Tour de Aix-en-Provence

          Like the rest of the hung-over teens of Aix, we had a late start to the day. At around 10 am we feasted over breads, cheese, yogurt and fruit. Yet another beautiful day in Aix left us keen to spend the day outdoors. As the birthplace and home of the famous painter Cézanne, the city of Aix had designed a “Steps of Cézanne” walk that marked various locations throughout the city notable in the life of Cézanne and his artwork. We passed the building that once was a hospital where Cézanne was born, various apartments which Cézanne, his wife, and his son had lived, and the museum which used to be the gallery which Cézanne had once displayed his works. Because many of the buildings had been transformed and commoners used them for humble, personal purposes, I suspected the authenticity of this tour’s claims. Nonetheless, the “Steps of Cézanne” was a great way to explore the city and admire the antique architecture.

            When planning our walk along the “Steps of Cézanne,” I noticed that the ninth destination was extremely removed from the rest of the sites. This point was Cézanne’s grave, and I didn’t expect this to be a particularly worthwhile venture. However, my step dad was set to see the walking tour through to completion. So, we set out on the trek out of the city center. We passed a military academy where parents appeared to be picking up their children for the summer. Finally, we arrived at the graveyard, and I was overwhelmed by the abundance of tombs showering the plot of land. But not just the size and number of graves, but the distinct color and design dedicated to each individual memorial. Most had been decorated with ceramic flowers. Many had stone sculptures shaped like books, and inside each book a porcelain oval insert with a portrait painted on it would represent the individuals buried in that grave. A few tombs even had elaborate structures built with small shrines inside.

Tomb that looked like a log cabin/cathedral.

One of the more interesting tombs.

Intricate shrine inside a tomb.

Cézanne's tomb!

            We weaved up and down just a fraction of the aisles in the graveyard, en route to Cézanne’s grave. Comparatively, his grave appeared quite humble. Only the signage leading to his tomb set it apart from the rest. The amazing art and architecture I saw in the graveyard made the trek completely worthwhile. The vibrant colors and care toward these memorials emanated the love which living family and friends still feel toward these passed folk. As someone who greatly fears dying, this graveyard actually made me feel less pessimistic about dying.

            We continued the “Steps of Cézanne” up until we reached the location of Cézanne’s father’s hat-making shop. At that point, my step dad decided he was hungry, and like classic French people (minus the cigarettes), we stopped at a café for food and drinks. Because we weren’t hungry, my mom and I didn’t completely follow through with the French lunchtime café scene and only ordered drinks. Well, a glass of champagne and a bottle of rose later, I quickly realized why the French order food with their drinks at this hour. Goofy and giggly, we vetoed my step dad’s desire to resume the “Steps of Cézanne” post lunch, and we decided to hop on the 45-minute trolley tour of Aix.

On the way back from the graveyard, I spotted this old model
of a Mini. So adorable!

            The tour began by covering the main street in town, explaining each of the fountains. The fountain in the main intersection of town is the largest water project constructed in the town. The second fountain up the Cours Maribeau served as a trough for sheep in the town, before Aix urbanized of course. The final fountain had naturally sourced warm water. I felt the water and was not struck by the temperature, but that could be because of the exceedingly warm temperature outside.

What we thought may be Cézanne's bike.

            The tour proceeded to explain the architecture and streets. In memory of one of its leaders, the city of Aix named everything in one portion of the town after a the Roman General Caius Sextius Calvinus. As the trolley turned up Rue des Cordeliers, I teleported into the scene from Clueless, where Cher has the revelation that she is in love with her stepbrother, but yet she digresses in front of a shoe store asking herself, “Oo, I wonder if they have those in my size?” Then, our tour guide informed us that we had entered the main shopping street in Aix. I locked eyes with my mother, and we knew where we were going at the end of the tour.

