Arles, France

Arles is probably most associated with two things: Vincent Van Gogh and its Roman amphitheater.  Our visit included both!

We drove down to Arles on Saturday morning, and my aunt and uncle dropped D and me off at one end of the enormous market that’s set up across much of the city center.  It was almost nothing like the quaint Bonnieux market – the stalls stretch on unendingly, with vegetables and meat and baked goods, not to mention touristy knick-knacks, masses of fabric, and racks of cheap-looking clothes.

We were drawn in by a friendly woman selling nougat, who plied us with samples – D bought a slab of the nutella version.

Market browsing complete, we headed to the amphitheater.  The Arles Arena was built around 90 AD and played host to the usual gory Roman entertainments; in the Middle Ages, the locals decided to make use of its walls as fortification, and built an entire city inside (two hundred houses and two churches).

These days the amphitheater features mostly non-lethal bull fighting shows and concerts, and of course there are plenty of tourists wandering through.

It’s surprisingly free-for-all inside – you buy a ticket at the entrance and then it’s up to you where to go, across all the levels and stairs of the arena.  There are dark, spooky lower-level corridors where you can imagine gladiators pacing, sun-drenched stands, and the medieval watchtowers, which you can climb – if you can figure out how to access them.  (It took us a while, but we eventually figured it out.)

We also saw two famous sites that Van Gogh painted – the café on the Place du Forum and the Arles hospital courtyard.

The café is now a bona fide tourist attraction – it’s even been re-named in Van Gogh’s honor.  We sat outside for a while looking at the charming little square and sipping our pastis (naturally).  A crowd of Chinese tourists appeared and took bountiful photos; I’m pretty sure D and I are featuring now as “locals drinking pastis” in a lot of photo albums back in Beijing.

 Cafe Terrace at Night, Vincent Van Gogh, 1888

   

The hospital courtyard was filled with flowers, and the yellow-and-white porticos were exactly as Van Gogh painted them.  They always say that the light in the South of France attracted him and other artists, and I can see why.  It’s so bright and pure.

 Garden of the Hospital in Arles, Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

   

For lunch, we met back up with my aunt and uncle and their friend Annie, who lives in the Camargue (a marshy area south of Arles, known for horses, cowboys, flamingos, and rice).  Thanks to Annie, we had a lovely lunch at L’Autruche, a hidden treasure of a restaurant down a quiet pedestrian cul-de-sac.

We got a table outside; by the end of our lunch we’d been joined by a long row of other diners along the street, since everyone wanted to enjoy the weather and the owner accommodated them all, cheerfully setting up table after table.

The menu is brief: one starter, two or three main dishes, and one dessert.  But the food is so good that any more options would be extraneous anyway.

To begin, gravlax of salmon with lemon and anise cream – fresh and delicate.  Aren’t the colors gorgeous?

Most of us had the dish of the day, a perfectly cooked piece of fish (dorade) with shelled mussels and an assortment of vegetables and herbs.  It was complex but somehow at the same time earthy and straightforward.

D chose the other dish – a sort of seared beef tartare topped with foie gras.  The tartare was like an absurdly tender and flavorful hamburger… well, maybe if the hamburger had gone to finishing school and then started hanging out on the Riviera drinking vintage champagne all day.  (Hmm, I think that metaphor got away from me.) Back to the food, which also featured steakhouse-worthy fries and a petite half head of lettuce.

By the time we made it to dessert, the sun was peeking over the buildings across from us and drenching us in more of that artists’ light.  We had profiteroles with roasted figs, drank the rest of our wine, and enjoyed.