Tag Archives: Nimes

The Carousels of France – further travels with Shari

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A continuation of the story of my trip to Europe in 1999 with my daughter, Shari. The first part was Adventure in Avignon, published in September 2024. We decided that carousels would be the focus of our adventure through the rest of Provence and the Côte d’Azur.

Carousels were conceived from tragedy. Jousting, initially a tournament sport in medieval times that tested skill and horsemanship among the nobility, began in the 11th century. It became a fixture at festivals throughout France and England.  A jousting accident killed French King Henri II, Catherine de Medici’s husband, in 1559. She prohibited further jousts, compelling knights to create a safer alternative to these tournaments. They began riding a circular course, spearing suspended rings with their lances.

By the end of England’s Queen Elizabeth I’s reign in 1558, jousting was a thing of the past. Carousels powered by humans or animals took the place of that military exercise, becoming a family-friendly entertainment that spread throughout Europe and eventually the world. Many carousels are very elaborate and considered to be an art form. They were later mechanized and powered by steam, then by electricity.

Avignon Carousel

Avignon

Avignon was once the seat of the Catholic papacy. The Palais des Papes was the residence of seven Catholic popes in the 1300s.  It is a very short walk from the Palais des Papes to St. Pierre’s square outside the Basilica St. Pierre. And there is the lovely Avignon carousel.

After leaving Avignon in our tiny rental KA, we drove zigzag across the south of France, stopping to explore Nimes, Aix, Arles, Palavas-les-Flots,  Carcassonne, and Perpignon headed to my niece’s house outside Barcelona, Spain.  We took delight in searching for the carousels in each town. Not every town had a carousel.

Aix

Aix-en-Provence Carousel

One of the things I love about traveling in Europe is I feel I can step back in time. Roads, buildings, and bridges have withstood the ages, and even in the 21st Century, I sense the ancient history around me. Aix is no exception. It was founded by the Romans in the century before Christ and has been inhabited for all this time. Paul Cézanne was born in Aix, and many of his dreamy landscape paintings depict his hometown and the surrounding area.

Nimes

Carousel – Nimes

The Romans left significant evidence of their culture throughout France. Nimes is considered the Rome of France. There are the remains of a Roman aqueduct, an amphitheater still used today, and a Roman temple that date back before the birth of Christ. There is the cathedral of Notre Dame and Saint Castor that we briefly visited before our search for the carousel located near the center of town in the Esplanade de Charles de Gaul. The cathedral didn’t compare to so many of the magnificent churches in France, but the carousel did not disappoint.

Arles                                                                                                  

Carousel Arles France

As Aix is associated with Paul Cézanne, so Arles is linked with Vincent van Gogh. Among the Van Gogh paintings representative of Arles are “Starry Starry Night” and “The Old Mill”. The city was an important Phoenician trading port hundreds of years before the Romans took over. There are many reminders of Roman culture, including a Roman amphitheater. They still conduct bullfights in the amphitheater, but the bull is not killed. Instead, a team of men tries to remove tassels from the bull’s horn without being injured. Arles once boasted a floating bridge, a pontoon type supported by boats that were secured in place by anchors and tethered to towers on the two riverbanks. It has been replaced in modern times. A short walk from the Amphitheater is the carousel called Le Manege d’Autrefois, which means Old Fashioned Merry-Go-Round.

Palavas-les-Flots

Grand Large Hotel – Palavas

We drove into Palavas, a very small fishing village with a few hotels along the beach. Sand dunes separate two lakes along a canal with the Gulf of Lion and the Mediterranean right there. (The movie The Triplets of Belleville, a feature-length animated movie with lovely music, has a song about Palavas in it.)  It was dusk approaching dark, and I didn’t want to drive in the dark. Things looked very quiet. We stopped at Le Grand Large Hotel to get a room for one night. We went into the big lobby, again remarking at how quiet it was. A man came to the front desk. In my very best Frenglish, I asked for one room with two beds for one night.