            With my vastly improved map-reading skills, I navigated our way to the Rue des Cordeliers. We bounced from shop to shop, admiring the creative patterns and prints making up each garment. Though, the favorite store of the day had all of its clothes sourced from Saint Tropez. The light, gauzy materials used couldn’t have looked more comfortable based on the Mediterranean weather we had been experiencing. We made our way back to our hotel, stopping in a plethora of shops along the way. My parents even left me in a store, saying they would meet me back at the hotel; I could spend days flipping item by item through clothing racks, especially when admiring trendy French fashions.

No food, no gelato, no phones. 

            Sauntering into our hotel room, dazed by the chic apparel I had just witnessed, my parents informed me that we were meeting our family friends (who organized the bike trip we would embark on the following day) for dinner. I promptly showered and dressed up, inspired by the Aix fashions. I directed us to our friend’s hotel. Realizing that our hotel was much more centrally located, in the thick of terrace dining and nightlife, we walked back the direction we came to locate a restaurant for dinner.

            Since you can’t really go wrong with food in France, we sat at the coziest looking outdoor terrace. I ordered a “Tartine Nordique,” which was an open-faced sandwich topped with fresh goat cheese spread, smoked salmon, greens, tomatoes and fresh lemon. The meal was not quite as divine as the night before, however still tasty and above average. Instead of ordering dessert at the restaurant, we walked to find the gelato restaurant that had stopped my step dad and me in our tracks earlier in the day. I tried one scoop of lavender/honey and another of salted caramel, the salted caramel definitely winning for taste.

The streets of Aix

            Uncharacteristic of the rest of our stay in France, we went to bed very early that night. At 8 am the next morning, we would have to be packed, dressed and ready to depart for our biking adventure in Provence!

Post-College

The stunning fountain which greets visitors upon entering Aix-en-Provence.

We found Subway: Dr. Hite's favorite!

            That morning, I checked my email over breakfast and discovered I had been recommended for a job. The recruiter had already reached out to me and hoped to talk later that evening. As any normal unemployed college graduate, I grew ecstatic. The recruiter and I set a time for 7:00 pm, giving me enough time to research the firm at the hotel. So, we said so long to our quaint Le Mans experience and caught the 10:00 am train out of Le Mans and to Aix-en-Provence. Just before leaving for this trip, a family friend mentioned that her niece was interning in Aix, and I thought to myself, why would you want to work in Aix when you could work in Paris? I had never been to Aix, but I imagined it could not be nearly as fun as the iconic city of Paris. Soon, I would be incredibly mistaken.

            The train route required a transfer at Léon, an urban area which caught traffic coming from Paris. On the first leg of the route, we tried to use our meal vouchers, but of the dozen delicious looking meals on the train’s menu, only one had not sold out. The kitchen manager graciously gave us two pieces of bread with our water and San Pellegrino. With ease, we made it onto our second train, though the cars were much more full. My step dad and I immediately ventured back to the kitchen, hoping to grab a meal before they ran out. This time, the kitchen was closed, and an Irish traveler joked that the kitchen manager had gone out for a smoke and the train left her in Léon. We scoffed, waited for ten minutes, then left empty-handed and empty-stomached.

            When we arrived in Aix around 4:30 pm, taxi drivers hesitated to take passengers with long commutes, as the 5:00 pm hour came near. Eventually, a kind male cab driver conceded and took us to our hotel, another convent, in the heart of Aix-en-Provence. Though the interior decoration was a bit tacky, the location could not be matched. Just one block from our hotel was the central fountain welcoming tourists to Aix. Pedestrians bustled between shops, cafes, and museums which filled the narrow, cobblestone streets. Cars could hardly fit between the buildings, making a nice space for people to separate from traffic and enjoy meandering on foot.Like true French people, my family roamed the city and stopped for drinks and snacks to tie us over until dinner. I tried a rose gelato, which tasted magnificent, as I sensed the fragrance of the rose all through my taste buds.

Rose gelato, the famous chain restaurant
Le Pain Quotidien, and a pig mermaid
fountain?

