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Page Eight |
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The part of Aix where we spent most of our time was filled with 17th and 18th century buildings, boasted fountains of different kinds of splendor. All worked, all were fresh and refreshing. A bustling place, this, filled with quite fashion-conscious young people who seem conscious of the appearance-consciousness of other young people. Heh. The intergender posturing is something to behold. Things slow down, it seems, only when the evening parade of beautiful people begins on the Cours Mirabeau. The cathedral of San Sauveur is marvelous. Its massive facade of a pipe organ was being tuned when we visited. |
A female French acquaintance predicted to me that I would find the most beautiful women in France in Aix-en-Provence. Maybe so, but as this video illustrates, gallic womanhood is alive and lovely in the port city of Marseille, too. Note the kissing-wall. I doubt my phrase for it conveys its official, local terminology, but this lengthy concrete perch was the chosen location for a succession of amorous couples. Michele and I will test it as marrieds this coming visit to the south of France. See if it works for Californians. |
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I did not record the identity of this semi-old church toward the edge of old Marseille. But we particularly responded to its simple elegance, at least compared to the exuberant artifice which packed the Italian duomos. And as we were silently padding along the aisles, sitting gently here and there to appreciate the view and the mood, there was an altar guild (not its local appelation, of course) preparing the table for the eucharist. Three or four lovely women of indeterminate ages arranging fresh white linens and colorful bouquets of spring blossoms. Weekly duties of love and devotion, carried out with unselfconscious and quiet passion. |