In my travel journal I noted that during the trip to the first stop, Valence: "Much the same countryside flying by, when I could see it." This is also the part in my journal where I noted how I saw lots of people reading actual literature. The young woman in the seat next to me read Camus' "The Stranger." I noted that in San Francisco I see people read fashion, business, best-sellers or Harry Potter.
It was during this train trip that I experienced a sense of deja vu. This, being my first trip to Europe, made that feeling all the more odd and almost dream-like. Shortly after the train left Valence I saw out the window a strangely familiar skyline. I recognized the shape of the mountains in the distance. After a few minutes I realized it was the low mountain skyline from a couple of Van Gough's paintings (I later found out that Arles is not far from Nimes). This floored me. If anyone questions why I took the train I'll tell them this sight alone made it worth it. I do not know why experiences like these effect me so strongly. They just do.
Leaving the train station at Nimes my first impression of the place struck me as France done as a Tom Waits song. The streets were nearly deserted and the air had a heavy, oppressive feel to it. A storm was coming. The wind whipped through the streets with a low-level sort of violence. I had my mortar-boarded "trip-planner" open in my hands, the pages whipped around my fingers by the wind. The Google map I printed out and bound into the planner led me to the city's Roman arena and then to the warren of narrow streets behind it. After losing my way I did find the street I sought. Then I saw the sign for "my" hotel. I had made a reservation but never received a confirmation despite requesting one by e-mail. Now I found out why. The windows were whited out with a note explaining that the hotel was for sale. Oops.
My friend in Europe told me that there were lots of hotels near the train station, so I shouldn't have too much trouble finding one. But I did. The scant number of people on the street (hardly any) made me increasingly nervous. It's hard to walk "purposefully and with a sense you know where you're going" when 1.) You don't know where you're going, 2.) You're pulling your wheely on surfaces made to destroy it and 3.) you're going around in circles. Chances are that Nimes just pulls up the sidewalks (like Luxembourg on Nov.1st). In reality there likely was no danger (just my paranoia that kicks in when I am under stress in unfamiliar surroundings). My bladder was full, I could not make much use of the Google map past finding the closed hotel and the storm felt imminent. I tried following a sign on the street indicating the location of a given hotel. After finding myself on a side-street near nothing that even pretended to be a hotel, I doubled back to the main street and headed toward a big building with a red neon sign that read "Novotel." Maybe it was a hotel?
It turned out to be a 4 star hotel. It was as expensive as a 4 star but I did not mind. I rested for a few hours. The train arrived at 2:20 and I must have checked in before 3. Only then did I realize that what felt like an eternity looking for a hotel actually only took about a half hour in reality. I slept until the thunder woke me. But I fell asleep again soon, aided by the sound of the rainfall.
At 5:30 I ventured out of the hotel without the map or phrasebook. Just a scouting trip. I took a better look at the arena. I had not idea until I came to Nimes that it has the largest and best preserved Roman arena in the world. Although a bit overcast, the air had that clarity that comes after a heavy rain. I could see a beautifully clear crescent moon in the gap between the clouds. I could see the arena lit by a combination of lights set in the pavement below it and the not quite finished sunset. The sight of the arena against a two tone dark blue and darker blue twilight sky made a "mental picture" that burned itself into my memory. I doubt that a photograph could ever capture it precisely. Months later, as I write this, I can close my eyes and see it again.
I doubled back toward the Novotel to the cafe I spotted earlier. I ate a quick croque of tomato and mozzarella. It took forever to get the check as my waiter disappeared on my and a formula one race on the tv (a *really* big deal here; people actually follow these races) had everyone's attention fixed including the waiters'.
My further explorations led me to an Indian restaurant. Although I can have lots of Indian food back in San Francisco, I felt a bit full of croque and seafood. I love the name of the place: "Rajput: Restaurant and Indien Pizzeria." I guess they do not have enough demand for Indian food, they have to use the tandoori oven for pizza too? The food was at least as good as the best I've had in New York or San Francisco.
My mission for the morning was to find breakfast *outside* of the Novotel (14 euros for breakfast?! No way) and to find different hotel. I had a nice breakfast at the same cafe as the croque the night before. I found myself relaxing and feeling a bit more like I did in Paris. The strange sort of Nimes described through the Tom Waits song "9th and Hennepin" look and feel had disappeared. I could see people walking by through the window of the cafe. I could see plenty of car traffic. No traffic jams or frustrated drivers, but enough cars to make it look "normal" to me.
According the the Google map, there are 4 internet cafes in Nimes. I found all 4 of them. Each of the first three was closed until late in the afternoon. I didn't bother looking for the 4th one, but decided instead to find a Roman temple called "Maison Carée." As luck would have it, the fourth internet cafe was right next to the temple and *that* was the one that was open. "Trip advisor" on the web pointed me to a hotel called "Tulieries." The recent posts indicated that it was under new management, which explains why I did not consider it before I left home: the reviews of the hotel while under the old management would scare away a skid row bum. I decided to investigate before checking out of the safe harbor I found at the Novotel.