            At 6:45 pm, I decided it was time to set up my interview equipment. After not hearing anything until 8:00 pm, I emailed the recruiter to ensure that a technical error with my international phone service had not occurred. While waiting for a response, my family took the suggestion of the company which would lead us on our bike trip in the coming days, and walked to a quaint one-man restaurant, only to find out that he only cooked for 20 people per night and we had to make reservations ahead of time. With that, I decided on the first restaurant I saw with a trip advisor logo, and we landed ourselves at Café Jeanne. I figured that almost any restaurant in France will outdo my norm.

            Café Jeanne had plenty of wonderful French food on their menu. We ordered an appetizer of scallops and a plate of baked brie. For my main dish, I ordered a gnocchi with five perfectly rolled cuts of veal. Paired with our meal, we chose a red wine called Saint Julien in honor of the cathedral we saw in Le Mans. In the midst of my veal pasta, my mom asked if the recruiter had called me yet. I panicked when I saw two missed calls and a voicemail. I promptly left the restaurant and called the recruiter back, only to leave another voicemail. Upon reentering the restaurant, I ordered dessert, a muesli and whipped cream parfait. Just then, my phone began buzzing. I politely dismissed myself and found myself in a 35 minute phone interview on the busy streets of Aix. As I tried to gather examples of my leadership ability, cross-cultural experience, and quantitative skills, I could not help but notice the multitudes of carefree young adults parading the streets with uncorked bottles of wine in hand. The recruiters could undoubtedly hear the whistling, cheering, and singing kids through the phone, but I did my best to hold my composure. Yet, I could not help but recognize the exhilarating club scene ensuing around me.

            After the interview ended, I returned to a beautiful parfait, my reward for sacrificing my vacation on behalf of the infamous job hunt. Even the recruiters encouraged me to enjoy my vacation at the end of our call. That night, Aix was celebrating France’s national music festival so my family decided to walk off our absurdly filling meal, listening to live bands in the mean time. During our snack break earlier in the day, I had noticed the mass number of young adults living in Aix, but tonight, they had all come out to play. The music festival we had experienced in Le Mans was just a fraction of the chaos about emerging in Aix. The excitable kids I observed during my interview were not just congregated because of the music festival, but they had just finished their national exam, marking their completion of high school. Without a strict drinking age, you can imagine how these kids opted to celebrate.

            As my family hopped from concert to concert, the crowds grew larger and larger and we grew further and further from our hotel. In desperation, I activated my cellular data to access Google Maps in order find our way back. I took us on a route that brought us toward more celebrations, smashing glass bottles, and bumping music. We came to a point where the only way to the street we needed to access was through a tiny passageway, basically a historic arch that had been carved out of a building. Envision yourself at a club or mosh pit, trying to wiggle your way to the front of the stage. That was essentially what we were experiencing. I was locked in between people and a wall and literally could not move. My mother wisely stationed herself behind a tall man, hoping his momentum could carry us through. After at least ten minutes of this congestion, we finally burst through the other side of the tunnel. With the drunk teenagers, we cheered for our freedom! We could breathe fresh air and move our limbs liberally. We also only had to walk two more blocks to our hotel.

            Our music detour added an extra hour to our evening plans, which got us to bed really late. However, the entire day’s events made me fall in love with Aix. The city is stunning, as it has the artful, cultured, historic feel of an old French town. There are restaurants and shops EVERYWHERE – enough said. And, the Friday night celebration came straight out of any college kid’s dreams. The European party scene finally made sense to me, and I understood what so many of my international student friends had experienced while living abroad. Though they likely did not experience nights like this regularly, I can imagine the college party scene was not as foreign to them as it was to me when I first enrolled.

            Like the high school students in Aix, I too was celebrating a new chapter of my life. Between my college graduation and “the real world” stood my vacation. This night helped remind me of the relaxing to be had and the celebrating to be done in honor of four years of hard work! More years of hard work are certainly to come, as my mid-vacation phone call reminded me. But, I am excited for the challenge and the celebrations to follow.

