Avignon, a place in which I could totally live

The train ride from Paris to Avignon was beautiful. The countryside was breathtaking. I assume. I slept through it all, even having to be physically woken up by the conductor so he could check my ticket. Once I got to the city, it was no easy task to get to my hostel, but I managed it, wheezing in the 90 degree heat under the weight of my backpack. Man, every time I complain I sound like a really terrible person, don’t I? Poor me, in southern France. Anyway, I had previously decided that Avignon would be the perfect way for me to recover from Paris, so I checked in to my hostel, beautifully situated right on the Rhone river, and took a 3 hour nap. Once I was up, I flailed around in the heat for a while but failed to accomplish much, except possibly the most refreshing raspberry sorbet I have ever had.

The next day I woke up bright and early at 8:30, had a delicious petit dejeuner complete with croissant and hot chocolate, and took a bus to the Benedictine Monastery I had so ineffectively attempted to walk to the previous day. It was beautiful. I had gotten so used to the havoc wreaked on Abbeys and Nunneries by Henry VIII, that I had forgotten that religious houses could be more or less intact. It was beautiful and serene. I think I love nothing more than walking the cloisters of a deserted monastery.

I took a walking tour later that included a visit to the Pope’s Palace, which was very informative and interesting. The papacy was in Avignon for a while in some medieval century or other, and during that time the Pope had this palace built. It is now the largest Gothic palace in Europe, so well done Pope. The most entertaining part of the tour, I felt, was the way that all of the 60 and 70 year old men and women on the tour kept volunteering useless and/or inaccurate information, as if to prove themselves to the rest of the group. Like eager children, they would finish her sentences when she paused, as if to say, “harrumph, these many years of mine have been spent in pursuit of knowledge, harrumph.” How strange, that these elderly people should resort to strategies that young children use to impress people. 

I spent a couple hours in the evening sitting by the river with my kindle and my journal, just enjoying the French evening. I slightly envied the groups of jovial French people picnicking, but for the most part I was content to be alone. I consulted the Avignon skyline for confirmation, and decided yes. I could definitely live here. If I learnt French. And had a lot of money. I could buy the monastery!