July 4th

Market day at St Remy

Dinner. Cathy becoming used to the local rose

This piano was last tuned just prior to the Revolution (the one in 1789)

Display of berries in the market

Al fresco lunch outside Arles

All the tournelsol have turned towards the sunset.

This bridge across the Petit Rhone had a passing space in the middle, and a warning that no more than three cars were allowed at one time. We subsequently counted 9 French cars trying to set up a traffic jam in the middle of the bridge.

I am constantly amazed at the number of French towns called Sortie. On the train trip from Lille, every stop was at a town with this name!

Place de la Republic, Arles

 

Not more rose, simply jus de pamplemousse

The Roman amphitheatre in Arles. built in 1 AD

Local samples which we tried with crepes for dinner. The beer turned out to be white beer - horrible memories of  Peronne, Peter P.

More Roman leavings

An Arlean alley

An Arlean restaurant!

After several Pastis in the Place du Forum.

July 3rd

Daily exercise in  St Remy. We are on the deuxieme etage sans ascenseur 

One of the many alleys in St Remy. Unlike Nuits St George, no dogs had 'been' here. (Anne can expand)

Guess what the locals smell like?

Is this a restaurant for fast nudists?

Paul fading into the background.

Les Alpilles (little Alps?) behind St Remy

The entrance driveway to Chateau D'Estaubon.

Le Chateau

La Chatelaine?

Meeting a passing dog. 

Paul in Tarascon with a Tarasque.

Cathy near the Rhone and Tarascon castle. All the photos we took from the top of the castle failed to come out. 

You should see the size and strength of the mosquitoes here. Just look at the screens on the windows!

A door designed for English bobbies

Cathy having a quiet lunch in a village.

Another St Remy alley.

July 2nd

Before we get to July 2nd, a retrospective on a lovely granny and her grandkids.

This is Matthew with a gingerbread man. He has the second name of Freddie (after Flintoff), and in the extended period of  cricket in the back yard, he informed me that, as a bowler, he was known as "Whispering Death". A lovely young man, very like Erik, who intends to make a career in professional darts.

Tommy. Very like Oskar, and about the same age. As you can see, he likes hot dogs.

Joshua, still heavily into milk and mush. Didn't say much, but got his message across when needed.

London is plastered with signs of how to get to Wimbledon, and which roads will be closed for tghe Olympics.

Breakfast at St Pancras. Claire and John off to work. Val, Cathy and Paul for France.

We caught the 8.04 to Brussels and promised the man that we would get off in Lille.

Two inveterate travellers.

Paul further up the gangplank.

On board Eurostar - the fastest way to get to France.

Time exposure of the English countryside during the 3 hour delay while they fixed the brakes. In the end they couldn't, so we crawled to Ashford Station and trans-trained.

Here we are in Lille station. Our 2.5 hour wait between trains has evaporated, and we're waiting for the 4.06 to Avignon.

Cathy, a Lille

France at 300 km/hr

Almost to Provence

I put this photo in to enrage Peter O'Loughlin. It is a Newkular power station.

This might enrage Peter even more - first sighting of Mt Ventoux

The Rhone river

Avignon - Palace du Papes in the distance.

At last, the Hotel La Reine Jeanne in St Remy de Provence, looking from our room into the dining courtyard