Rachel's House: En France

This morning's walk brought the first red leaf falling in my path, so I picked it up and brought it along with me. It's clearly a message from autumn, saying "watch for me...summer will be old news soon".

I have come to love Paris, where in the last weeks maples, plane trees, oaks, lindens and chestnuts, among others, floated down leaves, curled and brown from the heat this summer imposed. Not bright red ones like mine. Small seed kernels with moth-like wings and the thin parchment curls of the locust fell on outdoor seats at the cafes and restaurants, as my sister Mary Ellen and I walked the shaded paths of the Jardin Luxembourg or the Tuilleries, or picnicked in the Raneleigh or climbed those hundreds of steps through Montmartre to see Paris laid before us.

Though we did quite a bit of sightseeing to the famous landmarks, it isn't those that mean Paris to me, though I appreciate the. It's the small neighborhood I've stayed in along the Boulevard Raspail in Montparnasse at the edge of the 6th. There is such history there, certainly...the Cimetiere at one end of the block stretching toward the Daguerre and at the other the short diagonal walk up the Rue Vavin to the Luxembourg, across which you can cut in any direction to the more touristed sites. But mostly there is daily life, people who recognize one another in the cafes and small markets on the side streets, the buses which go to places one needs as well as wants, the small shops nearby, the poste, the stationer, the pharmacy, etc. It's a useful place with pretty walks and easy destinations. And for being only a few steps from such a busy intersection, surprisingly quiet, too.

It's not for nothing that this blog, often of travel to other places, is Rachel's House.

My sister and I walked all over Paris for the few days we were there. It was the end of our trip to France, tacked on to our plans to stay in Aix-en-Provencewith side ventures through the Luberon and down to the coast. But since she had never been to Paris, it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity to show her my favorite city from the vantage point of my favorite corner of it.

By the time we got back to Paris for those few days, we had already been by train from north to south and back again. The trains were the best way for us to travel...I who can't drive and see the countryside at the same time never bother with cars or airplanes within a country. I like knowing where I am, seeing the ground roll by and the landscapes evolve. Besides, we hadn't had much sleep on the plane trip over the Atlantic, and on the trains naps are easy, if not de rigueur.

Most of France had suffered through a hot, hot summer, highly publicized, so we weren't sure what we would find in the way of weather. The high season for French vacations (August in Paris means that most of the continent and some other continents are en vacance at once) meant tourists might over-run the natives themselves on the roads and streets. But it was our time to go. With only a few small hitches, our plans came together to bring us to the Gare de Lyon, that station famous in film and fiction, first getting a quick lunch of salads and chocolate from PRET, and waiting among the throng of other travelers, until our train was called. In no time we were out of the city and into the country of farms, cows, then goats and vineyards and the edges of the Alpilles rising to the left of us. Smaller towns and a few stops later, we descended at Aix-en-Provence, where our cab took us as close to our stay as he could get...the Cour Mirabeau, where we were to pick up the key at, of all things, an Irish pub, is not open to cars (though motorcycles and bikes are a threat down its middle rows).

Aix was everything we might have hoped. The old city, a lovely town centered by the broad (and car-less) Cour Mirabeau, did indeed run with the crowds we expected. But our apartment, Belle Mirabeau, in a century old house on the Rue Clemenceau which bisected the Cour, provided the advantage of a thick-walled refuge of calm and rest, though it was but four doors from the busy intersection. The owner, Lauren Jolly, had described himself online as a man who enjoyed renovating historic structures, and the elegance and cool of his work in this one showed that he knew, also, what made them a comfort. We settled in.

The Belle was also perfectly placed for walking in any direction to the town's offerings. The Cour divided the old town between the ancient foundings to the north and the more high-toned dwellings of later centuries impressed to the south, beginning at the fountain at the Rotunde

and making a straight course to the street just before the church which is now known as the Chapelle d'Oblats, but which was originally the small garden where the beleaguered Hugenots met to pray.

Wandering here and there the six days of our residence brought us from the heart of Aix along its primary arteries to discover what the south of France is about, for Aix, historically as well as geographically, seems to have the right temper, between the old papal haunts of Avignon and the glitsy celebrity of the Cote d'Azure.

Too, it is the city most useful for the Luberon villages slightly to the north in the mountains and valleys that border the Parc Naturel and the Alpilles. They are the stuff of Peter Mayle's Provence adventures; if you have read them, you already know that it is a well-spring for wines, melons, meats, cheeses, lavender and interesting characters. Not to mention the most beautiful views anywhere.

But first, we had to know our place, so, though we didn't arrive until after four on our first day, we soon wandered out to the Cour, where we identified our morning cafe and our evening cafe, and the Monoprix in between. Food in France is, as it is to us, the center of the day, no matter what else we do of interest...and we are interested in lots of things, cultural, social, and accidental. Though we had a perfectly good little kitchen, we chose to use it to keep our water cold, to make the morning's first cup of Mary Ellen's coffee and a small snack of fruit, cheese, and chocolate later at night. In between, we enjoyed the Cafe Grillon's cafe creme and salade Nicoise, and by night the Cambarou's tapas, particularly their eggplant caviar, with our favorite wines.

And we walked, the next day greeted by the grande marche' on the Cour, where we drank our cafe cremes and began to wade through hats, dresses, fabrics, music, and jewelry. Mary Ellen bought a hat, most necessary under that brilliant sun; I bought a gift or two from the famous characters of the region.

Then we found a stall where a woman named Cathy had her jewelry, cut from stones she knew the essential spirits of. The stones were beautiful, but more interesting were conversations with her about which stones we needed for the virtues they contained. Guess which ones she chose for each of us?

No, of course we didn't spend all our time at the cafes and the market! But it was a start. We wandered after small side streets that showed more of the character of vieux Aix, too.