The old Jewish synagog in Cavaillon
After finishing my last post, I got on the highway towards Cavaillon (sometimes referred to as Kabellon, but I don't know why). I knew it was a highway (D99) because it had two clearly marked lanes and the speed limit varied from 60 to 80 KPH, once time even went to 90. The road was lined with gnarled (knurled, knarred) old trees, giving it the appearance of a country lane. I did fine following the road signs until right as I got to the edge of town, when I turned off the rotary at a sign which said Centre Commerciale. When I didn't come to anything that looked like it would be a tourist office, I asked a roadside worker and he said that it was Centre Ville that I wanted and direcdted me back towards the bridge. Turns out it was the next choice after the place where I turned. Right next to the tourist office is a big, rocky hill (Saint-Jacques Hill) and a parking lot. On the rocks was a plaque that said, in French and Hebrew, that it was formerly the site of the Jewish Cemetery. On the other side of the tourist office on the Place due Clos are the remnants of Roman arches.
At the synagog I got the tour in English from a young woman who is a student, only working there during the summer. Her knowledge of the history and Jewish custom was impressivel. I took photos throughout the tour, which I will post later, starting with the inside of the tower, thought to belong to the original synagogue--the commuinity started there in 1624 according to the pamphlet I got, although I thought I remembered the guide saying the 15th century. Jews settled there because they were under the protection of the Pope at at time when there was a lot of persecution (when wasn't there?). However, they were still confined to a ghetto, which was actually just one short little street, with gates at the end that were locked at night and on christian religious holidays. The guide said that at one time 2000 people lived there, which was hard to imagine in such a small space. The brochure says that in the 18th century the community never exceeded 200 people, but I don't know if that's a contradiction, because of the chronology. Interesting features of the synagogue are a raised Elijah's chair, perched on a high shelf in the corner, and the bema on the balcony, opposite where the Torahs were kept. There were once seven Torahs there, but since the congregation was officially dissolved, they are kept in Avignon. The synagogue in Avignon still functions, as does the one in Carpentras, and they were shown in a movie that I saw later at the museum at the Hotel-Dieu. Don't know if I'll be able to get to either of those, since they're a longer drive from here, and I don't know if I'm brave enough to go by myself. Henri and Elizabeth will be coming back on the weekend, so maybe I can get them to go with me. There was a 4th synagogue in the area, at Lisle-sur-Sorgue, but it was destroyed during the French Revolution, when the revolutionaries turned on religious institutions. In Cavaillon there is still some kind of Association related to the synagogue, but I wasn't clear if the 40 or so members were all Jews, or just interested parties. The Jews that still live there go to Carpentras for services. Actually, the Jewish community dispersed during the time of the French Revolution, since they weren't required to live in ghettos (carriere in French) any more.
After leaving the synagogue, I walked to the Musee de Hotel-Dieu where the archeology museum is. My ticket from the synagogue entitled me to free entrance so I could watch the film about the four synagogues of the Vaucluse, mentioned above. From the Hotel-Dieu (I also looked into the chapel), I went back to the beauty shop I had passed, and found it was a place to finally have my nails done. I ended up costing me 38.50 euros. The rebase technique was a little different from the way it's done at home, including using a pink paste-like gel instead of a powder, and it wasn't smoothed and buffed by the electric drill except for the first time before any application. The ultraviolet light was built into the table and at one time became so hot that I had to pull my hand out. The rest of the time she filed and buffed with an emery board. The products she used were actually labeled American Nail, as a brand. There wasn't much choice in polish colors and I chose a light lilac frosted. She didn't do a great job of applying it, but at least it's done until I get home, since it's supposed to be done every two-three weeks, and was long overdue.
Leaving the beauty shop, I walked back on the route of the walking tour, marked by signs, and apparently walked right past the Cathedral without realizing it. I too pictures of the mural on the school, apparently next door. I did see the back of it and took a photograph. I wasn't much in the mood for seeing a church, anyway, and had earlier passed the Convent. On the way to the Place du Clos I stopped in a bookstore and asked for books in English ("No, desolee"), but was able to get the International Herald Tribune. Getting to the Place, I noted that the tourist office was closed, with metal grilled gates pulled down. Decided to stop at the Café Fin de Siecle for a diet coke before driving back to St. Remy. Sipped and read the paper. On the road once more, I took a wrong turn at the rotary again, but was able to turn around at the next rotary and avoided getting on the autopiste. At this time of day, dusk, they seemed a bit more ominous than before, like gnarled soldiers.
