. The next one is next Friday, but I didn't sign up because my life is too unpredictible right now. So I came back to the house, feeling like I needed a nap.
So, on anothe rday, I'll do the self-guided walking tour of Van Gogh's footsepts through St. Remy. It's nice being leisurely, not having to do everything all in a day or two, having time for a nap and to write and read. Wondering if I can be brave enough to drive to another town. I could take a bus to Arles, but although it's been a long time ago (1989), I have been there before, so I'd rather go somewhere else. I'll have to look on themap to see where the towns withthe synagogues are. Carpentras is north of Avignon and St. Remy is south, so maybe too far.
The house is just a little way out of town, but separate from other houses, and already updated and remodeled, so I don't have to put up with the noise and dust of workmen, if you read A Year in Provence.
This is a tourist town apparently, and not every one has had to go back to work in Paris yet. School hasn't started yet, although it should in a few days or the beginning of next week. So there are still lots of people strolling the streets and sitting in the cafes. Tomorrow I'll be going on a tour of the places that Van Gogh painted when he was here. I ate lunch across the street from the hotel where Gounod composed an opera based on a poem by Frederick Mistral, a famous literary figure from here. The poem and opera are "Mireio." The opera was first performed here in St. Remy. No pictures available yet, because of the computer problem, and so far,I haven't found a place here that does repairs. More later--I want to check email.
For those interested in food, my lunch at the Cafe Brasserie de la Bourse was brochettes de poisson, riz, legumes, and creme brulee for 15 euros.
August 29, 2006
Now about the house. There are four bedrooms upstairs. The master bedroom has its own bath and the other three share one with adjoining doors. The master bedroom smells like lavender, which is a product of Provence, and grows in the garden.
The ground floor of the house has two more smaller bedrooms. One has a very old fireplace in it, and used to be a dining room, but too small for the table Henri put in one corner of the main room. The main room also has a fireplace, which is used in the winter. There's a kitchen to the left as you enter the house through the old wooden door. The other bedroom is on the other side of the main room, perhaps better called the Great Room, in a section that was added on. The bedroom has large French doors on two sides, now protected by an iron grill. There's a toilet next to the kitchen and then a long old stairway up to my room. The Great Room opens on the other side of the hall from the stairway. The floor is covered with old patterned colored tiles, which probably be called azulejos in Mexico.
onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6436/2368/1600/6987-33%20living%20room.jpg">
The living room, the whole house for that matter is filled with art, and a number of pieces of furniture proudly designed by Henri. The bed in my room and the one across from it, the "matrimonial" or "honeymoon" room because of the romantic gauze curtain similating a canopy, are built of metal according to the Golden Mean. The headboard and footboard are in a certain proportion to each other. There are cushioned armchairs in the living room, also desined by Henri, built for men's long-legged proportions, so that my legs stick out straight in front of me and I feel like Eloise in a big chair. I feel like Eloise in a big chair.
src="http://photos1.blogger.com/hello/112/11035/200/6987-37%20Henri%27s%20house.jpg">
href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/ target="ext">
style="border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;"http://photos1.blogger.com/hello/112/11035/640/6987-37%20Henri%27s%20house.jpg
align="absmiddle">Living room showing Henri's chairs. href=http://picasa.google.com/blogger/ target="ext">
style="border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;"
align="absmiddle">
src="http://photos1.blogger.com/hello/112/11035/200/6987-32%20Living%20Room.jpg">
The
house is furnished with the best of everything, e.g. the vegetable chopping machine ala Cuisinart is a Braun. The knives for cooking are ice-forged steel. The short-stemmed wine glasses are re-cycled crystal, with little bubbles in it, blown by a local artisan. The water tumblers look the same but don't ring like crystal. There's a fance corkscrew hanging over the stove. There's some box wine, vin ordinaire no doubt, so perhaps it's a better quality here than in the U.S., and it's from a local vineyard. From the look of it, the stereo system is tops. I don't know the brand, but the knobs are labeled in English, making it easier for me. The art includes an original print of Confucious from China. I can't remember the year, but either the print itself or the stone from which it was printed is hundreds of years old. Art by Roy Lichtensteing--Henri has like graphic (cartoon) art for some time and I'm sure these are limited edition prints.
A big gray cloud is beginning to float overhead, as it did yesterday, so the sun is fading. At Plum Village, and here, I had bery little problem with a stuffy nose. Whatever I'm allergic to in Albuquerque isn't here, or maybe it's because there's more moisture in the air. I'm feeling a bit tired as the cloud floats in, so maybe Ill take an early siesta. Can't go into town until later in the afternoon, since the bank closes from 12-2 and maybe the stores, too. Wonder about the tourist office.
