Saturday 25 March – Aix and pains – but so many gains!

 Survived an unwelcome interruption to our sleep when a French couple started arguing noisily, almost violently, out in the corridor and then in their room to the point where somebody must have called security.  Undaunted, after a satisfying breakfast in our dining room we set off for the Saturday markets, first walking the length of the main boulevard, Cours Mirabeau, flanked on either side by stalls selling clothing, wares, books, bric-a-brac and interspersed at regular intervals by live entertainment – singers, instrumentalists (including one young male quartet of slap bass, two guitars and violin who reminded John so much of Django Reinhart that he bought their CD) and a group of African rap-style gymnasts who left us feeling exhausted (and envious – where has it gone?) just watching – such skill, strength and vitality.

On up to the food market in Place Richelme where we bought our seafood dinner, and the doings for lunch, then back to our apartment to replenish, rest and recharge.

 We later walked just around the corner and caught the No 5 bus to go to the Le Terrain des Peintres, a small park which was Paul Cezanne’s favourite location to paint Mount Sainte-Victoire, that featured in 36 of his paintings and 45 of his watercolours.  While waiting for the bus we noted that the section of street was one-way so we asked a young man standing nearby, with excellent English, where would we get off on the return journey.  No worries – the bus just makes a loop through town and arrives back here from the same direction.  So we boarded the No 5, got off at the right spot, walked the short distance to the park and viewed the nine all-weather replica paintings on display – and the uninterrupted view of the mountain.  It was easy to see why Cezanne would have been attracted to this spot and it has no doubt become a rite of passage for aspiring artists to come to here.

We then confidently boarded the No 5 bus again and rode into town, into an area we recognised as not too far from our lodgings, but were somewhat surprised when it then continued out of town for some distance, to our minds into another province, and after a good hour, after everybody else had left the bus, the driver informed us that we had reached the end of the line.  Fortunately he spoke good English and after we explained our plight, no worries he said, get off, cross the road and I’ll pick you up again in five minutes.  Which he did.  So after another 20 or 30 minutes we were back where we had started from a few hours earlier.  This could have been an inconvenience, but in reality it was an opportunity to see much of Aix that we would otherwise never have seen (and surely we must have passed through every suburb in the town), but more importantly to see the Aix people in action: friendly, polite, giving up their seats to those who need them, invariably calling out a ‘merci’ to the driver as they alight.  And the drivers: watching those under their charge; waiting until elderly or those with strollers or mobility issues are settled before moving off. A lovely people, the Aixois.