Today, which is the next day, I ate lunch in a little place on Rue Carnot, but I should have gone to the one next door, because this one didn't have outside tables and all the ones under the fan were taken. And then I ordered fish soup as a starter (soupe poisson), which made me start sweating, and I didn't stop till I was out of there. Then I walked over to the Musee des Alpilles and started watching a film about August Grandois (?), an agriculturalist who had a hobby of illuminating manuscripts. His animals reminded me of Dr. Seuss drawings. I saw the exhibit of his work later in the museum. Each of his three daughters died young and he wrote and illustrated their biographies (did the calligraphy, too) which were hung in frames on the wall. Unreadable by me. Kinda sad, though.
I plodded through the antiquities collected haphazardly in the area, mostly Roman relics, bone fragments, pieces of pottery, swords, etc. some pieces of the Arlesian costume and an explication of the hairdo with the ribbon was done. Some info on the area as seed producers for seeds packaged in little envelopes and sent to other parts of the world, which industry got destroyed when the big companies moved in, but I don't remember exactly what happened, just that the local industry disappeared suddenly sometime around 1929. there was also a print shop with a press and cases of type. By that time I was feeling tired and bored and left. I walked past the Hotel de Sade, which is now closed to visitors, and snapped some photos on the way to Biscuit & Biscuit.
I sat outside as I wrote more in my journal, but overheard the owner on the phone, apparently to someplace in England, ordering more plates, cups and other pieces for the pottery painting workshop she has there. Her name is Jill Bennett. I chatted with her a little she came to France from England 30 years ago, and stayed by accident (I didn't press for details). Her deaf old dog is a lassa apso and she doesn't take him to marked because he hates it. She agreed with me, when I commented about all the small dogs I saw there on market day, seemingly frightened and in constant danger of being trod upon by big feet around them. She said most of those were shih tzus. There was a couple in the restaurant where I ate lunch who had one with them and fed him little tidbits from time to time. Before they left, they had picked him up, first one, then the other, and snuggled and kissed him as though he was their baby. After this conversation, it was time to go home and take a nap, around 5:30pm.
Friday, September 8, 2006
This morning I decided to go exploring down the road that turns off across from the driveway to Henri's house. It said on the sign Chemin de Roussan et Cornud and there was another sign with an arrow that pointed to Chateau Roussan. Turns out it's an old 18th century hotel and restaurant and one end of the road (turning left at the T) leads there and dead-ends. A few cars parked in the yard, dark and sad looking place. Turned around and went in the other direction out to a highway, which later I discovered was good ol' D99. from there I just continued following my nose. I went past a mas or farm settlement. I didn't remember what the sign said, but looked it up later and it was identified as Mas-Blank-des-Alpilles. There was a sign at a turnoff for Les Baux which indicated a place for poterie (dang, these words aren't even in the phrase book, but you can guess), but I didn't turn off there. Also went through St-Etienne-du-gres and Fontvielle. Since I remembered seeing the latter name in the Lonely Planet, I parked and looked it up. It's a town of population 3566, famed for its windmill immortalized by Alphonse Daudet in his short stories, Lettres de mon Moulin (1869). There's a museum about him there, but I didn't see a sign for the tourist office or for a mill, so I got back on the highway and ended up in Tarascon, which was on the list for the halfday trip that I never completed after Graveson. I didn't open up that part of the guide book when I got there, so I missed some of the places it mentioned, but I wasn't feeling all that energetic anyway, and would have run out of time.
I parked the car near a big plaza (turned out there's a train station on the other side of it, I discovered later) and took a picture of the small merry-go-round there. No kid—probably all in school--so they were polishing it up. I followed the signs into the old city to the tourist office on foot, and got a map. Didn't feel like going to King Rene's (1434-80) Castle (built by Louis II, decorated by King Rene, but was later stripped and used as a mint and then a prison until 1926), but thought I'd walk around a little and go to the Souleiado fabric museum after lunch. Found the Tarasque dragon in a store window and snapped a photo. According to the Lonely Planet, "Each year during June's Fete de la Tarasque, a Chinese-style dragon parades through Tarascon to celebrate St. Martha's slaying of Tarasque, a dragon that lurked in the Rhone according to Provencal legend."
