This is so awful that it’s fabulous.
When I was in year 8 French we had to learn (and sing) the song of ‘Sur le Pont d’Avignion’. It’s about people dancing on the bridge of Avignon.
Who would’ve thought that quite a few years in the future I’d be so excited to dance on the bridge myself?
As you can see, the bridge ends abruptly half way across the river. It’s a huge money spinner for the town though; there’s a lot of people willing to pay 5 euros for the chance to dance on the bridge. Not that anyone else was actually dancing.
This is the view that Eleanor of Aquitaine and all of the other medieval people would have seen as they approached the town over the bridge. Minus the cars, of course. The church and the buildings are the Pope’s palace, from the time when there were 2 Popes and one of them lived here.
There are a couple of little chapels built into the bridge, I’d guess for last-minute spiritual help to save travelers from gypsies, pickpockets and thieves.
It even has a drawbridge.
Due to the Pope living here, this town was very well defended.
This is in the square.
Not a bad little cottage for the Pope to live in.
Dad gave me this hat a few years ago. After weeks of being stuffed into either my suitcase, my bag or on my head, it’s rapidly unraveling. I’m going to make it last for the whole trip and then ceremoniously bin it on the last day.
It was a big driving day today. Look at what I found at a rest stop.
After dinner we hit Baune, pronounced “bone.”
Naturally we had to ride the merry-go-round. Strangely, most members of the group
declined, but Mal, Mark and Frogdancer revisited our childhoods.
Then we wandered around until Mal had the happy idea of visiting a bar to taste the French cognac.
George, my grandfather, loved his brandy. I suggested we raise a glass to him.
Complete with creepy bartender.