Off to the Races

            After 12 hours of sleep, I woke up to an exciting morning in a new city across the globe. In spite of the previous night’s meal still digesting, I scurried downstairs, eager to break bread, literally. Each table in the breakfast room had freshly baked baguettes and croissants for each member of the table. A table in the center of the room had mounds of cheese, fruit, yogurt, hard-boiled eggs, paté, and juices. With little effort, I successfully stuffed myself again, reassuring myself that I would not eat again until dinner.

            In honor of the race, we began our excursion by visiting the Le Mans Miniatures shop we had discovered the night before. The boutique sold model replicas of cars that had raced in the La Mans 24-hour race, and each box listed the car’s results in the race. We even found a couple of model MG’s, the type of car my step dad collects, though both models had had some sort of crash or mechanical failure preventing them from finishing.

            Meanwhile, my mother visited the tourism office to find out the best tourist destinations in the city. Our late start proved troublesome, as we learned that most museums and major tourist attractions close from 12 pm until 2 pm every day for a brief lunch break. I came up with the resourceful solution of doing a self-guided tour of the ancient wall surrounding Le Mans. I had seen a pamphlet the day before explaining the ruins and suggesting a walking path. After a month of deprivation from 80-degree heat, we Minnesotans were dying to spend time outdoors anyway.

The Madeleine Tower on the Le Mans Wall (built in the 3rd century)

The Tucé Tower (built in the 3rd century)

            We spent the early afternoon following the red-brick wall surrounding the city. Because of this wall, Le Mans was nicknamed one of France’s four “Red Cities.” The intricate designs along the wall and the wall’s towers come from Roman influence and strove to detract potential invaders with their decadence. We watched hundreds of children on school trips skip along the wall and eat lunch on the lawn. One young girl ran up to a group of her classmates and tried to take a picture of them. When they shrugged off her attempts and she retreated to her one true friend, my mom and I giggled, realizing that mean girls exist everywhere.

            We followed the wall all around town and ventured into the more modern area of town, where we found beautiful gardens, museums, and cathedrals. We noticed small stages sprining up all over town and learned that France was having a national music festival. In Le Mans alone, nearly 20 stages would assemble with multiple artists performing on each.

Yet another exquisite cathedral.

            Around 2:30 pm, we departed for the race track, hoping to catch the qualifying race at 4:00 pm. Traffic was surprisingly light, possibly because thousands of the spectators had already pitched tents on the race track’s camp grounds. We began exploring each tent, from Michelan to Toyota, until we heard motors revving. We scurried to the race track and saw a line of restored vintage cars queuing up to race. We had not expected to see this event, and for an antique British car collector, this was extremely lucky.

            We sat right behind the pits in the grand stands, that way my step dad could watch the mechanics at work. Not surprisingly, many of the vintage cars sought the pits shortly after the first couple of laps. I decided to help pass the time by flipping through the book of entrants. While I was initially interested in finding the youngest racer (who is a year younger than me), I found myself entertained paging through the multitude of handsome racecar drivers. I was also excited to see two women racecar drivers participating in the event, one which I saw walking onto the track for the qualifier later in the day. Under Porsche’s entrants, I was shocked to see Patrick Dempsey as one of the drivers. I thought I must be confused and that he was actually sponsoring the car, but no! This actor is multitalented! It was his second time racing at Le Mans in fact.

A view from the top of the wall surrounding Le Mans

My favorite vintage car, speeding through the Le Mans track, reliving its glory days. 

Standing next to the winner of the car with the most artistically
designed exterior. This car was covered in mosaic and
pictured in the official poster for Le Mans 2013.