I came to a sign that said Rue de Juifs and followed down the little loop. No other plaques to identify anything but there was a building rounded at one end, so I wondered about it, as it reminded me of the synagogue at Cavaillon. I asked a woman who was loading or unloading her car, and she thought maybe it referred to a place where there was a market, like Rue des Ouvriers, Rue de Protests, etc. She didn't know anything about an old synagogue. A young woman came out of a house, apparently hearing our discussion. I couldn't make out exactly what she was saying, but I think it was that there may have been something there but she wasn't sure, I should ask at the mairie. If that was in the Hotel-Ville, there was a sign on the door that it was closed today. The tourist office had told me there was a big market today (I didn't think I could deal with it), so maybe that's why.
When I got back to where the car was parked, I intended to go into the supermarket to buy some yogurt and water. As I entered, the woman working there warned me that the store was closing in four minutes, so even the supermarket closes at lunchtime. I didn't want to have to wait until they opened again, so I went in and made my purchases, and wasn't the last one out, although I saw them turn off the lights. I had intended to stop at the bookstore on the way back to the car, but it was already closed when I passed it.
I ate lunch at Le Terminus, taking a chance on the Plat du Jour for 12 euros. Turns out Morue, which I recognized having seen before, but didn't remember what it was, was salty cod, and I had trouble eating it. Boulons was a bowl of snails with aioli. The veggies were a generous helping of green beans, some cooked carrots and a boiled potato. It was the fullest meal I had for the money and they didn't scrimp on the bread, either. But my bargain was lessened because I didn't remember correctly, and I thought the dessert was included, so that ended up costing me an extra four euros for a dish of coffee ice cream, and then three euros for the crème café.
After that, I walked over to the fabric museum and paid a whopping 6.10 euros for the entry, with no senior discount. It was very hot in there, an old mansion (another visitor was fanning herself). It was interesting but not worth such a high price. By then I was worn out and glad to head back, after stopping at an ATM and taking a couple of pain pills for my lower back, always a problem when I'm walking so much.
When Henri arrived for the weekend, we went to eat at the Mistral Gourmand and had foie gras as an appetiser, which we shared. Our main dish wad duck with figs and mashed potatoes and strips of bell pepper, red and green. Wine, of course, and chocolate ice cream with raspberries and carambre (a kind of caramel sauce). I was stuffed, no room for coffee on the way home, we got stopped in front of the police station (gendarmarie) and Henri had to blow into a breath-testing gadget. His passing score was 0.13. 0.25 is the legal limit. I don't know if that's on the same scale as used here. Good thing we didn't finish the bottle of wine or have an aperitif in addition.
At the synagog I got the tour in English from a young woman who is a student, only working there during the summer. Her knowledge of the history and Jewish custom was impressivel. I took photos throughout the tour, which I will post later, starting with the inside of the tower, thought to belong to the original synagogue--the commuinity started there in 1624 according to the pamphlet I got, although I thought I remembered the guide saying the 15th century. Jews settled there because they were under the protection of the Pope at at time when there was a lot of persecution (when wasn't there?). However, they were still confined to a ghetto, which was actually just one short little street, with gates at the end that were locked at night and on christian religious holidays. The guide said that at one time 2000 people lived there, which was hard to imagine in such a small space. The brochure says that in the 18th century the community never exceeded 200 people, but I don't know if that's a contradiction, because of the chronology. Interesting features of the synagogue are a raised Elijah's chair, perched on a high shelf in the corner, and the bema on the balcony, opposite where the Torahs were kept. There were once seven Torahs there, but since the congregation was officially dissolved, they are kept in Avignon. The synagogue in Avignon still functions, as does the one in Carpentras, and they were shown in a movie that I saw later at the museum at the Hotel-Dieu. Don't know if I'll be able to get to either of those, since they're a longer drive from here, and I don't know if I'm brave enough to go by myself. Henri and Elizabeth will be coming back on the weekend, so maybe I can get them to go with me. There was a 4th synagogue in the area, at Lisle-sur-Sorgue, but it was destroyed during the French Revolution, when the revolutionaries turned on religious institutions. In Cavaillon there is still some kind of Association related to the synagogue, but I wasn't clear if the 40 or so members were all Jews, or just interested parties. The Jews that still live there go to Carpentras for services. Actually, the Jewish community dispersed during the time of the French Revolution, since they weren't required to live in ghettos (carriere in French) any more.
