Wednesday in Avignon

Wednesdays are only a half day of school in France, and at Ria's school a much smaller group of children comes on Wednesdays, so we kept Ria out of school today, and spent the day in Avignon. Thom wanted more time with Ria before he went back home for a month.

We started by shopping at a large mall, buying spring clothes for Ria. The sizes here run very small compared to in the U.S., and Ria fits in clothes tagged for 8 to 10 year olds. They're too wide for her at that size, but they fit her length.

Then we headed into the old town and got a delicious lunch at a cafe with an outside seating area. Of course, all the cafes spread out onto the sidewalk when the weather is decent. It amazes us how Europe makes such incredible use of all spaces, regardless of their size and qualities. Everything is squeezed in, spaces have multiple uses, and cars fit into spaces that appear considerably smaller than the car. It's both claustrophobic and impressively efficient.

We next took her violin to a luthier, as her D string had snapped. Chez le luthier was a beautiful space -- I am kicking myself for not photographing it -- with one wall of glass facing a plant-filled courtyard, and the rest of the space taken up by instruments and parts. It was so peaceful and pretty there. The rest of Avignon is crowded and a challenge to negotiate, now that we're used to the peace and wide-open spaces of Provence. We adapted to the extra space, after Paris, quite quickly.

In Paris we were walking down a very wide sidewalk along a major sidewalk and came to a street that had been closed to traffic. This created a parking opportunity, between the blockade and the major street it was perpendicular to. So two cars backed themselves into the spot, leaving only a tiny passageway for pedestrians, between the cars and the buildings adjacent to the sidewalk. This space was the spot a woman chose to have a long argument on her cell phone, waving her arms around furiously and paying zero attention to the people trying to squeeze through. She had to be shoved out of the way, and in typical French fashion, didn't seem to notice or care. There is something odd about their sense of personal space (almost none) and their comfort being touched (or shoved) by strangers. It's not something I can easily adapt to. I didn't like it in New York, either. I guess that's part of why I ended up out west.