“Non, madame,” he replied with a sad face. His name was Gabriel.  “Nous sommes fermé pour la saison, nous sommes désolés.” (No, madame, we are closed for the season, we’re very sorry.)

I continued in my butchered mongrelled language to inquire if other hotels were open. He, so politely and sadly, responded that they were all closed until Spring.

Palavas beach

This little fishing village only had a few hotels to accommodate French vacationers during the summer. They received very few non-European tourists. August is the biggest month for European vacations, and we missed it by two weeks. The hotel had a skeleton staff, no rooms available, and no services. I told him that Shari and I were traveling through the south of France to see the beautiful countryside and that our destination was Barcelona to visit family. I explained how we had been in Avignon and had my purse stolen, but still rented a car, and wanted to see the carousels in southern France, and wanted to stay one night on the Cote d’Azur. He laughed at the way I told my story with one French word, then one English word, then a lot of gestures.  I asked how far it would be to find a hotel open.

                “Vous devrez retourner à Montpellier, une plus grande ville, pour trouver des hotels à cette période de l’année.”  (You will have to drive back to Montpellier, a larger city, to find a hotel at this time of the year.)

                It was now dark outside. I sighed. OK. I told Shari to get back in the car, and we’d drive to Montpellier, about a thirty-minute drive.

                “Un moment,” he said and left the desk to go into a small office at the side of the lobby.

He came back. “Je peux vous proposer une chambre pour ce soir. Un lit. Mais il n’y a pas de services ici.” (I will offer you one room, one bed for tonight. But there are no services.) They offered no food services. We had no access to the spa or swimming pools, and we only had one towel each.

Super duper great, said I. No translation needed.

Shari and I got our small bags from the car. I parked where Gabriel indicated. We wondered if all the restaurants were closed too.  Shari asked if there was a restaurant open nearby.

Palavas Quay at night

 “Oui. Un excellent restaurant de fruits de mer au quai.” Gabriel pointed out the front door toward the beach.  (Yes, an excellent seafood restaurant on the pier.) He said restaurants didn’t close for the season, just scaled back hours.

We trotted off across the beach to a long jetty along a canal. There were several restaurants open. La Marine Du Pêcheure was the one Gabriel suggested so we had a nice dinner there outside by the water. Shari is not a fan of seafood, but she found something she would eat on the menu. We were both ravenous and very relieved to have a place to stay. The next morning, we left to continue our journey after many declarations of gratitude to Gabriel. Un Grand Merci!!! There was no carousel in Palavas.

Carcassonne

Walled City of Carcassonne, France

The ancient town of Carcassonne has a fascinating legend. Carcassonne was founded in the 3rd century by the Gauls and turned into a fortified town by the Romans. The legend takes place in the 8th century, during the wars between Christians and Muslims in the southwest of Europe. At the time, Carcassonne was under Saracen rule, and Charlemagne’s army was at the gates to reconquer the city for the French. A Saracen princess named Carcas ruled the city after the death of her husband. The siege lasted for five years with French forces surrounding the town. Charlemagne’s tactic was to starve the population into submission. Early in the sixth year, food and water were running out. Lady Carcas made an inventory of all remaining reserves. Then she demanded that the villagers bring her the last pig and the last sack of wheat. She force fed the wheat to the pig and then threw it from the highest tower of the city walls. Upon landing, it split open, and the invading soldiers could see it was stuffed with food.  Charlemagne lifted the siege, believing that the city had enough food to the point of wasting pigs fed with wheat. Overjoyed by the success of her plan, Lady Carcas decided to sound all the bells in the city. One of Charlemagne’s men then exclaimed: “Carcas sonne!” (which means “Carcas rings”). Hence the name of the city.

Carcassonne Carousel

I wish we had had more time to meander through the south of France, but we were on a timeline to get to Barcelona. It was like drinking through a firehose, gorging on everything we saw with thirsty eyes. We gulped as much of the countryside and towns as we could, hoping to return someday and spend more time.

