Aimlessly Wandering the Streets of Aix-en-Provence, France

We aimlessly wandered the streets of Aix-en-Provence for several days, having no schedule, and conducting ourselves like anyone should when given the time to rest and relax between two, week long treks in southern France.

We arrived earlier in the week on a public bus. Midway, the driver yelled at MK in indecipherable French, but yell he did. He did not want her or anyone else eating their food on his bus. At that point, MK already had a mouthful of potato chips so, after a pause, continued to munch and finish what she started, although much more slowly and quietly while putting the bag away with her other belongings.

Construction in the city center required the bus to stop at a location other than what our maps indicated would be the stop. This threw us for a loop, taking a while to get oriented to where in this large city we now stood and what direction we needed to head to get to our apartment.

Just like on the trail last week, we took the skills learned there and applied them to this urban environment. After several twists and turns down narrow streets and quiet alleys, we found ourselves at the apartment doorstep, a location centrally situated in the old, historic section of town. The landlord’s representative arrived soon thereafter with the key and to show us around.

After she left, and we started to have a look around it occurred to me then what I couldn’t understand fully in her thickly accented English as we first walked up the three flights of stairs. I’m now sure what she was telling us was, “Pardon me for the condition of the place. The maid hasn’t been doing a good job. So it’s what’s called…..how do you say in English?.....a ‘szheet howse’ right now.”

The place wasn’t the cleanest, that’s for sure. As MK opened the drapery, we noticed the less than ideal conditions. I swept the floors and had a dustpan full of dirt, hair and other nasties once finished. The shelves in the kitchen were dusty. The fixtures in the bathroom didn’t fully function, nor did the air conditioner. The beds sagged like the broken back of an old plow horse now put out to pasture. The mattress pad was made of a crinkly and loud plastic material. Perhaps the landlord had in the past rented to a guest who partied too much and ended up having an overnight bowel evacuation.

Well, so what, we sighed. What can you expect given the price we have paid. We learned to make the best of things. In time, though, we learned to love the place. Just like the ugly duckling child with a face only a mother could love.  

Our main activity was to casually stroll about the city. On every day, you can find open-air food, flower, clothing and just about any other type of markets that fill the streets and public plazas. Different days simply mean different locations and different merchandise. On more than one occasion, we bought produce and meats in the morning and prepared it later in the day for our lunch or dinner. 

The churches, and there are many of them, continue to amaze. Some built in the in 5^th century during Roman times still stand. Others more recent (recent as in being built in the 12 to 15^th centuries) show off their exquisite architecture and invaluable artwork. 

Many fountains and statues adorn just about every corner or the tops of many buildings. One fountain in particular has warm water, heated from the thermal springs located underneath the city. In fact, it is these thermal waters and the baths and spas they fed that helped lead to the city’s founding by the Romans. By the way, did you know the term “Provence” comes from the time when the Romans conquered these lands and established one of their first “provinces” here as part of their growing empire?

One evening, MK strolled off for some alone time to channel her inner Cezanne. She had bought some drawing paper and pencils to sketch some street scenes of this town, which inspired the works of Cezanne, Varsarley, and other artists. Meanwhile, my version of being productive was by sitting at a street side café, drinking a beer, and observing the scene before me.

As I took another sip of my beer, I noticed a middle-aged couple who sat themselves near me, pulled out their Michelin tourist guide, plotting where they we going to head off to next. 

A few tables over sat two young women who began to wrap gifts they had purchased at a nearby store while sipping their espressos. The merchant across the way was rolling up his window awnings as part of his store closing routine then soon placed bags of today’s garbage at the curb just like what all business and residents do here in the city. Each night, city workers will come by to collect and dispose of this refuse.

Several joggers ran by with a perturbed look that came across their faces when their momentum was interrupted by strolling pedestrians. “Boo-hoo,” I say. Quit showing off and run somewhere where the crowds of people aren’t as thick. Meanwhile, dog walkers are everywhere. The dogs bark and sniff each other’s rear end while the owners chat and visit after giving each other air kisses. And, of course, there are the younger people, walking with purpose but with their heads bowed looking at their phones and texting God knows who or what.

On our last day, we could no longer put off one of life’s more mundane tasks: laundry. To pass the time, we sat at a nearby café while our clothing was on the spin cycle. Across the street, a young man with filthy clothes and greasy hair, swayed uneasily as he held his bottle of liquor, mocking and mimicking the sounds of the horns of passing cars. On our side of the street, a bedraggled middle-aged lady was rummaging through an ashtray picking out cigarette butts that still had some tobacco in them. She convinced a passer-by to give her light and, after a couple of puffs, threw the butt on the ground, and then unsteadily leaned over to point and curse at it as its burning ember faded.

Well, that’s all for now. Time to go get our laundry before someone begins to rifle through my underwear.