The Best Of It. The Worst Of It.

Thu/Fri 22/23 Jun

Although a little weary from the Andorra trip we were both looking forward to our trip to Aix-En-Provence and the Cezanne exhibition. Arriving at Carcassonne rail station at 0715 hrs we went into the refreshment room to buy a couple of bottles of water.

The very attractive 25 or so young woman behind the counter was being aggressively harangued by two young men shouting and gesticulating (as the French do) and grabbing at her. About 20 years old, they seemed typical of a class of young men we notice frequently in the towns who appear somewhat 'swarthier' than others; bellicose beligerent in their manner; and, in groups, can be quite intimidating. The girl was crying and the three or four so-called 'gallant Frenchmen' in the room avoided getting involved.

She moved down the counter towards me and I asked for the water. Almost instantly I had these two blokes pawing me and pulling me away. I stood my ground and spoke firmly in English. They backed away. The girl then came from around the counter and stood with Donna and me. Fortunately, after some minutes a more mature fellow arrived and hustled them away. Five minutes later they were back again until a rail staff person arrived. We left at that stage. From what I could gather the girl had refused, or could not, sell them alcohol.

An upsetting start to the day which troubled us both. Most of these fellows carry knives and I suppose you can understand people not wanting to get involved. There also seems no hesitation in laying their hands on each other which is a bit strange to us, or at least to most of the Australians I know.

Another distressing incident occurred in Aix-En-Provence shortly after we had visited the painting exhibition. We were walking on the narrow footpath along a narrow road which had cars parked right along one side leaving little room for cars to pass through. To give room to a lady approaching on the footpath I stepped sidewards on to the road into the path of a car I had not heard behind me.

This infuriated the 20 something male driver who blasted his horn and gave me an earful of something as he passed by. Around 15 metres up the road he stopped and jumped out of the car and charged towards me yelling and throwing his arms about. He was young, muscular, and about 5 or 6 inches taller than me.

I had a camera around my neck and a day-pack on my back and not in a real good position to defend myself and to look out for Donna. He threw a 'king-hit' at my head which brushed my forehead and knocked off my hat as I swayed away. He continued to scream in what we suppose was classic 'road rage'.

It was not in my interests to fight him (I'd have been belted for sure and discretion being the better part of valour and all that) and as no help was coming from elsewhere, I turned my back and picked up my hat. Perhaps at this stage he realized I was no 'spring chicken' and he stormed back to his car. Thank God he didn't have a gun or a knife!

I think there is a problem in this country which, if you come to think of it, has rarely won anything and fears irrelevance. To take advantage of the weak is a trait of many of the young and perhaps this is a reflection of overcrowded cities and an inability to get on with each other. I think I've mentioned before that the country still seeks a sense of unity. Is there also a racial and religious element to all this? I think so.

Well, that was the worst of it. Unsettling to say the least, however, it should not detract from the general good will, helpfulness, and friendliness we have enjoyed. Even today, at the barbershop, a rugby-type: a fit and healthy local young Frenchman, realized I was foreign and shook my hand and hoped I was enjoying my stay.

Perhaps the men and boys in the countryside have escaped the 'eat or be eaten' attitude of the spivs in the city!

Out of all this, for me, the worst thing is that I am not as competitive on the streets as I might once have been.

The TGV train from Carcassonne was, as usual, spot on time and extremely comfortable. The trip took nearly 3 hours and the weather in Aix-En-Provence was stifling hot. There were people everywhere as the general market was in full flight and of course, this is a prime destination for Americans who could be clearly heard.

On the face of it Aix-En-Provence (pop. 160,000) is an elegant city with fountains splashing away in every square. The golden stone of the buildings and its beautiful light offer a visual harmony which, unfortunately,is diminished by the crowds and traffic. The name comes from Aquae Sextiae, sweet water. Apparently, after an outbreak of cholera in 1720, new sources of water were pumped in and the city built new fountains to deliver it. There is a substantial student population (around 30,000) as the nearly 600 year old university not only teaches the arts and humanities to the French but instructs foreign students in the fine arts of French civilization. However, as one guide-book puts it, Aix can never live down having mocked and laughed at Cezanne, the only real genius it ever produced.

We arrived at the Garnet Museum only to find that you have to go nearly half a kilometre away to buy the tickets to the exhibition. This entailed queuing for an hour before being told the tickets are issued on a time basis and that our period was 1330 to 1430 hrs! We queued at the museum at 1330 hrs and went through the security screening at 1400 hrs! The crowd was such that it was difficult to stop at any painting to get any real appreciation of it. Was it worth it? We would go again tomorrow! The variety of work Cezanne achieved over the five distinct periods of his painting life is remarkable. His ability to bring the very soul of his subject, whether still-life or other, through the use of colour and extraordinary brush work is what genius is all about.

After roaming the streets and window shopping the many well stocked, but expensive shops, we sat in a square outside a wonderful Hotel de Ville. I drank 'pastis' while Donna had 'Orangina' and we enjoyed watching the world go by and some street performers until our train left at 1930. An unusual but enjoyable day.

Today, Friday, we relaxed at home and I went for a haircut at the local barber. He could not speak a word of English but have you ever been to a barber's and not had a conversation? I was able to talk about the time spent in Caunes Minervois; a comparison of Minervois and Bordeau wine; and a deep and meaningful on Cezanne (well shallow at least). Really quite proud of myself!