Carcassonne markets

We walked through the tiny winding streets, looking into shops. We had a quick bite at a bistro as we browsed the markets. We bought a beautiful blue and yellow bowl, the colors of Provence, to take back as a gift to Karen, my oldest daughter. We found the carousel. Then got back into the car and headed for Spain, a three-hour drive.

Pérignon

We stopped briefly in Pérignon for ice cream, but we missed all the historical attractions and didn’t find a carousel. We were in a hurry to meet my niece in Barcelona. We cruised on to the border of Spain.

Adventure in Avignon

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In 1999 my daughter, Shari, and I went on a European excursion. We visited England and Scotland, then took the EuroStar (a train that dives under the English Channel) to France. We are both Francophiles so the very air of France and especially Paris made us giddy. I had been to France previously, and it was exciting to share it with my daughter on her first trip. Our final destination was Barcelona to visit our niece and her husband, Disa and Pedro. After a few days in Paris, we took the Eurail to Avignon intending to drive the rest of the way exploring Provence.

Avignon is an ancient city in southcentral France, walled in by the Romans in the first century and used as a fortress over centuries. It served as the Vatican City for the Popes in the 14th century. The impressive gothic Palais des Papes was the residence of seven successive popes. Avignon is on the banks of the Rhône River with a bridge across the river that became popular in a folk song describing people dancing across the bridge, “Sur La Pont D’Avignon”, a song every French child knows and anyone who studies the language is taught.

Our adventure in Avignon is the set piece of this story. The third day after looking around the city we decided to take in a movie. It was called Drôle de Père in French or Big Daddy in English. We went to the theater, bought our soft drinks and our choice of sugar popcorn, caramel popcorn, salted popcorn, or cheese popcorn. I got salted, Shari chose caramel. We watched the hilarious antics of Adam Sandler trying to impress his girlfriend with “his son”, who was actually the five-year-old son of his friend. It was dubbed in French and watching it made every line even funnier.

After the movie, we returned to our hotel before we went out to see more of Avignon. I checked for my purse. I had put it in the back of the closet. It was gone, stolen from our room. Shari had her purse with her. I didn’t want the whole bulky purse so only took my waist pack with my wallet and passport. Our airline vouchers for the prepaid return tickets home and our prepaid vouchers for the rental car we were going to drive from Avignon to Barcelona were gone.  Personal items including my grandmother’s mother-of-pearl rosary beads were GONE. I was most upset about the rosary beads because it was the only treasure I had that belonged to my beloved grandmother, irreplaceable. But, of course, we were very concerned about our travel vouchers. How were we going to get to Barcelona? Was I going to have to call Pedro in Barcelona to bail us out? How would we return to the States?

Shari has some college French, and I have high school French. Enough for us to limp along in Paris where English is universally used in tourist locations. In smaller towns, there are not as many people who speak or understand English. We went to the hotel concierge and told him of our dilemma.

“Ah, madame, je suis désolée,” he said, “Vous devez vous rendre à la police et faire un rapport.”  (So sorry. You must take yourself to the police to make a report.)

I wanted to say, Monsieur, it must have been an inside job – someone from your staff who had access to our room – but I didn’t have the words nor the inclination to argue with him because I wanted to get to the police as soon as I could.

A police report! Oh my, what would that look like? Visions of American TV shows about police departments, chaos, and disinterested officers taking down statements with a yawn if they didn’t include murder. How would I get across the urgency of our need to recover our paperwork quickly so we could continue our journey? We were expected in Barcelona in five days. Not a lot of time to hang around police stations and wait for someone to take notice. Besides it would all have to be done in French! Oooo-la-la.

Off we went to the address given for the Commissariat de Police. It appeared to be a storefront operation, not a big imposing building. We walked through the glass door, no security. A young man greeted us from behind a glass-topped desk and we did our best to explain to him why we were there. Two or three other uniformed men were in that front office.

“Eh bon, tellement désolé que vous ayez été volé” he calmly said. “Nous pouvons vous aider.” (Ah, good, sorry you were robbed. We can help you.) I felt this was not the first time he’d heard a story like ours.