The "Hotel Tuleiries" does not look like a hotel from the outside. You have to stand pretty much right on top of the place even to see the sign. It's a small, "mom and pop" operation. I immediately liked the husband of the couple. I never asked his name, so in my travel journal I identify him as "Michael Palin," the member of Monty Python's Flying Circus. He somewhat resembled Palin in his 30s. But I noticed the resemblance more in terms of personality: he also had that very kindly, soft-spoken manner that characterizes Palin when he speaks as himself (not as a Monty Python character). The owners are both bilingual Brits but the wife is the one who is really fluent in French. I hate to sound like the typical ugly American, but as much fun as it was to massacre the French language on this trip, I felt a great sense of relief to be able to have a conversation with a native speaker of English. "Michael Palin" gave me the key to a room so I could look it over before deciding to take it. I liked what I saw. When I returned to the front desk I told him if I was able to check out of the Novotel without having to pay another night I'd be back within the hour. The Novotel desk clerk didn't blink nor ask any questions when I asked to check out earlier than I had initially planned. I was checked into Tuleiries within a half hour. Hotel Tuleiries cost about half as much as the Novotel.
After this everything in Nimes looked better. I could not find a place to develop my pictures but I did find a Monoprix at which I could buy another disposable camera. I took more pictures than on any other single day of my trip. The sun came out and *stayed* out after about noon. I had really nice like and Nimes is very photogenic. I tried taking a picture from a Roman tower called "Tour Magne" in an effort to capture the "Van Gogh" skyline. Although I could make it out through the haze in the distance, the picture does not show it very well. Backing up a bit, I bought a ticket at the arena that let you into all 3 of the "big" tourist attractions in the city: the arena, Tour Magne and Maison Carée. I'll spare you all of the details about gladiators that I learned on the recorded "tour" of the arena. From the arena it's about a 2-3 mile walk to Tour Magne, a 1st century B.C. stone structure built on the highest point in the city. Signs inside the tower explain that during the Renaissance some schmuck nitwit who read Nostradamus almost destroyed the tower. Nostradamus wrote a stanza that hinted that a treasure was buried in Nimes. The nitwit thought it was under Tour Magne. (I do not recall the name and so must call him simply "the nitwit.") Mr. Nitwit received permission from the King of France to excavate under the tower on condition that the king receive half of the treasure. Neither one of them stopped to think that if Nostradamus had some sort of super-wonderful inside information indicating the location of a treasure trove somewhere why didn't Nostradamus dig it up himself? It's like the guy who asked a librarian in California where they kept the maps of the treasure hidden in the Sierra Madres. If I knew of the existence of such a map, what would I be doing standing here talking to you? Sadly, the tower required extensive restoration in the 20th century and it's about one "story" lower than before Mr. Nitwit nearly reduced it to a pile of rocks brought down on his own head.
The views from this tower, nonetheless, are fantastic. Somehow the south of France has avoided the sort of urban sprawl (or somehow managed it better) that creates an intrusive, ugly mess out of the countryside in other places. Or maybe it's there and I missed it somehow.
After Tour Magne I visited Maison Carée. There was a temporary building set up by that time, which turned out to be a theater, and it required the last of my tickets I bought at the arena to see a rather hokey movie about the history of the city. They gave us 3-D glasses. Yes, it was that hokey. But it was fun and also nice to sit for a while.
After this I photographed one of the Roman city gates (by the time I reached the other one the light was awful). I framed the picture to show some anachronisms, the ancient gate framing cars and modern store fronts.
The dinner my last day in Nimes was very memorable. I asked "Michael Palin" at the hotel for restaurant recommendations. He pointed out that the one across the street had a Prix Fix special. The restaurant's name is "La Palette Gourmande," and I would have photographed my dinner had I had my camera. The mullet provencal had delicate flavor and was served with a mild red sauce that did not overpower the fish. The arrangement of the fish and the vegetables rivaled that of the lunch at the D'Orsey or the dinner at "Mesa Verde" in Luxembourg. As in all French restaurants, the waiter did not push the check, he only cleared my plates after I finished and gave me a fresh carafe of water. I spent a little over an hour after I finished eating writing in my travel journal and relaxing. I noted that the social isolation of having very few English conversations proved a bit of a strain. It's one of those things you take for granted. In Paris I had the good fortune to spend an evening with Siegfried and Ladka, the chance meeting and day spent with Louise, as well as meeting my neighbor from San Francisco and his friends. A couple of conversations with the hotel guy helped, but by this point I was really looking forward to meeting my friend Laurel and her family.
The room at Hotel Tuleiries was very comfortable and definitely not one in which someone else had smoked. The street was a bit noisier than I anticipated in the morning, but then I needed to get up early anyway. As soon as I returned home I wrote up a glowing review for the hotel on "Trip Advisor."
Next: Barcelona, the city that never sleeps. Really.