After leaving the synagogue, I walked to the Musee de Hotel-Dieu where the archeology museum is. My ticket from the synagogue entitled me to free entrance so I could watch the film about the four synagogues of the Vaucluse, mentioned above. From the Hotel-Dieu (I also looked into the chapel), I went back to the beauty shop I had passed, and found it was a place to finally have my nails done. I ended up costing me 38.50 euros. The rebase technique was a little different from the way it's done at home, including using a pink paste-like gel instead of a powder, and it wasn't smoothed and buffed by the electric drill except for the first time before any application. The ultraviolet light was built into the table and at one time became so hot that I had to pull my hand out. The rest of the time she filed and buffed with an emery board. The products she used were actually labeled American Nail, as a brand. There wasn't much choice in polish colors and I chose a light lilac frosted. She didn't do a great job of applying it, but at least it's done until I get home, since it's supposed to be done every two-three weeks, and was long overdue.
Leaving the beauty shop, I walked back on the route of the walking tour, marked by signs, and apparently walked right past the Cathedral without realizing it. I too pictures of the mural on the school, apparently next door. I did see the back of it and took a photograph. I wasn't much in the mood for seeing a church, anyway, and had earlier passed the Convent. On the way to the Place du Clos I stopped in a bookstore and asked for books in English ("No, desolee"), but was able to get the International Herald Tribune. Getting to the Place, I noted that the tourist office was closed, with metal grilled gates pulled down. Decided to stop at the Café Fin de Siecle for a diet coke before driving back to St. Remy. Sipped and read the paper. On the road once more, I took a wrong turn at the rotary again, but was able to turn around at the next rotary and avoided getting on the autopiste. At this time of day, dusk, they seemed a bit more ominous than before, like gnarled soldiers.
Today, which is the next day, I ate lunch in a little place on Rue Carnot, but I should have gone to the one next door, because this one didn't have outside tables and all the ones under the fan were taken. And then I ordered fish soup as a starter (soupe poisson), which made me start sweating, and I didn't stop till I was out of there. Then I walked over to the Musee des Alpilles and started watching a film about August Grandois (?), an agriculturalist who had a hobby of illuminating manuscripts. His animals reminded me of Dr. Seuss drawings. I saw the exhibit of his work later in the museum. Each of his three daughters died young and he wrote and illustrated their biographies (did the calligraphy, too) which were hung in frames on the wall. Unreadable by me. Kinda sad, though.
I plodded through the antiquities collected haphazardly in the area, mostly Roman relics, bone fragments, pieces of pottery, swords, etc. some pieces of the Arlesian costume and an explication of the hairdo with the ribbon was done. Some info on the area as seed producers for seeds packaged in little envelopes and sent to other parts of the world, which industry got destroyed when the big companies moved in, but I don't remember exactly what happened, just that the local industry disappeared suddenly sometime around 1929. there was also a print shop with a press and cases of type. By that time I was feeling tired and bored and left. I walked past the Hotel de Sade, which is now closed to visitors, and snapped some photos on the way to Biscuit & Biscuit.
I sat outside as I wrote more in my journal, but overheard the owner on the phone, apparently to someplace in England, ordering more plates, cups and other pieces for the pottery painting workshop she has there. Her name is Jill Bennett. I chatted with her a little she came to France from England 30 years ago, and stayed by accident (I didn't press for details). Her deaf old dog is a lassa apso and she doesn't take him to marked because he hates it. She agreed with me, when I commented about all the small dogs I saw there on market day, seemingly frightened and in constant danger of being trod upon by big feet around them. She said most of those were shih tzus. There was a couple in the restaurant where I ate lunch who had one with them and fed him little tidbits from time to time. Before they left, they had picked him up, first one, then the other, and snuggled and kissed him as though he was their baby. After this conversation, it was time to go home and take a nap, around 5:30pm.
