It's Me, Sara Louise

Since they were flying into Marseille, we thought a day in the old port city was in order. We hiked up to the top of the Basilica, Notre-Dame de la Garde, and its beauty blew me away; Byzantine style and grandeur topped with a gold statue of Mary looming large over the city. It’s breathtaking.

Not only is the Basilica itself stunning, but the views from the top are the best in the city. Look out on one side and you see building upon building of the rustle and bustle, and out the other is the calming serene of the Mediterranean.

Do you see that small island there? That’s Château d’If; the ancient fortress turned prison made famous by Alexander Dumas’, The Count of Monte Crisco. We would have taken the little boat over for the tour except we didn’t have enough time, and also, I’m a little too chicken to tour ancient fortresses turned prisons. That place must be swarming with bad juju. No thank you. 

While we were up there, I learned a bit more about the role of Provence in World War II history. Sometimes I think we forget that it wasn’t just Paris and Normandy that was involved, but the rest of France as well. These bullet holes serve as a tragic reminder. Well, not really, since they helped free the city. German soldiers were blockaded inside and the Allies bombarded them from below. Four days later Marseille was liberated.  Well done Allies, well done. 

And of course we went to Avignon. Even though I had already been to Avignon a handful of times, I hadn’t been there, been there. Normally it was a stop at Baby Cousin’s shop and maybe lunch but that was it. This time I got to see the famous Medieval bridge, Pont d’Avignon. I didn’t sing the song or anything, and I didn’t walk across it because the wait time was immense, but I was more than happy to just see it. (I’ve also only realized that this photo needs to be in frame… note to self: print photo before printer is sold.)

My mother and I got to do one of our bucketlist places… Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Since my Aunt and Uncle had zero interest in visiting the village of wine, we dropped them off at the Avignon tourist train and had Gregory drive like the wind twenty minutes north to heaven. 

Being August, the village was jam packed and we felt quite overwhelmed by it all, kind of like a couple of five year olds at Disneyland. So we found a spot for lunch, and after only made it to a couple of tasting rooms before we left. But Châteauneuf-du-Pape left a huge impression on me, and I vowed that I would be back (which I was). 

We got to see Arles as well, which was another place that exceeded my expectations (seriously, there is A LOT to see and do in the South of France). We walked about the Roman Amphithéâtre d’Arles, followed in Van Gogh’s footsteps (half of his footsteps anyway, it was very hot that day), and discovered more tributes to World War II heros.

But my favorite part of the trip was hanging out in The LPV watching my Irish family collide with my Le Petit Village family. Somehow despite either of them speaking the other’s language, my uncle and Mr. Honey became best buddies. To this day, whenever I see one, he asks about the other. 

And even though this photo is a big ol’ blurry mess, it’s one of my favorites… Brother-in-Law, my Auntie, The Honeys, Gregory, Child Bride, my Uncle, Honey Jr and a bit of my mom’s leg there (sorry Eilo), all hanging out in my back garden together. It’s a moment in time that will probably never happen again, so I’ll treasure the memory and this blurry photo forever.