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journal

Notre Dame des Anges, Isle sur la Sorgue, Roussillon et Ménerbes

Planning forward to Barcelona, we failed to follow the advice of our SFR salesman, who’d sold us the SIM Card, which was to go to McDonalds’s, buy a coffee, and use the free WIFI there; we sought out GecoSystem, Espace Internet, an island of geekery, on the island,

Les Baux dans les Alpilles, les Antiques et l’hôpital psychiatrique de Saint-Paul-de-Mausole (la Maison de Santé de Saint-Paul) à Saint Rémy de Provence

Les Baux, the mistral blasting over it, where it rises out of the surrounding countryside, after St. Remy, in the Alpilles, under a cloudless, hazeless, pellucid and intensely blue sky, offered another of those heart-racingly exciting moments, expected, as in we’d seen photos, unexpected, because of how it

sign of the great poet René Char in his home town, at market, Gordes, Frédéric’s Mistral & rain

The Sunday market in L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue gets two Parasol d’Or, Golden Umbrellas, from the Syndicat des Commercants des Marches de Provence, Union of Market Merchants of Provence, more than any other market. It stretched today right the way down the river bounding one side of the

Barcelo at Palais des Papes (cf. Murakami at Versailles) Avignon & Musee Calvert preceded by some notes on losing the thread

This writing has by now turned into an Exquisite Corpse. I feel as if I’ve lost the thread I thought I was following leaving NZ, arriving HK, that I’d thought would be most durable, to do with the sense both of place and of displacement, the latter a

expectations of a home, hopes for a theatre in L’Isle sur la Sorgue & access barred to Carpentras’s magic portal, but Super U

An exasperating morning, meeting the elusive M.-C., with whom all communication and arrangements re our accommodation prior to our arrival had occurred. She arrived with C., bearing bags of pastries and breads – breakfast -, shook hands with J. and I, grabbed Q. firmly by the shoulders and kissed him on

slowing our fall into the bright haze: Le Puy en Velay to Isle sur la Sorgue

Coffee at a place of torrefacture, which, although it sounds like bull or some heinous process you’d subject bodies to, is coffee-roasting. A Costa-Rican. The proprietor, middle-aged, stood in front of his laptop with his banker, justifying the expenditure on green-beans. And that was Colombian…

inside Our Lady & up Saint Michel: the view from the top du Puy en Velay

Le Puy is still fantastic, despite today’s dull weather, dull light, chilliness. Sucked in again by the offer of breakfast at Hotel Bristol. It was a buffet, as the receptionist had said, but one comprising nothing hot, and nothing cooked, apart from boiled eggs. Which, when cracked out of