Friday, September 8, 2006
This morning I decided to go exploring down the road that turns off across from the driveway to Henri's house. It said on the sign Chemin de Roussan et Cornud and there was another sign with an arrow that pointed to Chateau Roussan. Turns out it's an old 18th century hotel and restaurant and one end of the road (turning left at the T) leads there and dead-ends. A few cars parked in the yard, dark and sad looking place. Turned around and went in the other direction out to a highway, which later I discovered was good ol' D99. from there I just continued following my nose. I went past a mas or farm settlement. I didn't remember what the sign said, but looked it up later and it was identified as Mas-Blank-des-Alpilles. There was a sign at a turnoff for Les Baux which indicated a place for poterie (dang, these words aren't even in the phrase book, but you can guess), but I didn't turn off there. Also went through St-Etienne-du-gres and Fontvielle. Since I remembered seeing the latter name in the Lonely Planet, I parked and looked it up. It's a town of population 3566, famed for its windmill immortalized by Alphonse Daudet in his short stories, Lettres de mon Moulin (1869). There's a museum about him there, but I didn't see a sign for the tourist office or for a mill, so I got back on the highway and ended up in Tarascon, which was on the list for the halfday trip that I never completed after Graveson. I didn't open up that part of the guide book when I got there, so I missed some of the places it mentioned, but I wasn't feeling all that energetic anyway, and would have run out of time.
I parked the car near a big plaza (turned out there's a train station on the other side of it, I discovered later) and took a picture of the small merry-go-round there. No kid—probably all in school--so they were polishing it up. I followed the signs into the old city to the tourist office on foot, and got a map. Didn't feel like going to King Rene's (1434-80) Castle (built by Louis II, decorated by King Rene, but was later stripped and used as a mint and then a prison until 1926), but thought I'd walk around a little and go to the Souleiado fabric museum after lunch. Found the Tarasque dragon in a store window and snapped a photo. According to the Lonely Planet, "Each year during June's Fete de la Tarasque, a Chinese-style dragon parades through Tarascon to celebrate St. Martha's slaying of Tarasque, a dragon that lurked in the Rhone according to Provencal legend."
I came to a sign that said Rue de Juifs and followed down the little loop. No other plaques to identify anything but there was a building rounded at one end, so I wondered about it, as it reminded me of the synagogue at Cavaillon. I asked a woman who was loading or unloading her car, and she thought maybe it referred to a place where there was a market, like Rue des Ouvriers, Rue de Protests, etc. She didn't know anything about an old synagogue. A young woman came out of a house, apparently hearing our discussion. I couldn't make out exactly what she was saying, but I think it was that there may have been something there but she wasn't sure, I should ask at the mairie. If that was in the Hotel-Ville, there was a sign on the door that it was closed today. The tourist office had told me there was a big market today (I didn't think I could deal with it), so maybe that's why.
When I got back to where the car was parked, I intended to go into the supermarket to buy some yogurt and water. As I entered, the woman working there warned me that the store was closing in four minutes, so even the supermarket closes at lunchtime. I didn't want to have to wait until they opened again, so I went in and made my purchases, and wasn't the last one out, although I saw them turn off the lights. I had intended to stop at the bookstore on the way back to the car, but it was already closed when I passed it.
I ate lunch at Le Terminus, taking a chance on the Plat du Jour for 12 euros. Turns out Morue, which I recognized having seen before, but didn't remember what it was, was salty cod, and I had trouble eating it. Boulons was a bowl of snails with aioli. The veggies were a generous helping of green beans, some cooked carrots and a boiled potato. It was the fullest meal I had for the money and they didn't scrimp on the bread, either. But my bargain was lessened because I didn't remember correctly, and I thought the dessert was included, so that ended up costing me an extra four euros for a dish of coffee ice cream, and then three euros for the crème café.
After that, I walked over to the fabric museum and paid a whopping 6.10 euros for the entry, with no senior discount. It was very hot in there, an old mansion (another visitor was fanning herself). It was interesting but not worth such a high price. By then I was worn out and glad to head back, after stopping at an ATM and taking a couple of pain pills for my lower back, always a problem when I'm walking so much.
When Henri arrived for the weekend, we went to eat at the Mistral Gourmand and had foie gras as an appetiser, which we shared. Our main dish wad duck with figs and mashed potatoes and strips of bell pepper, red and green. Wine, of course, and chocolate ice cream with raspberries and carambre (a kind of caramel sauce). I was stuffed, no room for coffee on the way home, we got stopped in front of the police station (gendarmarie) and Henri had to blow into a breath-testing gadget. His passing score was 0.13. 0.25 is the legal limit. I don't know if that's on the same scale as used here. Good thing we didn't finish the bottle of wine or have an aperitif in addition.
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