Bonjour from Aix-en-Provence, also known as Aix-and-Pains, though I don’t know why – maybe because it is hard to find a parking place. But that could be many places, non?

I did once park here years ago only to return to the car to find it imprisoned by these scary iron posts that come up out of the sidewalk that you didn’t even know were there, and there is no gettin’ around those suckers. Sucker is French for scary iron post. 

My mother and godmother were there, too, and already mad at me because I made them walk forever up a hill to Cezanne’s studio in a heatwave. When they say in French that the walk is un bon dix minutes – a good ten minutes – it means, like, an hour. This did not help in any way with the la mere’s mood or the captive car situation.

When a policeman approached, I said in my best David-Sadaris-North-Carolina-French, that ma mere est malade, and elle ne peut pas marcher, and we needed to go to le banque, with the unspoken implication that she was going to die if we did not get to le banque to get the money to buy her medicine, hence my unfortunate choice of parking place near le banque. Anyway it worked, or maybe he just wanted me to stop talking. (I get that sometimes) He produced a magic key that retracted said iron posts, and we sailed  into the beautiful Provencal apres-midi.

Aix has a great market, open Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. 

I love the espadrille lady. When I went back on Thursday to buy them as gifts for all and sundry, she wasn’t there. Crushed, and now beset with poor, shoeless relatives and friends.

You could take 20 pictures of soap alone.

You get the idea.

The French definitely get the display idea.

These straw market baskets were, like, three dollars when I first started buying them there. Since then I have spent probably $75 getting them repaired in New York. Why do I do that?

I love the music man in the funny hat. He looks happy and sweet. I gave him two euros for the photo. He is probably a marquis and a brain surgeon and has a chateau next door to Valentino.

Does anyone know the name of the instrument he is playing? I didn’t think to ask him.

Oh, see those posts behind him. They are just like the ones that came up out of the sidewalk and imprisoned my voiture.

Aix-and-Pains is actually very beautiful. “Aix” means water in the Provencal language, and there are lovely fountains throughout the town.

I am here on a painting workshop, which is great fun but actually hard work. I know, tiny violin. Will post again soon when not chasing my palette that has blown across two wheat fields and knocked out two goats and a cow. Meanwhile, check in with me on Instagram, HERE!   A bientot!