There's a swimming pool, so it reminded me of the movie of the same name, but I can't see it from my room. The big tree and the terrace and pool house are between the pool and the house. My friend France would have loved it. I don't know if I'll swim. It seems cool to me, with the constant breeze, although the thermometer says it's about 70 degrees.
Next to the table there's a covered stone well that is the water source for the house. We're too far from the town's water system.
Other end of season clanup included moving some of the plants in pots to a place behind a low wall, to prevent theft. Apparently, at least one disappeared previously, and some of them are rare.
The garden is voluptuous. There are what I think are crape myrtle trees in pink and lilac still blooming, red begonias, a wisteria, and what I think is oleander. Rose bushes galore because the previous owner fancied them. There's an old pump next to the well, but Henri said it doesn't work. There's an orbor with climbing roses. The sound of a gurgling brook is always present, as water passes on two sides of the house for irrigation. I can hear the water in my room when the windows are open. I hope not too many bugs fly in. I had to swat a few that looked mean. One appeared to be a giant mosquito, but Henri said there weren't any here, and some that looked like wasps.
Sitting here, I can hear sounds. Something fell out of the tree--one of the nuts I guess. Sometimes I hear a car on the gravel road, but it's on the other side of the river, going to other houses. Occasionally I hear unidentified birds. Yesterday a black squirrel ran across the grass.
I don't know where the vegetable garden is. I'll have to wander aroun a bit to find it, and see if there's anything ripe. But then, I haven't used what's already been harvested and left for me. I tried a cherry-sized tomato before bed last night and it was incredibly sweet. At lunch yesterday we had a melon from the garden,b ut it was picked too soon, and was hard and not sweet, having little flavor. All is grown organically.
Thursday, August 31
There's been a change of plans. When I got to the touris office @ 10 (a little late), h9 one else had shown up for the tour, so it was cancelled, and I signed up again for tomorrow. So now I'm sitting on the bus for Les Baux, having determined that parking there is inconvenient. Les Baux is where the word bauxite comes from, but in French it's pronounced Bo, with a long o.
In Les Baux, which is a hilltop village, overrun with tourists, I bought a ticket to see the Chateau, an old castle, with an audioguide in English. It was only mildly interesting, focusing on military defence mostly, and the castle was actually a ruin of what had been built into the rock. I got tired of it and didn't go to alla the sound stations, and besides I was so hungry that I had to eat a piece of the energy bar I was carrying. So, I went out and found a restaurant with a Plat du Jour for 12.50 euros. I ate baby lamb chops, frites (French fries), and ratatouille provencal, which was the same as the leftovers I've been eating at the house. Afterwards had a cafe creme, having looked it up earlier in my phrase book.
Later: Being a tourist is an exhausting business. After lunch at Cafe Aguilar I was ready for a nap but I had to kill an hour before the 3:55 bus back to St. Remy. Bought a postcard. Went into the Musee des Santons. There were bunches of little carved figures. Then I walked down to the bus stop and just sat there on a shady stone, wishing I could go to sleep. Three other ladies who had been on the bus this morning came along to wait, too. One of them had lived in Quebec and spoke English. Flopped on the couch for a nap when I got back to the house, having put a Clifford Brown disc into the CD player.
I think I got sunburned because my face felt hot. I didn't take my hat with me, since I wasn't planning for Les Baux when I left the house. I found the fig tree again and picked as many of the ripe ones as I could without dropping them. Next time I'll take a bowl with me. The sky is cloudless and blue, blue, blue. A few light breezes can be detected by the moving topmost branches of a tree, but not the sound of the mistral that was so strong since I've been here. Only the sound of the babbling brook, or irrigation ditch. I keep looking at the bus schedule and wondering if I should take another bus somewhere, e.g. Arles, to see what I missed before.
I'm thinking I should write something about Hugh Hewitt, the author of Blog: Understanding the Information Reformation That's Changing Your World.. It's the book I found in the house. It was written in 2005, and I think it's already a little out of date, but still interesting. He calls himself Center-Right politically and doesn't think that Rush Limbauch is a radical right-winger, but does think that Daily Kos is "an off-the-wall lefty, willing to say anything...." He hasn't mentioned the Huffington Post. But he proposes various ways to use blogs to promote your business.
Nicole called, inviting me to visit her on Saturday and I can stay overnight, but she has a grandson's birthday party at noon. I'll have to check with Patrice, the taxi driver, about his availability to take me to Avignon for the train.
