About 30 minutes north from the port of Marseilles is the town
of Aix en Provence. Arriving on the
outskirts of town our guide explained that the word Aix is pronounced “X” and
means water/spa, and there are a number of these throughout France - Aix les Bains,
Aix la Chapelle, etc.
About this time we passed the family home of Paul Cézanne
who was born, lived (except for a brief period in Paris), and died in Aix. It
was a beautiful estate that he inherited from his father in 1886 along with
400,000 francs ending his prior bohemian life style. Bridging late
19th-century impressionism and early 20th century's cubism, Cézanne is clearly the
favorite son of Aix en Provence. This will
become more meaningful, as you read on.
Cours Mirabeau
is the heart of Aix. Anchored at one end by the Grand Fountain, it is a
beautiful tree-lined avenue, with one side lined with wonderful terrace cafés
and bookshops.
Down side streets on the other side, the mansions once owned by the French elite were prevalent.
We wandered
by these glorious late 18th century mansions, noting the grand entry gardens - designed to remove the building from
the vulgarity of the city street, grand entrance halls - designed to impress the
visitors and rear gardens - designed for living and entertaining.
We stopped in
front of one that has now been converted to a hotel (above). It was a beautiful, bright but cloudy day, causing
our guide to note that Cézanne really didn’t care what his subject was, he’d
paint anything. Rather, she went on, he was
more interested in the quality of the changing light and how it affected the
subject.
“Excuse me,” one
of our herd interrupted, “Sha-zam?”
“Non, madam, Cézanne. Paul Cézanne.”
“I'm sorry, Sha-zam?” she
repeated in her best Gomer Pyle impression.
Then exercising
a lot of tolerance and self control our guide said calmly, “Non, madam, Cézanne. His
name is pronounced, seɪˈzæn,
madam.”
As she cowered to the back of the pack, I thought I heard Lee
Greenwood singing in the background. Really, you can’t make this stuff
up.
The center of Aix is the old town, ringed
by a circle of boulevards and squares. The medieval Aix was protected by a wall
with 39 towers. It was later torn down to make room for the aforementioned
mansions.
A French sidewalk café and associated
washrooms was next on the agenda.
With my best
high school French, I cleared my throat and said to the waiter, “Un chocolat et un café au lait avec sucre.”
“Yes, sir. One
hot chocolate and a coffee with milk and sugar.”
He seemed tolerant
as well.
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