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Show Discovering the pleasures of Provence roast leg of baby lamb in puff pastry, the meat tender enough to cut with a fork, and came away in utter contentment con-tentment But just as satisfying is a visit to the Saturday market in Aries a few miles away where farmers and merchants mer-chants bring their sausages and poultry, cheeses and olives, fruits and vegetables, fresh bread and the famous herbs of Provence, to lay out in stalls that stretch for blocks along the main street Local custom dictates shopping shop-ping at the market and then, baskets filled, stopping at one of the several cafes across the street for a tiny cup of espresso and a look at everyone else who has come to market that day. There is still plenty of time to pay a visit to one of the most famous sights of this medieval city. The center of town is dominated by the arena, the most intact of the many reminders of the time when Aries was the "little Rome of Gaul". During the Middle Ages the arena doubled as a fortress and three towers added at that tune still stand. Today it often of-ten serves as a bull ring for the Course Libre, the provencal contest between a bull and. several human challengers, each trying to pluck the rosettes that decorate the horns of the bull. Nearby is the Antique Theater, used extensively now for drama, opera and ballet, and the Place Lamar-tine Lamar-tine which still does its best to resemble Van Gogh's paintings of it. From Aries, or the tiny village of Fontvieille nearby, near-by, where the charming La Regalido provides you lodging in one of the loveliest of French country inns, it is an easy drive to the legendary legen-dary Carmargue region and, the walled city of Aigues Morte to the south, the famous bridge of Avignon and the castles of Tarascon and Beaucaire to the north and the small picturesque villages of the Durance Valley to the east. But, wherever you go, take time to stop and look and absorb the special quality that is Provence. .... ryx-V Editor's note: Thli 1$ the final article in a eerlet on Europe and the Mediterranean by Park City travel writer Shirley Smith. by Shirley Smith The Mistral, the great wind of Provence that begins in the deserts of Africa, affects af-fects people strangely, the locals say. Van Gogh, who lived for the last two years of his life in this region of southern France after quarreling bit' terly with his friend Paul Gauguin, cut off his right ear and then painted the famous Self Portrait. At his own request he entered the asylum at St. Remy de Provence in May 1889, where he remained for another year before shooting himself in July 1890. During this troubled period in Provence he painted over 500 canvases and many sketches and watercolors. The affect of the Mistral? Who knows. But there is a vibrant, almost magical, quality about Provence, and multitudes of artists are drawn here by the luminous atmosphere, if not by the wind. The Romans sensed the magic: The province was a favorite part of their empire, and their monuments remain, sitting alongside architectural ar-chitectural masterpieces of the Middle Ages. Houses in Provence all have shutters, for the' Mediterranean sun is hot in the summer and the winds of the north, unlike the Mistral of the south, are bone-chilling bone-chilling in the winter. Always the shutters of Provence are bright blue a blue that blends perfectly with the cloudless skies of autumn. We spent a week in September Sep-tember in this, our favorite part of France, favorite perhaps because we know it best. Our friends live in a rambling home that began life 400 years ago as an abbey. ab-bey. Complete with tower and winding staircase, three-foot limestone walls and vaulted ceilings, it sits splendidly in the middle of a fertile valley at the foot of Les Baux de Provence. The sight of Les Baux, rising from a bare rock spur, a 200-meter wide, half-mile long promontory with vertical ver-tical ravines on either side, is outstanding by day and magical by night. The site was chosen for military rather than aesthetic reasons in medieval times and there remains from those days the ruins of a stout fortress, churches, chapels, minute squares and winding streets. The lords of Baux were greatly renowned in the Middle Ages, having in their control some 80 towns and villages. The fortress was literally impregnable, for under seige the occupants would send thousands of doves out to the surrounding countryside where they would feast on grain and then return to their cotes high atop Les Baux to provide food for the beseiged residents. The fort was finally subdued, sub-dued, after, the invention of gunpowder, by Louis XIII ' in IS32 and remains today an enchanted ruin. The village, which is still accessible only on foot and where all the cobbled streets are steeply inclined, divides now into two parts the inhabited village, with houses, churches, shops and . studios fronting the streets, and a far end, known as the Ville Morte or Deserted Village, where the castle and surrounding buildings were razed in the 17th century. It was to the Ville Morte that we climbed hurriedly one evening, racing against the setting sun to sit atop the ruin and sip champagne as the landscape lit into brilliant golds and reds around us. The last bubble downed, we made our way to the base of the town and the short drive into the valley below to Ousteau de Baumanieie, one of France's Fran-ce's finest restaurants which has received, in company with only five or six others, the coveted five red-crossed spoons and forks and three rosettes of the Michelin guide. Perfection reigns in the beautiful old chateau from the beautifully designed menu to the exemplary service ser-vice and the exquisite food, we feasted on delicacies like souffle of manta ray and |
