A Travelogue of Avignon
I’ve always wanted to write about the two nights I spent in Avignon in December 2017, before the memories are drowned by newer stories.
I arrived in Avignon on Christmas Eve. I was staying alone in a large room in the old town. After putting down my luggage, I rushed out to buy some food before the last shops closed.
On the street I ran into an older French man with his dog and his young Black boyfriend (quite handsome). He recommended a cinema to me. I said sure. His dog liked me.
Then Avignon emptied.
In the quiet city there seemed to be homeless people standing along the streets. I didn’t dare to look too long.
The next morning, from a higher place, I saw an old fortress across the Rhône in the new town. In the afternoon I decided to walk there and see it.
I never found the fortress. Maybe I walked in the wrong direction. Instead I ended up on a slope beside the city wall. I must have been walking for quite a while already. I sat down on the gravelly hillside and ate some terrible snacks. The scenery around me was beautiful, though a bit desolate. Avignon belongs to Provence, already close to the south of France, so the temperature was just right for wearing a down jacket.
Slowly it started to get dark.
Suddenly I saw the streetlights beside the densely packed houses below the slope turn on all at once. The cloudy gray sky gradually turned into a certain kind of blue. Behind me, the lights in the grass below the city wall also came on, so the wall itself lit up as well.
I decided to go down.
When I reached the bottom and turned back to look up, I realized that someone was now standing where I had been just a moment ago. Looking down the same way I had.
I found it funny. I had thought I was the only one who would climb up there.
Night slowly fell. The whole process was beautiful. I kept walking back toward the city, watching the sky change little by little.
The walk back felt too long, so I started looping Burn on my phone. The night before I had just watched The Killing of a Sacred Deer. The strange female voice in the song felt strangely fitting with this silent rural night and the empty city.
The more I listened, the more excited I felt. I started wandering around the empty streets, taking photos with my phone.
Near the Rhône I saw a kind of tree by the road. Its branches were twisted and dense. It looked as if growing itself had taken enormous effort. It felt like someone ought to be trapped in those twisted branches. When I went back later I tried to draw that scene, but the drawing never worked out.
Through the gaps of the tangled streets I suddenly saw the black Rhône River, so I ran toward it. The river here is wide — otherwise how could there be the broken bridge of Avignon?
It was unbelievably quiet. The only sound was the rush of cars speeding along a main road in the distance.
I walked down a slope leading into the river and dipped the white tips of my shoes into the water. At night the only thing I could see was the white of my shoes.
And then nothing happened. It seemed that the houses around here had no one staying in them tonight — it was Christmas.
I crossed the long bridge connecting the new town and the old town. When I reached the old town again, it was brightly lit.
And that was the end of my little story in Avignon.