Although right now I’m warm in bed eating dark chocolate Easter eggs from Madame, outside my window the Mistral has arrived. That’s right, the very wind that drove Van Gogh mad is ripping through the South of France this very moment. It stays for intervals of three days and usually coincides with some of the crispest blue skies of the season. Sadly this wind joined us on our trip to Arles today, but I have to say it just added to the day’s many unexpected adventures. We loaded up the bus at the god-awful hour of 8:30 AM and after a rough night of sleep I kept asking myself what I was doing…but it was Easter and I decided I’d much rather be out doing something than stay cooped up in windy old Aix.
Surprise number one came when George, after asking us about a million times if we had paid our twenty euros, announced that we still had to pay for the bullfight. We were a little bit outraged, but decided to see how much it was before pitching a hissy fit that he would most likely not understand. We checked the price; decided it was worth it and went on a little tour before it started. After the tour we got the pleasure of seeing the French version of the running of the bulls, which was basically an excuse for a bunch of ‘hard-ass’ French adolescents to bro it up and puff out their chests—until the bull came when they’d safely hop behind bars again. One or two bulls would race from point A to point B and back again several times. We watched through our cameras for about 15 minutes, determined to get some decent pictures, which proved mildly successful. From there we scuttled off to the ancient Roman amphitheater to get our seats for the actual bullfight!
With a great view of the arena and patchy blue skies, we were pretty stoked to see the French version of a bullfight, where they didn’t kill the bull. How naïve we were. Little did we know that while we carelessly ate our chocolate bunnies and watched the matadors get introduced in their glittery spandex attire, several bulls were about to be killed in that very arena. I hate to admit it, but aside from the gruesome torture and murder of the bulls, the rest of the show was spectacular. The bright colors of the matadors’ outfits, the energy of the crowd and the positioning of the ‘players’ in the arena combined to create a significant wow factor. It really appeared as though the bull and matador were doing some sort of dance, which was only enhanced by the big brass band playing in the stands. It had the rhythm of a waltz and the dark twist of a tango and showed the connection the matador felt with the bull. It’s unreal to think that we were sitting in an arena where gladiators fought lions thousands of years ago. We were completely shocked to see the bulls get stabbed and stagger to the ground to the crowd’s glee. None of us could watch as blood streamed out of the bull’s nostrils in the final moments. That was about the moment that the matadors turned into major D-bags in our heads and we started rooting for the bulls. The second bull managed to nab a matador, which proved to be one of the highlights of the fight. This one was more energetic and put up much more of a fight. The second matador put the first to shame and did some jumps worth of a Greg and Patrick jumping pic photo shoot. Amanda caught him mid air in one of the coolest jumping shots I’ve ever seen. After a much more gruesome slaying of the second bull they put chains around his neck and dragged him the length of the arena while Amanda, Stephanie and I tried to distract ourselves. With over an hour left we embraced our roles as the grossed out Americans and got the hell out of there.
Chilled to the bone literally and figuratively we ran to the nearest café to caffeinate and debate whether or not we were bad people for seeing the bullfight. Once warmed up and out of the arena we decided it was a cultural thing and we weren’t too morally repellent. Oh, I almost forgot! Another surprise occurred directly after we left the amphitheater. At the foot of the stairs a man stood with a flaming stick and a gallon of gasoline; ladies and gentlemen, enter the fire breather. He blew flames of dragon proportion, which looked stunning against the provençal blue skies. Flames spewed several feet above our heads, over his shoulder and through his legs; I was impressed. If I wasn’t so grossed out by the thought of chugging gasoline I might have considered taking it up, it would be a hell of a trick to pull out at parties. Upon Professor Potter’s recommendation we headed towards the alyscamps, or for our purposes the famous cemetery in Arles. Sadly, it was closed for lunch and reopened at the exact time our bus left, so we missed out on it for the second time. Instead we walked through the lively streets of Arles on Easter, being tempted by kabobs and crepes. We ended up stumbling upon the hospital where Van Gogh was kept and the beautiful garden within. I absolutely love taking photos of nature, and flowers are some of my favorite things to photograph so this garden with its abundance of color and variety of flowers was basically heaven. We spent some time there and had to get back to the bus, seeing a few more bulls and horses on the way.
The bus ride to the camargue was a nice breather from the action of the day, not to mention it was absolutely beautiful with its vibrant spring greens. The region is known for its white horses and pink flamingoes, both of which were plentiful out the windows of the bus. Our destination was a little bit further to the town Marie de la Mer or something like that. Instead of taking the guided tour we went by ourselves to the beach, which was one of my favorite parts of the day. The sky was the most intense gray blue and the wind made the waves crash against the shore. We walked down the long rock pier and marveled at the changing colors of the sky and the sea. I took some of my favorite photos of the day before the wind transformed from a sea breeze to a sea monster and forced us back to land. Enticed by the warmth of civilization we ended up at a creperie that also boasted some very delicious looking gelato, too bad it was freezing outside! Too bad for us that is, because we of course sucked it up and ate it in the cold anyways. How could you turn down calisone gelato?! You can’t, that’s what I say. From there we took shelter in the nearby church and were entranced by the overall atmosphere. As we neared the basement, a group of flautists practicing for the night’s concert played a haunting tune that fit perfectly with the mood. As their notes echoed through the church we descended into a cave full of candles. The small stone alcove was as hot as a sauna and had a yellow glow from all the flickering lights. It was incredible. After that the sky looked like it was literally about to crack open and pour out torrents of wind and rain...to our left. To our right it was beautiful and sunny still, quite surreal. Not gonna lie, the busride home with gray skies and rain pouring down the windows was a comforting feeling, made me miss the good old midwest a bit though. I suppose I'll be back to that soon enough.
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