Friday 27 August 2010: Popes and carousels: Avignon

Today Avignon is a city of carousels, boutique shopping and sidewalk eating in the sunshine. The sombre grey stone of walls encircling the old city and the ramparts of a fortified palace remind the passersby of days when beliefs and traditions were strong enough to make Kings bow low before religious leaders.

Avignon's famous landmark is the Pope's palace built as a fortress by Pope Benedict XII and added to by Clement VI, patron of the arts and lover of the high life. For about 70 years the Popes resided in Avignon, the years of the so called Bablylonish captivity. Clement V fled to France in 1309 to avoid papal power struggles in Rome.

Next to the palace is the Notre Dames des Domes, Avignon's cathedral. I found it a refershingly austere structure except for the gilded Madonna on the tower, a 19th century embellishment.

The courtyard of the older section of the Pope's Palace reflects Benedictine simplicity. However, the history of customs and traditions (relayed on the audio cassettes available for hire to guide one around a buillding which has explanations only in French) told a different story. Elaborate courtly procedures accompanied every move of the resident Pope, from sleeping rituals to eating and dressing. It all seemed a far cry from the simple, humble and unworldly example of the Christ whom the medieval clergy were tasked to represent.

I just had to snap the effigies of Louis II ' the good' de Bourbon and his lady, Anne of Auvergne, at whose marble feet lay their beloved and faithful pugs.

Le Pont St Benezet was built ostensibly at the instigation of a young shepherd boy during the 12 century. Over the years the floods of the Rhone took their toll and only three of the 22 arches remain.

The street of the Weavers once housed the dyers who supplied the local weavers. A branch of the river Sorgue flows in a canal down one side. Under the plane trees, the cobbled streets and the grey stone building a stall selling second-hand books caught my eye.

A quirky little cafe indicated what a can of green lime paint can do for two slatted chairs.

I am always on the lookout for something contemporary for Catherine amidst all the baroque. This little imp sits outside the city wall near the Pont.

The shops selling linens and Provencal prints abound. But you have to search the labels to avoid the telltale Made in China or Woven in India labels.

Wednesday 14 July: Ends and beginnings

The end or the beginning?The end of a hectic six weeks. Both for me and for South Africa. And it is now or never – to begin blogging again.

Spain lifted the FIFA World Cup high. A very good time was had by all as the world enjoyed a wonderful sports event that we locals have anticipated for a decade. I have acquired a taste for the sound of vuvuzela’s, flown our SA flag from my car aerial and learned quite a bit about soccer.

On a personal note, I have travelled to Provence and tasted the sun-ripened tomatoes at a Saturday market in Arles.

Of course, attending conference in Aix-en-Provence does not mean you can't wine and dine.

I arrived home to make another three trip to Durban - not watch the games but to teach.

Then the girls arrived...

For a week of the extended holidays with Gran ‘all by themselves’.

I also turned a year older and had fun celebrating it with the family.

It’ s been a remarkable winter so far.

Hopefully now it’s time to get back into a routine. And record my meanderings in Provence in the next posts.

Tuesday, 1 June 2010: Got my travelling shoes on again

Home seems sweeter than ever just before I leave on a trip. Safe, protected, familiar. Tomorrow I fly via Paris to Marseille to attend a conference in Aix-en-Provence. A destination that I have coveted since reading Peter Mayle.

Yet the butterflies always flutter in my innards as I pull on my travelling shoes. Doggos are off to the kennels; the budgies will chatter near Jethro's pram; my PC is about to be shut down; the Out of Office message on the email is set to operate from 6 am tomorrow and the last items tucked into my minuscule hand luggage.

I shall be back on 12 July to World Cup fever that is taking over South Africa. Back to home, sweet home.

Monday, 24 May 2010: Seraphine de Senlis

Seraphine de Senlis was the topic of the movie, Seraphine (2009) that my artist friend, Rhoda and I watched on Saturday evening. I had no previous knowledge of this French painter of Naïve Art and I found her creations and the story of her life moving. Seraphine was born in 1834 in Arsy, France. Orphaned at seven, she spent her childhood in a convent; her early years as a shepherdess and the rest of her life as a household drudge. But Seraphine was driven by her desire to paint – through the nights in the shabby bedsit; through the shelling of her village during WWI; when encouraged by the German art critic, Wilhelm Uhde; and when forgotten and unappreciated in the post-war years until Uhde found her once again. Sadly, her childlike spending of her patron’s money alarmed his sense of caution during the Great Crash and eventually insanity ended her virtually hidden career. She died alone and friendless in a mental asylum in 1934 (some put the date at 1942). She never knew that some of her paintings, brilliant images of leaves, flowers and feathers which seem to swirl and quiver, hang in the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, New York.

In the movie Yolande Moreau does a wonderful portrayal of the painter – scrubbing floors, emptying chamber pots and washing linen in the stream. Gazing with affectionate worship at the image of the Virgin Mary, mesmerised by the sunlight dancing on leaves or the image of her own work worn hand submerged in a pail of water. Making her own paints of glowing colours, grinding her mixtures with mortar and pestle from concoctions of mud from river beds, wild flowers from the hedgerows, a vial of blood from the butcher’s bowl and molten wax from the votive candles at Mary’s shrine in the village church.

‘She was obsessed,’ whispered Rhoda to me in the dim light of the cinema. ‘Well, so are you when you get going!’ I answered back. In the seat next to me, a young girl sat weeping. It was that kind of movie. That kind of life – Seraphine de Senlis.

23 May 2010, Sunday: Falling in love with Jethro

Isabella's with its pink and white candy stripe decor, its range of teas and luscious, decadent cakes is just the place to be seen in Pretoria suburbia at the moment. And who better to be seen with than month-old Jethro. I am not sure if he is enamoured of his Grandma or not; he is far too sleepy to decide. But certainly I am falling in love with Jethro at each tète-et-tète we have.