Fountains & A Festival: Avignon & Aix

Aix-en-Provence is known to some as the “city of water” and to others as the “city of a thousand fountains”, both nicknames stemming from the numerous natural springs dotted around town. In fact, there were once more than a hundred fountains here, though probably not a thousand, and nowadays something like 30 remain. Losing ourselves in these quaint streets, emerging from beneath plane trees to bright sunlight and from narrow alleys to open squares is utterly delightful; Aix is so very attractive, a lovely, welcoming town.

Each of the fountains in Aix tells a story, each has its own character, but perhaps the most quirky is Fontaine Moussue, the “mossy fountain” which, as the name would suggest, has been completely smothered in moss growth over the years. This fountain is fed by the waters of the Bagniers spring, so warm that apparently the fountain sits beneath a cloud of steam for most of the winter – that must be a sight to see. Allegedly, Cocteau once commented that there are so many fountains in Aix that “a blind man would believe that it always rains”.

There’s no sign of rain this Saturday morning as we make a relatively early start and head to the Gare Routiers for the 8am bus to Avignon; on the way down we find that the two main squares of Aix have been cleared of cafe tables and repopulated with flower and produce stalls as the town prepares itself for the weekend markets. Away from those squares though Aix is eerily quiet and the screeches of the overhead swifts seem to be twice as loud.

And so to Avignon, which is in the throes of its annual Arts festival, the scale of which has to be seen to be believed. The city is awash with posters promoting dozens of different shows, temporary ticket booths in the streets have lengthy queues by 10am and almost every street seems to be home to either a permanent theatre or a festival-specific venue. Or both. Characters in costume tout tickets for their show, performing miniature excerpts as part of the sales pitch: this must be what Edinburgh feels like during the Fringe.

Someone tells us there are around 950 performances of the various shows during the three weeks of the festival, and that doesn’t include concerts by the many local bands performing gigs over the same period. This is some festival. Avignon is doubly alive: theatre goers filling their boots with shows while tourists like us gaze awestruck at its history-soaked buildings. 

And those buildings are not just spectacular but unique in history. In the early 14th century, under intense pressure from French royalty and with an increasingly fractious relationship with the city of Rome, Pope Clement V, a Frenchman himself who had been elected Pope in 1305, moved the Papacy away from Rome and relocated to Avignon in 1309. Rome was finished, Avignon was the new epicentre of the Catholic faith. This was no short lived Papal tantrum either, it would be a full 67 years and 7 Popes later that the power base returned to the Vatican. If they hadn’t gone back, the Vatican could well now be a ruin. Or even the site of a shopping mall. Imagine that. 

The most obvious legacy of this unique piece of history is the fabulous ancient buildings of immense dimensions which dominate the centre of Avignon. The Palais des Papes, a colossal and rambling set of giant lofty buildings, provides an absorbing opportunity to wander through its mighty spaces and attain some level of understanding of the those grandiose times. Though much restoration work has been carried out, the ancient construction retains as much of a sense of scale as it does its unique history.

Avignon still nestles within remarkably well preserved city walls which to this day still form an unbroken ring around the centre, though of course now the greater city has expanded a long way beyond its original confines. Despite the expansion this is one impressive line of defence to have stood the test of time as well as this: it’s substantially intact.

In front of the Palais and the adjacent cathedral lies a large square which slopes gently from top to bottom and side to side; cafes fill the lower end while towards the top, steps lead up to the lovely Jardin Des Doms with its stunning views of the city and beyond. Beneath these lovely gardens the city wall follows the line of the Rhone as it flows majestically through town, past the famed bridge and on towards the sea. The commanding Fort Saint-André sits beyond the river as if still waiting to deter invaders.

Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, the neighbouring village, and the fort, lie just beyond the island of Barthelasse within the Rhone, which at 7 square kilometres is the largest river island in France. From these gardens we are compelled to make our way to the bridge: it is, of course, obligatory while visiting here to walk out on to the famous Pont d’Avignon, look out across the Rhone and resist the temptation to sing that song – though it has to be said that several of our fellow, French, visitors don’t even try to resist and belt out more of the lyrics than we would be able to recite.

In fact, the Pont d’Avignon, correctly named Pont Saint-Bénézet, has a significant set of stories to tell from its long history. For one, it took centuries to build and rebuild due to both geological and human resistance – even the Pope sent in the troops to halt progress at one point. When eventually completed, the bridge spanned 900 metres across 22 arches. Successive storms and high waters continued to inflict damage upon the ill-fated construction until eventually, in the mid 17th century, it was finally abandoned. All that remains now is the small St Nicholas chapel and a dead-end stretch of four arches, effectively an elongated stage for singing THAT song while the family laugh and  record it on video.

Avignon and our base at Aix-en-Provence are extreme cultural havens, especially at this time of year with the festival in progress in one and the overriding sense of cultural history in both. 

Before we leave Aix-en-Provence behind, we should return to the town’s favourite son, Paul Cézanne, as inescapable here as, say, Shakespeare in Stratford-on-Avon or Dickens in Broadstairs. Uphill from the centre of Aix, Cézanne’s self-designed studio remains as it was during his most productive years, the place where he created many of his best known works, including the many paintings of Mont Ste Victoire visible across the fields. The studio is still packed with items which were the subject of Cézanne’s still life paintings, including a terracotta jug which featured in more than twenty of his works.

This is a wonderful little town in what is obviously magnificent country. We’ve only been here a few days but we are truly enchanted. It may be time to move on now and leave this lovely town of Aix-en-Provence behind, but we’re not moving too far. Provence has hooked us and the flexible nature of this trip has already shown its benefits – neither of us have any desire to leave Provence behind just yet.

Let’s see what else lies in these gorgeous pastures.

FOOTNOTE: For those who can remember that we don’t have much luck with gadgets or technology, the curse has struck again. We were only on Day 4 of what will be a 100-day-plus trip when Michaela’s beloved camera decided to keel over and die – just outside of its warranty period as per bloody usual. Unfortunately we’re going to have to rely on iphone cameras for a while until we can source a replacement.