Day Five: Ogling Uzes
I'm perched on a rock perhaps a hundred feet upriver from the Pont du Gard. How exactly I'm going to get back from this little ledge far down the hillside is one of those sufficient-unto-the-day-is-the-evil-thereof questions that we idealists turn up our noses at. I'm not sure whether this counts as rive gauche or rive droite -- in any case, by bad luck it's the side undergoing restoration that blocks one actually getting onto the bridge. That's okay, though -- it's pretty to look at from here, and my feet are glad enough of an excuse to not go tromping around more. The Gard is very beautiful -- a lazy green goddess of a river, idling along to the sea. The Pont is also beautiful but... I guess it just doesn't impress me that ancient people were able to build with such grace and solidity. I'm in awe of fragile things that survive -- glass or fabric -- but stone fits neatly into counting by centuries. And without so many distractions, I (romantically, no doubt) imagine that it was considerably easier to find the right proportions, and that proportion-makers were known and valued.
Well, what other adventures have I had today? I discovered that the folklife museum in the Cevennes I desperately want to visit won't be open any of the days that I'm actually in the Cevennes. However, it's within a couple of hours drive, and it is open Easter afternoon. Nimes is filling up with young corrida fans on scooters -- boy, if you thought football hooligans were something, try making your solitary female way through packs of bullfighting ruffians. (I should explain -- There are two types of bullfighting practiced in France -- the feria or corrida, which is the usual horrid Spanish butchery; and the course Landais, which might be best described as flag-football with cows. It's easy to tell which is which by examining the advertising posters -- corrida features glittering shots of the bullfighters. Course Landais shows glossy headshots of the cows. "Look! Flossie's appearing this Thursday!" )
J'irai enfoncer votre sternum, mon gosse, si vous me bousculez avec des mechanteries lascifs.
(JEE-RAY UN-fon-SAY vo-TRAH stare-NUM, mun gohs, see voo muh boo-skoo-LAY ah-veck day MAY-CHANT-air-ee la-SEEF.)
"I will crush your sternum, buddy boy, if you jostle me with lewd intent."
The Museum of Old Nimes was a big bust, unfortunately, other than some beautiful friezes on the walls. Collection most comprised of fiestaware of the seventeenth century.
(Later) It was actually pretty easy to scramble up to terra asphalta. Then I turned the Kid's nose northwards to Uzes, where I fell in love...
...With the town itself -- a pure jewel of late medieval/early Renaissance building. "Cyrano de Bergerac" did much of its filming in and around the Place de l'Horloge. It just knocked me sideways to be walking under the same low arches where Roxanne was running around barefoot in her nightie...
The best part of the Duche itself is the grounds -- the interior is rather fou-fou'ed up with Louis Seize frippery, screaming magenta brocades etc. and soulful oil portraits of the present Ducs d'Uzes... However, tucked in the corners of the din (if one can speak of a visual din) were some exquisite 16th century portraits... some absolutely propped up on tables, tempting one to run a quick finger over their dusky slick surfaces. Beautiful Simone de Crussol, staring insolently at you from her marriage portrait -- who are you to be gawking at her so? Alas, plenty of postcards for the Louis Seize crap, but none of the portraits.