            After an hour of sitting, my mom and I were ready for a snack and change of scenery. We were most thrilled to find a champagne bar, which the few other women attending the event had congregated. In contrast, the Guinness stand was overflowing with belligerent men. We parked ourselves in front of a live band, performing covers including The Killers. When a torrential downpour hit, we preparedly popped our umbrellas open and stayed put, sipping on our glasses of rosé. The people watching was incredible, as people came from all over the world, all age groups, and all interest levels. We enjoyed watching a “group hang” of at least a dozen high school boys, probably locals, simply taking advantage of the spectacular event’s proximity to their homes. Groupies representing all sorts of auto-related businesses lined the event. Even a “Miss Le Mans” walked around in a tiara, offering to take photographs with men.

The winning race car of 1998, displayed proudly at the
Michelan stand.

          When my mother and I returned to the track, the qualifying race had begun. My step dad had met a Norwegian man who lived thirty minutes from the town of Hjelmeland (where my ancestors originate on my mother’s side) and had received his advanced degree in periodontal studies at the University of Minnesota around the same time my step dad was getting his dental science degree. They both were car collectors. What a small world! Though I had begun our trip skeptical of the Le Mans race track, I was really thankful we came. None of my passions or hobbies would have brought me here; I would have preferred camping out at the boutiques and cafés of Paris. However, I had the incredible opportunity of seeing this extremely historic site in which thousands of people from all over the world congregate. Who knew I could meet so many interesting people and learn much about racecars just from one visit to Le Mans. 

Wine with dinner

            Eventually, it came time to leave the track for dinner and enjoy our hotel’s fantastic restaurant. In fact, our hotel only has five rooms and receives the vast majority of its revenue from its meal service. The waiter first brought out bread and a pate, which we quickly devoured. The pre-course, chef’s courtesy, consisted of a broccoli cream sauce that had been puréed. My second dish (appetizer) tasted very similarly, but included crab, and instead of broccoli, the puréed vegetable was asparagus. For the main dish, I ate a special fish from France, which had been cooked in delicious vegetable and cream sauce (there seems to be a pattern). Finally, dessert was so beautifully executed, I had to photograph it. What appeared to be a white chocolate truffle was filled with chopped strawberries. They called this dish a strawberry gazpacho with chocolate. The meal was absolutely delicious, one of the most decadent I had consumed in my life due to the extensive use of cream.

Dessert as delivered

Uncovering the truffle

I had not been that stuffed in a while, so I had to walk off at least a small portion of the calories. My mom and I ventured into the town’s music festival, which had been curate-ing the soundtrack to our dinner. I was surprised to find the crowd around us well past my age group and likely into their mid-thirties, as the artists produced a sound similar to that of Fallout Boy or Paramore. The band had great stage presence, inspiring a couple members of the 200-person audience to crowd surf. Their costumes were incredibly funky, long tuxedo jackets with clown-like pants and high socks. They played until the police told them it was time to shut down. Respectfully, they sang a finale at the end of which, my mom and I retreated to our penthouse. Even without air conditioning on our top-floor suite, our full stomachs promptly settled us into a deep and peaceful slumber.

Even manholes in France are beautifully decorated.

          

Arrival: June 19

           Immediately upon arrival into a foreign country, a humble girl from the über courteous Midwest cannot help but recognize the sudden disappearance of personal space. Accustomed to the awkward 4-way stop scenario, where drivers practically beg their peers to proceed into the intersection before they do so, I did not find the bag carts charging at me particularly welcoming. Though population density of Paris, France does come near that of Dhaka, Bangladesh, I found that a year separated from Bangladeshi culture helped me to appreciate the arms-length of personal space found in America.

High speed train

            That being said, I had previously enjoyed adapting to thick cities teeming with people. In Bangladesh, I gained a rush from aggressively storming by pedestrians without saying excuse me – it almost felt rebellious. I expect France’s country side will not have the same rush of the Charles De-Gaulle Airport, a hub of enthusiastic (or rather dumfounded) tourists and super-charged Parisians.

