Camisieta in Francia

Horseback riding on the Carmarge

The train to France was marvelous except for the hour delay in Toulouse. A frantic run thru the station to catch our connection, which of course, turned out to be on the platform right beside us

Roses were in glorious bloom everywhere

.We had interesting conversations with Martha and Gerald, a retired British couple. We had so much in common for this stage of life. “Let’s Travel” “Let’s  Move”.  Their plan had always been France for retirement, which Brexit stopped dead in its tracks. They held no illusions over the British political landscape. They were worried about a second Drump run, or God forbid, DeSantis. As they stated, “we'd be more worried about the states, but Brexit has fucked us over royally and that’s about all we can handle.” Smart, articulate, both having attended Cambridge and still living there today. Not France.

Vincent's recording of Saintes Marie de la Mer

7 hours later, a gentle sprinkle met us at Arles Train station. Nary a cab was to be found outside the train/bus station. As we lugged our suitcases down and up the staircases of the Arles station, I am reminded of Spain’s commitment to handicapped citizens and their elderly (me). We walk the 25-20 minutes to the hotel located in the old part of town. Stopping only once, to catch our breaths. I was amazed and surprised the section of old town where we arrived; it’s facades, its roads, it's sidewalks. Arles seems to be in a slump or are they renovating? The buildings of old town remain charming in their Romanesque way and weathered ways. Picturesque alley ways abound.

I have an abiding love for Arles and always shall. 

Welcome to Arles

Our first hotel,  Hotel de l’Amphiteatre , was a renovated villa, on a quaint and quiet alley way. The room comfortable with an exceptional breakfast the next day. Scottish men in kilts roamed the hallways, beer in hand. Lavish modern art and nudes adorned the walls. Thank you for upgrading our room.

How to hang your bikes

 

Our first evening meal was taken at a decidedly French restuarant, Le Criquet, recommended by the desk attendant at l’Amphiteatre. The menu was small, locally sourced, and There Will Be NO Substitutions attitude. Chef knows best. At the end of the meal, we agreed with Chef.  The leek and mushroom tart was sublime.

Weds was all about getting the bus to SMDLM on market day in Arles. There is a giant market in Arles on a bi-weekly schedule. The town becomes packed, which really f#$@s with the bus routes and schedules. After much, low frequency fussing back and forth between the monkey man and I, numerous texts to Camiseta and GPS, we confirmed we were at the right stop. The heavens opened up and a bus finally came by to ferry us to the Carmargue. Home of gypsies, pink flamingos and Al Parfet.

Camiseta met us at the bus stop. She looked glowing. It's obvious French living suits her.