An American Girl in Avignon

Sunday 31
The Hotel Relax’s breakfast was impressive. As I rolled downstairs after my usual night of restless and minimal sleep, being welcomed by a fresh basket of at least four different types of pastries accompanied by a scorching cup of that addictive café au lait was exactly what I needed. John, Jenny, and Rachel mange-d (franglais again) on their buttery goodies at the table across from me as we prepared to walk down to the port to board our boat to the islands and Chateau d’If, made famous by the Count of Monte Cristo.
The water and the large fishing port were beautiful. On our ride to the prison, France’s version of Alcatraz, we got a good view of the Bonne Mère looking over the city from the base of the famous church. Sailing up to the prison where they held famous people such as the son of King Louis and the author of the Man in the Iron Mask, I was shocked by the size of the place. It was tiny, and really, really eerie on the inside. They even had the Count of Monte Cristo playing in the supposed cellar of the prisoner. Now maybe I just need to do more research, because I thought that the story was all a legend. It’s hard enough to tell fact from fiction in today’s modern world. Try figuring it out in the 1700s. Before Blackberrys and Facebooks. Word of mouth and writing were the only gossip sources going, and still prove to be just as ineffective sometimes as modern day technology.
The next island we visited was where quarantine was stationed during the plague. A huge cemetery on the side of the mountain where they buried the dead was one of the only monuments on the beach-lined island. Eerie again. Marseille itself has a really friendly and upbeat vibe, but take a hike up the island’s mountains to see the cemetery or visit the prison, and you’ll start to think otherwise.
Eager to take the boat ride back, we stopped for some lunch at a kebab stand, where I tried falafel for the first time. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but man, was it good!
Wanting to further our cultural experience with the Marseillian trilogy, we decided to take the ferry boat ride that Escartefigue took across the bay each day. Man, what a boring job! All you have to do is go back and forth across the tiny Vieux Port, which you easily access more quickly by just simply walking to the other side. No wonder he dreamed d’ailleurs (of elsewhere). I would have too.
César’s Bar, or the Bar de la Marine, where most of the three plays takes place, was our next stop. I don’t know if the bar was built before the stories were written, but I assume that it had been, and was remodeled to be decked-out in Marcel Pagnol memorabilia after the series’ success. Pastis in César’s bar seemed like an appropriate thing to do, so that was what we did.
Our trip to the market for some of that famous soap was cut short due to rain, but that was okay with me, because I was exhausted and eager to get back to Avignon and sleep. What gets me is how all of the work we have to do they wait to assign us the week we have our biggest excursion as a group. Thankfully, we have no school tomorrow! I am going to bed.