I paid the first of hopefully several visits to Arles today. I want to say it’s one of my favourite places, but I seem to say that about everywhere; you can probably tell I’m doing all the old haunts first. This is the Place de la Republique and that building at the back is the town hall. In summer, this square is absolutely packed but not that many tourists today. The lack of visitors was also evident in the market where the provencal stalls were conspicuous by their absence. On the other hand, I’d say there were just as many food and clothes purveyors as in the height of summer and the French were out in force.

It was noticeable how many folk were sporting masks in the open, and how many were involved in that elbow nudging thing: the shaking of hands and the kissing of everyone in sight seems to have largely terminated. Quite amazing really – it’s as though a significant cultural element has just disappeared. I hope, in time, it will all resume.

Meanwhile, the pavement cafes were jammed – that part of life is going nowhere thank goodness. Before I joined them, I had a good old trawl around the market and made some tasty purchases: two globe artichokes (haven’t seen any of those since 2019), some gigantic bright pink crevettes, beautiful haricots, three enormous apples, some black olives in spice, some sundried tomatoes in crushed garlic (not supposed to eat those but I’ll be brave), and a splendid looking baguette – all super cheap. And, having dumped the goodies in my car, I went back for a spot of sight-seeing.

Popping through a handy archway, one finds an enormous courtyard which is actually more impressive than it probably looks in this snap. At the far end is a little door, inside which is …

… this and,

this and

this. These are the eleventh century cloisters of St Trophime, part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site. Whilst I’ve been in the church previously, and fully intend going back, I’d never been in the cloisters until today. Apart from the idiot who relieves you of your money, it’s all jolly impressive and houses a huge historical exhibition – all in French and devoid of any other translation. That would be WORLD heritage chaps.

Next door, is the old post office. As I haven’t purchased any postcards, I didn’t attempt to buy any stamps. I think it was shut for lunch – but beautiful.

In Arles, it’s so easy to walk for miles, just looking around. There’s something to see at every juncture and, away from the market, the town was spookily quiet and devoid of anywhere to eat my lunch in the sunshine.

I even walked all the way around the arena feeling sure that eateries would be open in this tourist hotspot. Sadly not, but no worries: I wandered through the gardens and found a seat outside one of the cafes that face the rapidly closing market. It was so warm, that a coat became a hindrance. My expected snack turned into a steak with dauphinoise potatoes and a delicious salad. Life’s tough en Arles.