Postcards from Provence and beyond

I appreciate that what I am about to write, will not be an account of everyone’s idea of a perfect day in Aix-En-Provence. But, it was definitely mine, and it will stay long in my memory, and I’ll enjoy revisiting it for some time to come.

Aix is a stunning city, with its network of narrow streets, edged with pretty shops, cafés and restaurants, and glimpses through gates into stunning courtyards and squares. It’s filled with fountains, not just along the Cours Mirabeau, which is shaded by Plane Trees and lined with elegant buildings that draw your eye upwards to the cobalt-blue sky, but on street corners and in little (and big) squares throughout the city too.

I may not be the world’s happiest shopper (in fact I find it a total chore, and if possible will avoid it at all costs), but I am always happy to spend a few hours in the city, wandering, admiring and simply sitting at a café, or on the edge of a fountain to watch the world pass by.

Over the last few years, we have found ourselves there regularly, thanks to our love of Rugby, and the opportunity to watch the local team in ProD2, Provence Rugby, where we are season ticket holders. We even planned our last cycle trip, back from the UK to arrive in the city, to watch the first ‘home match’ of the season. So I suppose you could say we are fans.

This season has seen us drive across the Luberon, watching the team in all weathers, travelling to see them play elsewhere too, and it has all come to a wonderful crescendo, with us securing a ‘home-tie’ for the end of season Barrage (play-offs), offering us an opportunity for promotion to the Top14. As you can imagine, this is quite something!

The match took place yesterday, and that was what brought me to Aix, for this rather wonderful day. It was tinged with sadness though, as Andy is away in the UK until next weekend, so we couldn’t go together, which is a first. This is very much a shared passion that we have had for nearly 40 years together, and the thought of going to a match ‘toute seule’ was a bit uncomfortable. But I had to go, I couldn’t miss it, and I would just have to yell and cheer even louder to make up for his absence.

The match would kick-off at 6.30pm, so I decided to make a day of it, aiming to arrive in Aix mid-morning and spend time exploring the market, which fills the steets and squares with colour, scent and bustle. Then I would book to go to the latest exhibition in the Hotel Caumont, of the works of Toulouse-Lautrec, both his evocative posters from the Belle Epoque, and his exquisite portraits too.

That would pass the day well, before I could walk out to the Stadium for the evening’s match. In my mind it sounded nice, in reality it proved to be sublime.

I do get ridiculously excited about going to watch matches, and my nervous excitement for the day saw me awake at just after 5am. I set off earlier than planned and arrived in Aix, before 10, parking near the stadium and walking into the city.

The market is always good, with stalls lining the streets and squares, each area having a different theme. Near La Rotonde is a small Brocante Market, which quickly gives way to clothing stalls that line the Cours Mirabeau, where linen frocks sit next to crocheted tops, raffia bags and hats too.

Turning away from here, and wandering into the heart of the old town, you’ll find fish stalls and fresh fruit and veg under the Plane trees of the Place Richelme, with the colourful and scented flower market, just next door, set around the fountain of the Place de L’Hotel de Ville.

I took a gentle stroll through the town, and was lucky enough to find a spot at the Coffee Roasters, on the corner of the Place Richelme, where I settled in for a while, enjoying a coffee and simply watching the world go about their business, in front of me.

There is something rather lovely about just sitting and watching; whether its spotting dogs pulling owners towards fish stalls in the hope of finding a scrap of something on the floor, or simply seeing people pass by, their baskets filled to overflowing, with produce from the stalls.

There is the babble of voices and catching snippets of conversations too. Time slips past very easily.

Yesterday, there was the added enjoyment from a local Samba Band, drumming their way through the streets, helping to raise money for the ‘Croix Rouge’. You could hear them making their way towards the square, and the sound brought people to a stop, before they started to jig, or simply tap their feet. You can’t just stand idly by, there is something about the rhythm that makes you move.

Eventually, I dragged myself away from my little spot, and wandered through to the next square, filled with local produce stands, where I bought something for lunch, before ambling back to a shady fountain, I had spotted earlier. Here, I plonked myself on the edge of the basin, and sat with my ad-hoc picnic, enjoying the sound of the water, and the dappled light from the tree above me. A lovely bit of shade, on a hot Saturday in town.

The time had passed incredibly quickly and really, apart from ambling around the stalls and spending time in the superb stationers at the top of the Cours Mirabeau, I hadn’t really done much, but it had been rather lovely, and that’s all that matters.

I had booked a timed-ticket in advance for the Lautrec Exhibition, and wandered across to the Hotel Caumont just after 1.30. The Hotel is an elegant, former private residence, which is now an exhibition space, with a café that wouldn’t be out of place in the National Trust Houses of England.

