Letters from ARLES, P 1 

2002: We arrived in Arles, where the artist Van Gogh cut off his ear and had episodes of madness and where he painted some of the most beautiful and striking pictures ever painted by anyone. After we got settled, we took the next bus into town. First stop was the tourist office where we bought a guide containing several walking tours. Arles center contains all the things that would interest a tourist. It is small and walkable, even for us. We started with the Van Gogh walk, looking for the places where he had set up his easel and painted. The first stop was the night café (Café Etoile) which he had painted in yellows and bright blues. We found it with little trouble. It was easily recognizable. We then tried to find stop two, which was a fair distance off and we were unsuccessful. Other stops on the walking tour were also far, so we kind of gave up on Van Gogh for that day, and just walked around.

This town is loaded with ruins from Roman times. There is an amphitheater dating from 80 B.C., and a theater dating from 10-20 B.C. Both are still in recognizable shape and still in use. Bull fights are held in the arena. (In these bull fights, the bull is just one of the participants and he goes home after the fight!) The arena was one of the scenes that Van Goth had painted and a copy of the painting was there in front of the entrance. There were other assorted ruins – a piece of the forum, the remains of an elaborate bath complex, walls of various sizes, a circus, what looks like an aqueduct, etc.

We went into a shop to buy a tablecloth in the typical colors of bright blue and yellow. The lady told us that these are the colors of Arles. Provence’s colors are yellow and red. Whichever colors you chose, the fabric was beautiful. Adelle did buy a tablecloth and a few other odds and ends. The town mascot apparently is the cicada and these in bright ceramic colors fill the shops around the tourist sights.

Next day, Monday, we had several things on the agenda—internet, groceries, the bridge that Van Gogh had painted (no, he didn’t paint the bridge, he did a painting of the bridge) and the Museum of Antiquities. We took the RV and found the internet shop, following directions given to us by the young man in the campground. Rarely do we get instructions in French that we follow properly, but we pulled into the shop with no trouble. Of course, this shop could not let us use our diskette. Since we needed to use the disk containing our letter, we asked if there were any more internet shops. The young man was of the legion of Frenchmen who speak even less English than we speak French. But he showed us on the map, and talked slowly. He mentioned that it was next door to – something. We couldn’t figure it out, so I gave him the little machine that serves as our dictionary, and he typed out the word. It turned out to be "garage". So for the second time today, we drove off into the wild bleu yonder! Wonder of wonders, we found the next place too – and the garage next door. The internet place was closed until one p.m. But the garage was willing to change the oil on the RV. So we made an appointment with the garage to come back after lunch. Then someone at the gas station gave us instructions – in French – to get to the antiquities museum – and we set off. Third time in one day we got there without a problem.