Romantic Roy retrospective; Le Café La Nuit; Roy does 10,000 Roman steps; the Camargue – white horses, black bulls, grey salt and brass bands

Retrospective

Way back in the mid-nineties, long before the digital era, Roy and I spent a week in Provence. We flew to Nice, overnighted there in a room above a betting shop, then drove our hired car to Arles.

I’d booked a hotel recommended by my Rough Guide to France – how did we even do such a thing in those days; by fax? – but it turned out to be dark and depressing.

So we asked at the tourism office, which found us a lovely room in a hotel overlooking the Rhône. A taciturn, black-suited, Lurch-like porter shouldered our luggage to our room, and each morning brought our breakfast baguette, butter, jam and coffee breakfast for us to enjoy at a little  table with a view of the river.

Each day for a week, we’d drive in a different direction for lunch – to Aix-en-Provence, to Avignon, for example, or south through the Camargue to the Mediterranean coast. We’d come back for a long siesta, then stroll into Arles for dinner.

So captivated were we by Arles  that Roy kept on wanting to return. But I thought that might be unwise – what if we were disappointed? Give it a few years, I said.

Return to Arles, Summer 2019

Those few years turned into 24 or 25 years. And so it happened that when we finally did return to Arles, it was with to celebrate daughter Wendy’s 40th birthday with a three-night stay at the Sofitel Jules César. (Designer Christian Lacroix redid the décor some years ago – very stylish.)

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Naturally we headed straight for the Place du Forum, only to find Le Café La Nuit (subject of the Post-Impressist Dutch artist Van Gogh’s perhaps most famous work) inexplicably closed – and that on a Friday night. The closure was exceptionelle, said our waiter at neighbouring Hotel du Nord.

It was open for business when we returned the next afternoon, but sadly understaffed: the service was patchy, brusque and tardy. Our pastis were served with ice and water already added – and that’s just so wrong; see here. A neighbouring couple called for their bill and left stony-faced, their food untouched.

What does the management care? While this hallowed place deigns to opens its doors, it’s guaranteed a steady flow of customers. No-one comes to Arles without having at least one drink here.

Better Fare

Our concierge having proposed several restaurant recommendations, we started with dinner at Le Gaboulet (18, rue du Docteur Fanton). We all had the salmon, and it was perfect.

Flanked by the thermal baths to one side and the wide and lovely river Rhône to the other, La Caravelle was a great place to lunch. When Roy’s beef-mince-stuffed vegetables arrived, Wendy declared a case of plate envy. That said, my roasted seiche (cuttlefish) with potatoes and salad were lovely too, as was Wendy’s regional salad.

Saturday is market day in Arles, and what a market! – spectacularly huge and wonderfully varied. They pedestrianise the entire city centre and the stalls stretch for what feels like miles.

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She may  not look it here, but Wendy was very pleased with this pop-up coffee stall, located slightly off the main road and to the right of our hotel. Just behind that is the tourist information office, where she treated us to tickets for four of the city’s most historical sites (€12 pp; or €16 for six sites).

When in Arles…

Arles is a treasure trove of Roman ruins and medieval monuments. Here’s the four we chose:

Firstly, the Roman amphitheatre, built in the late first century AD and based on the Coliseum in Rome. Its previous capacity for about 21,000 spectators of games and gladiator fights – no mention of Christian-gobbling lions in the brochure – has been reduced to 12,500. Nowadays, it’s the scene of regular bullfights.

Second, the Cryptoporticus, a vast system of underground vaulted galleries that formed the foundations of a forum (marketplace) that no longer exists.

Third, the Constantine thermal baths – less intact than the first two sites – which date from the early 4th century.

And finally, Saint Trophime church (late 12th century) and its extensively restored cloisters (12th and 14th century).

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According to Wendy’s very clever iWatch, Roy and his newish knee did spectacularly well today – more than ten thousand steps and 11 flights of stairs! Steep stairs, too. It’s hard to visualise those shortass* Romans bounding up the amphitheatre to get to the loo at half-time.

(*Five feet to five feet five inches was the height of the average Roman, they say.)

Arles, Gateway to the Camargue

It’s only a half-hour drive south through the Camargue to its capital, Les Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer on the Mediterranean coast. This town has changed almost beyond recognition. Back in the 90s, Roy thought he remembered my posing for a photo on a rough stone jetty with the legendary church in the background – something like this:

Actually, a root through the old Arles photographic archives produced only this pdf scan of a photo that I took on my old predigital Canon 35mm:

Since then, the space between beach and church has been totally filled with new touristy restaurants, shops and accommodation:

It felt a lot like Narbonne plage, which Roy and I visited by car in July this year. (Click here for my blog on Narbonne.) So we dipped our toes in the Mediterranean – or at least I did; wandered through the market; bought a painterly sweater – or at least I did; had a coffee, and then pointed the trusty Twingo in the direction of the medieval walled city of Aigues-Morte.

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Aigues-Mortes

Serendipitously, we coincided with Aigues-Mortes’ fête votive, 5-13 October – eleven days of jollification for no clearly discernable reason. We saw and heard:

• the tail-end of bulls and horses helter-skeltering down one of the streets, apparently culminating in a show in a rough arena just beyond the walled city;

• people in period dress on vintage motor-bikes;

• parading brass bands; and

• DJ music right in the central square, horrid enough to curdle your pizza.

None of us  actually wanted boring old pizza, but the pizza joint in the square was the only one with a vacant table for us. I quite enjoyed my traditional tellines shellfish starter, and Roy’s fish soup served with parmesan and a thick dob of garlicky saffron rouille was bloody marvellous.

Now that you’re back from raiding the fridge, I’ll finish with a few more photos of picturesque Aigues-Mortes, its 13th-century ramparts and its colourful balloon lady. It’s possible to get there by boat from the Canal du Midi. Maybe we can should do exactly that on our boat Karanja in summer 2020 en route to St Jean-de-Losne, if time  (and the captain) allows.

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