Friday, September 1, 2006
The peaceful countryside has been disrupted. Apparently there's a construction site on the other side of the little river/creek and they started work at 7 or 7:30a.m., so I could hear them through the open whindow while I lie in bed. This afternoon when I came back from my excursion about 2:30 or 3pm, they were still going, something that I imagined was a cement mixer, a rhythmic sound of gravel in a tumbler and then the roaring of trucks. I was hot , and it was 78 degrees outside, so I wanted to take a nap on the chaise while I waited for a load of laundry to finish in the machine (it took about 1 3/4 hours!) but it was too noisy, so eventually I went inside to lie on the couch.
Today I got up early again, at 8a.m., to go to the tour about Van gogh's Paintings. There were eight of us this time and it was very interesting. Took us traipsing through the countryside to see where he painted olive trees, etc.
After my nap, the noise has stopped, but there is some smoke outside that smells like explosives or gunpowder, coming up south and west of here. I hope my clothes on the line don't smell of it. I heard something that sounded like a shot. Now a siren-like sound, maybe the fire engine going to check it out. Meanwhile, something that sounds like the rhythm of hammering has stopped and started. A voice calling and an answer. Maybe I'll investigate. NOthing on the east side--the truck was there and people talking , then the truck left and apparently finally found it in the west. I walked in that direction and found the garden, beyond the swimming pool. I couldn't check out ripe produce--I think I saw an eggplant--aubergine--but the garden was flooded by the irrigation ditch. There were some fruit trees and spindly olive trees in that direction. I heard sounds of putting out the fire and clouds of white smoke rising and then a kerosene or diesel smell. On the way back, I sat on the swing, a wooden bench like a porch swing, for a few minutes, and thought it would be a good place to meditate, next to the pool. As I came back to the terrace, the gardner arrived, so I told him about the fire. He thought the noise was a tractor so I did pantomine of smoke rising, saying "feu" and "fume" and held my nose to indicate smell. He walked over to check it out and came back confirming, saying that it was a car (voiture). So, big excitement. I ws thinking, I should have called thefire department, but how would I tell them where it was, en francais?
Sounds like the fire truck left now. So, something to report to Henri if he calls.
Back to the tour this morning. It included a view of Glanum, the Roman ruin across from Les Antiques (which I went to photograph later). At the end we went into the public part of the cloister to see the reproduction of Van Gogh's room. There were other tourists, families with kids traipsing around that part, too, and a few residents--obvious Down's syndrome or dwarfs, with staff accompaniment. There was a display of artwork, quite good, by "depressed women" residents, a few looking like imitations of Van Gogh. The paintings are for sale, with 1/2 the proceeds going to the artist and half to pay for the art teacher and supplies.
Cypress trees--tall, slender evergreens--some of them around Henri's house as well.
After the tour I went back into town, looking for a beauty shop where I good get my nails renewed. They wanted 41 euros for a remplissage! (What we call rebase or fill). Couldn't do it today (and tomorrow I'll be gone to Marseilles), said she had openings for Monday. I said I'd let her know. I don't want to pay that much. That's about $52.50. Costs $12-15 at home.
I went back to the car to get something, planning to look for a place for lunch, and met a couple from Alaska, looking at the city map. Brenda was a teacher, but opted out to take care ofher kids, both adopted from Saipan. Bill is a lawyer. They fly over to Europe quite often, having friends in Luxemburg and Hungary. They were driving a BMW convertible. Brenda said it only takes them eight hours from Fairbanks, flying over the pole and they often get free tickets on a charter, first class, because of Bill's business contacts. Tough life! They were planning to go down to Arles and then along the coast--Nice, etc. Wanted to see the beach. I left them a little before 2pm to go back to the tourist office for another tour of stories about St. Remy, but no one had signed up for it. The next one is next Friday, but I didn't sign up because my life is too unpredictible right now. So I came back to the house, feeling like I needed a nap.
So, on anothe rday, I'll do the self-guided walking tour of Van Gogh's footsepts through St. Remy. It's nice being leisurely, not having to do everything all in a day or two, having time for a nap and to write and read. Wondering if I can be brave enough to drive to another town. I could take a bus to Arles, but although it's been a long time ago (1989), I have been there before, so I'd rather go somewhere else. I'll have to look on themap to see where the towns withthe synagogues are. Carpentras is north of Avignon and St. Remy is south, so maybe too far.
posted by Joan Saks Berman | 7:08 AM
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