            Our first stop in France was Le Mans, home of the famous car racing track. The track hosts a very well known 24-hour endurance race in which teams of three drive their cars as quickly as possible to try and cover as much ground as possible without their cars breaking down. Tomorrow we would watch the qualifying race for the 24-hour endurance race which would take place on Saturday, June 22.

            After three hours of loitering in the airport train station, we finally boarded the SNFA rail from Paris to Le Mans. The scenery resembled that of the Minnesota countryside. Once we started approaching more populated areas, the quaint architecture differentiated itself from that found in Midwestern grasslands and farm towns. About two hours later, we knew our stop had approached, as Le Mans was the most populous city in miles. I looked forward to diving into the sea of pale yellow, orange, and crème colored homes.

A view from our hotel room window in Le Mans

            When we hopped in our cab, all we could think was how happy we were to not be driving. The winding cobblestone roads and foreign road signs gave us little ability to navigate the roads. Upon sighting a spectacular cathedral, our cab driver notified us we had arrived at our hotel, just across the street. Nestled in a square at the heart of the “old town,” out hotel screamed quintessential quaint French hotel. We rolled our suitcases across the hotel restaurant terrace and into the retired convent. Because of my step dad’s bum knee, which he discovered briefly before embarking on this trip, we stared dauntingly at the narrow spiral staircase, of which we would have to scale three flights. Communicating with the staff proved challenging, as none of us speak a substantial amount of French (only knowing merci beaucoup and oui).

I earned my keep on this trip by schlepping my generous parents bags up the stairs and into our VERY quaint room, in which we squeezed an extra cot for myself. Luckily the shower ceiling was just high enough for my barely 5’5” self to stand. Unfortunately for my 6’0” father, he did not fit quite as well. While I enthusiastically called our room “The Penthouse Suite,” my parents insisted we had been stuffed into the hotel’s attic. Per our nature, we made the best of our situation and spent 70 percent of our time touring Le Mans.

            Knowing we needed to fight our jet lag, we headed out on the Old Town to do some touring, and our first stop was the Cathédrale St-Julien du Mans. This immense structure began constructionearly in the last millennium, about 1045. Construction continued for about four centuries, as religious strife and age kept the church from standing tall. I found the detailed stained glass the most impressive. I particularly enjoyed the room with the brightly painted walls and ceilings.

My favorite part of Cathédrale St-Julien

The adorable "Penthouse Suite"

            Like any city my mother and I travel to, we have to mosey for a bit to gain our bearings of the city. While my step dad rested his jet lag, my mom and I daydreamed through the picturesque cobblestone streets, admiring the old architecture, smelling the opening kitchens, and peering through boutique windows. To try and keep ourselves awake, we stopped for some tea at a tea shop absorbed the fantastic artwork surrounding us, including vibrant paintings and classic ceramic tea sets. Our Asian-French waitress whose daughter looked like a porcelain doll somehow convinced us to split a “small cookie” with our beverages. I began to realize that refusing food in France would become impossible, and I would need to adopt an attitude like Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love, while she lives in Rome for four months.

The dark cave is the shower.

Because of the proximity to our hotel and casual vibe, we decided to dine at Le Verre Tige, which advertised itself as a wine bar in English. Deciding whether to drink sparkling or tap water, I asked our waiter if the tap water in Le Mans was good. He responded, “I don’t know. I don’t drink water.” And, why would a Frenchman who has access to the finest wines in the world? Over a bottle of rosé, I enjoyed my waiter’s creation (a very fancy very savory open faced grilled cheese sandwich with tomato sauce and greens) and an apple tarte tatin (the French’s version of apple pie, a nonnegotiable at any restaurant). Stuffed to the brim, we went on a short post-dinner walk to awake from our food-induced coma. Without any trouble, I cuddled into my cot, which I had tucked into the inlet surrounding the window, and drifted off into a slumber resembling Van Gough’s “Starry Night.”

I know it's cliché, but this picture so perfectly captures the eloquence of France.