He ushered us into a glass-enclosed office. He offered us seats in front of the desk. No one was in the office.

This is what we saw: a simple wood desk with nothing on it except a telephone; totally clean, no papers, no files, no pens, nothing; a padded desk chair behind the desk. We sat in two padded folding chairs. A couple of bookshelf units stood against one wall, only a few (I mean three or four) books or notebooks in each unit, the rest bare shelves; no computer, no printer, no file cabinets, no clutter. I began to look around.

I said to Shari, “Do you think this is a real police department? Are we on candid camera? Is this a spoof for foreigners? Where are the criminals waiting to be jailed? Where is the chaos of an active police station? It looks like a movie set before they holler ‘Roll ‘em’. It’s just too quiet to be real.”

Enter a young man in a uniform – central casting, tall, blond, and beautiful. He smiled and offered a handshake. In halting English he said, “I’m sorry your trip has been interrupted by this mistake.”

“Mistake?” I’m thinking.

“Ce n’est pas un mistake,” I said. “It was a robbery, and we lost all our papers for our trip. We are expected in Barcelona in five days and then we return to the U.S. in a week.”

“Oui, un vol, excusez-moi.” he continued calmly. (Yes, pardon me, a robbery.)

Our discussion went on with him speaking in French with an occasional errant English word and me speaking in English with an occasional fractured French word. Lots of gestures accompanied the conversation. Shari did her best to translate here and there. The policeman seemed to understand everything we told him but was not making any notes or looking for forms. He did ask to see our passports.

Finally, he said he would sign a police report, and we could take it to the rental car agency to get our car. He assured us that it would also be enough evidence to have airline tickets reissued. Not to worry. He was completely unruffled, and matter-of-fact. Wait! Wait! Where was the investigation? Where was the fingerprinting? Where was the drama? Drôle indeed. I wondered if this was some kind of setup, some kind of con to make tourists relax before they laid down a hammer and charged us oodles of dollars to get out of their country.

After all, the French have a universal reputation of being haughty, rude, and nasty to foreigners. That had not been my experience on my previous trip to France, but there is always a first time, and this time was serious. Could we count on their assistance?

A one-page printed report was issued within fifteen minutes. We left the police station, still shaking our heads at what we perceived as the unusual calm we encountered. We went directly to the rental car agency. I explained our situation and showed them the report, preparing for an onslaught of questions and requests for proof beyond the report. They asked to see our passports, then handed me the keys to the car. It took less than ten minutes.

It still felt surreal. To be in a foreign country, being robbed of all our paperwork and still being allowed to rent a car so simply. It takes more effort to rent a car in my hometown.  

Gleefully, we left with our car. It was a Ford KA, a subcompact city car. Too small to be called a KAR – like half of a VW bug. No backseat, it was barely big enough for Shari, me, and two suitcases. We zipped along the freeway and through small towns like a gnat on a summer breeze. It was great to park. We fit anywhere we wanted, almost like a motorcycle. Each time we returned to our parked KA, I was surprised to find it still there. It was so small I could imagine someone coming along and picking it up like a child’s toy.

We stayed another day in Avignon then left for a winding trip through Provence and Occitanie along the southeast coast. We visited the cathedral in Nimes. We stayed a night in a nearly deserted resort town on the Mediterranean, Palavas. It was past the tourist season, being mid September, and all the hotels were closed. One very nice hotelier offered us a room overnight without any services. We were the only ones there. We ate a simple meal in a small restaurant on a canal that led to the Gulf of Lion. Fishing boats were docked along the edge of the canal. We visited the castle in Carcassonne, learning its quaint legend, and stayed in Narbonne; got lost trying to find a public bathroom; looked for carousels in each little French village (they all seemed to have one); and, Shari got to eat at a Mickey D’s in France. We crossed the Spanish border without a border check, arriving in Barcelona safe and sound, welcomed by a round of warm Spanish hugs and kisses from our family. We left Spain on schedule with no issues over airline tickets, just a very small fee. All that is another story or two…