The Exhibition has brought together a wonderful collection of pieces by Lautrec, detailing his life, his work and giving an insight into the vibrant characters that he captured, during his time in Paris, at the height of the Belle Epoque.

His work has always fascinated me, and seeing the design process, his sketches and the finished pieces was a real treat. If I’m honest, I hadn’t been prepared for the impact his portraits would have on me. The way he had captured them made me feel as if I was there with them; his brush strokes making the people live again, their character stepping away from the paper,  over 100 years later.

I spent much longer there than I had expected, so treated myself to a pot of tea in the beautiful café, its walls painted with Chinese theme, a real haven after the busy streets of the city.

But that was just the first part of the day, with the main event still to come, so I wandered back to the car, grabbed my change of clothes. Like Superman, (or possibly Wonder Woman) I walked into the shopping centre as the cultural ‘girl-about-town, and came out as the rugby fan, ready to scream like an old fish-wife!

Transformation complete, I wandered across to the stadium, showed my ticket and joined the crowd that was already there, watching the end of a match on the big screen, which saw UBB (Bordeaux) come out as the new European Champions, which was a great way to start the evening.

It felt odd being there on my own, but over the last couple of years we have come to know the people who sit around us, so I certainly wasn’t left feeling alone.

There was a huge sense of anticipation and with another sell-out crowd, there was a great buzz, as I wandered around the ground. There is nothing quite like watching rugby in France, it’s loud, full of colour and passion, with live bands playing instantly recognisable anthems, Les Yeux D’Emilie being a particular favourite.

Before long, the warm-up was over, and the team was doing its final run past, being cheered, clapped and sent on their way to make their final preparations for the match, with the sound of hundreds of people kicking the metal staging, ringing in their ears.

You can watch a video that will give you a sense of Just how passionate the crowd was, here

Then it was 80 minutes of high-stakes, high-intensity, slick and at times, frustrating rugby. The teams were well-matched and I love the whole experience of shouting, cheering, chanting and at times squealing, my way through the match.

The flags that had been placed on the seats before the match were being waved, and although the Brive supporters made themselves heard at times, their efforts were soon drowned out by the cacophony of sound created by the home crowd. The Mascots were doing everything they could to encourage the crowd to the next level too, Marius (our Cicada) looking more cheerful than Brive’s Zouzou

By half-time, we were ahead, and as the minutes ticked down to full-time, we had a belief that this was going to be our win, and the noise in the stadium kicked up again.

The sounds of ‘On est en demi, on est en demi, on est, on est, on est en demi’ started echoing around the ground, building to a crescendo on the final whistle, which left us all on our feet, screaming, cheering and jumping up and down with excitement.

I was hoarse, my ears were ringing, and I was a nervous wreck, as well as a bit exhausted after what had been a long day, but I was absolutely elated too, as was every other Provence Rugby supporter, in the ground.

It may be professional rugby, but it still has a superbly intimate feel, and I love that the players walk around the ground after the final whistle, often with their children (many just toddlers).

They take the time to shake hands with supporters, take selfies and then take centre stage on the pitch, with one of the players leading a group clap in front of the still-packed stand.

Once they had left the pitch, I started heading home, walking amongst a crowd that was a wave of joy, flowing away from the stadium.

It had been an incredible evening. Yes we had won, and it would have felt very different if we had lost (we have experienced that before), but it had been an amazing occasion too. I called Andy, as I walked (or floated) back to the car, to fill him in on what it had been like to be there, knowing that it had been hard for him, just to watch it all unfold on TV.

I drove slowly, on the way back, arriving in Saignon just after 10pm and pulled over, where there was a vantage point across Apt. A few minutes later, the sky above the town exploded with lights, as the Carnival Fireworks were set off.

It was a perfect end to an utterly perfect day.

As I said at the start, I appreciate that this is probably a long way from many people’s idea of a perfect day, in a beautiful, cultural city. But, the only thing that would have improved it for me, would have been to be able to share it with Andy.

The only thing now, is that we will have to wait and see what happens in the semi-final next week, as the result will undoubtedly have a bearing on when, or more likely how, we will start this summer’s cycling adventure back to the UK, which is only a couple of weeks away. (No pressure at all)

I don’t think the Provence players understand quite how much hangs on their results. OK, I know that a place in the Top14 is their main goal, but our long ride back depends on them too.

All we can do is put the maps on one side and just wait to see what happens. Whatever way it goes, we will do whatever we can to watch them through the final stages.

So watch this space…