Avignon: sometimes it’s best not to go back

The last time I was in Avignon, in 2010, it was during the summer festival. John and I spent just a couple of days wandering the streets. There were performers on every corner, costumed people would approach with cards advertising their shows. Shops spilled their wares out into the road, and street vendors filled stalls with trinkets and fabric from around the world.

Now, the wind-blown roads seem bare, the shops are shuttered, and the people on the street are regular city folk going about their business, rushing to work or sitting on a lunch break.

My favourite Avignon lane in 2010 was the Rue des Teinturiers, the Street of the Dyers, named for the textile industry that flourished here along the tiny Canal de Vaucluse, a branch of the River Sorgue. The old waterwheels are still there that once powered the textile mills. The Rue in 2010 was overflowing with colour and music. Now, it’s hard to imagine it as anything but tranquil.

Le Petit Sorgue, by le Rue des Teinturiers

Water wheels still turning

The downside to visiting during the festival was the long line-up into Avignon’s most important site, the Palais des Papes, the seat of the papacy for some 80 years in the 14th Century. In 2010, we decided the wait it wasn’t worth it, but this time there was no line up, and not only that, the visit has been made substantially more interesting with the use of technology. Each visitor is given an iPad loaded with an almost-virtual-reality tour of the palace. In each bare stone room, we were able to see what it would have looked like in the 13th Century. What might have been a dull wander through empty halls became an experience in almost-living history.

The imposing Palais des Papes

Virtual reality in bare halls

In a tower at the top of of the Palais

We visited the famous Pont Saint-Bénézet, better known as Le Pont d’Avignon, and of course I danced, which may have been a bit foolish, since the Mistral, gusting to a reported 90 km/hr, was strong enough to throw me over the edge.

On y danse

The bridge hasn’t changed in nine years, I’m happy to say; it’s still the bridge to nowhere since the collapse of most of its arches in the 17th Century. There are rumours of plans to rebuilt the bridge as a connector to île de la Barthelasse and beyond. I hope they are not true. Now, we sit on the bridge deck where it ends, and laugh at the wind.