vincent

Oh God, it’s happened. We have become “those Parisians.” I’ve read about “those Parisians” and I had promised that we would never become one of them, but it has happened. We are now officially those Parisians who leave the city on the weekends and invade the countryside in search of sunshine, nature and “an experience.” You can tell who we are… We are the ones wearing blazers and loafers. My husband’s idea of a relaxed outfit is jeans… With a blazer. I am waiting for him to pull out his Lacoste short sleeve shirts to complete his summer wardrobe.

 

I forced my entire family and caregivers to wake up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning to get ready for our weekend adventure. I even meticulously researched our adventure. It was my husband’s birthday and Father’s Day so I wanted to do something special for him but let’s be honest, it’s always about me. But that’s because I’m the fun one in the family. If I don’t plan these activities, who will??!! They will thank me later. Remember when my husband didn’t want to go to the Napoleon auction and now whenever we have friends over he proudly shows our guests our auction winnings (Louis XVI’s wallpaper) as I discreetly roll my eyes.

 

My idea of a fun weekend usually involves nature and something cultural. I don’t do Six Flags, water parks, or music festivals. In fact, my idea of hell is a jazz festival. I did a little Google research to investigate what kind of fun excursions there were to do one hour outside of Paris. My husband was only up for driving one hour this weekend because next weekend we are looking at an 8 hour drive to Provence and the following weekend a two-hour drive to Normandy. My husband doesn’t know about the Normandy excursion yet but we have to go because there is a fleamarket and a house I want to rent. I think it’s best to keep him on a need-to-know basis.

 

So, what’s there to do one hour outside of Paris? Lots! Château de Chenonceau, Monet’s garden in Giverney, Versailles, Bois de Bologne, or the farmers market of Saint Germain-en-Laye. We have a special day planned in July to visit Château de Vaux le Vicomte for a dinner at dusk in the royal gardens lit by 2000 candles but what could we do this weekend?  Well, just you wait until you see what I found!

 

Completely unbeknownst to me, Vincent van Gogh lived in a quaint little town one hour outside of Paris called Auvers-sur-Oise. This is where he painted some of his best works and it is also sadly, the little town where he shot himself in the chest and died. I immediately called my husband and said, “Guess where we’re going this weekend?”

 

I spent the entire day Thursday researching our adventure and I am now the foremost authority on Vincent van Gogh. Just kidding, a gentleman named David Brooks is the authority and I spent the entire day on his website: http://www.vggallery.com/. Here are some interesting facts about Vincent van Gogh’s life in Auvers-sur-Oise in 1890.

 

Vincent van Gogh spent the last 70 days of his life in Auvers-sur-Oise and in this time he painted 77 pieces.

 

 

One of these pieces is the famous Portrait of Dr. Gachet which sold at Christie’s in three minutes for $82.5 million.

 

Dr. Gachet was Vincent’s doctor who was treating him for psychological illnesses but whom Vincent said that he appeared, “sicker than I am, I think, or shall we say just as much.”

Vincent van Gogh was a fiery ginger who often had heated arguments with his brother, Theo. However, Theo was his greatest supporter and died six months after Vincent. They are buried side-by-side in the little village cemetery.

The famous church that van Gogh immortalized in his painting, The Church of Auvers, is located in this little town. So is the local mairie that Vincent painted, Auvers Town Hall on 14 July 1890, that was directly across from his apartment.

 

Vincent rented a tiny attic room ( N° 5) of the Ravoux Inn for 3.50 French francs per day full board. Vincent shot himself in the chest in the wheat fields and managed to drag his body back to his little apartment where he died the following day in his brother Theo’s arms.

Delve into Vincent van Gogh’s life and history to get a little glimpse of his motivation and passions HERE.

We arrived to Auvers-sur-Oise at exactly 10 AM and were the first guests to visit Vincent’s apartment. It isn’t exactly like this circa 1800s building was wheelchair friendly so I had to sit my sorry ass outside with my caregiver while David and Gracie were lucky enough and able-bodied enough to be able to go upstairs to see his apartment. Because my husband is the greatest husband on the face of the earth, he took pictures for me even though it was not allowed. Let’s take a look…

 

 

 

Our next stop was a very special lunch in the restaurant of the Ravoux Inn where Vincent van Gogh ate every day at table number five. The restaurant has been preserved aesthetically in its original state… State of fucking fabulousness. I kept having to remind myself that this was not Disneyland and that this was real. This was the exact space that Vincent van Gogh inhabited every day. He breathed here, ate here and drank here! On a creepy side note, I always tell my husband that I am sort of excited to die because I envision myself having lunch with the likes of Vincent van Gogh, Coco Chanel, Yves St. Laurent, Eugene Delacroix, Edith Piaf, JD Salinger and my grandparents… my favorite writers, poets, decorators, artists and singers. Okay, back to reality… Let’s take a look at the restaurant and our dejeuner…

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After lunch, we took a little walk to the country cemetery where Vincent van Gogh is buried next to his beloved brother, Theo. I thought that there would be some big hoopla commemorating Vincent van Gogh’s burial site but no… Just a modest gravestone surrounded by verdant green ivy thought to have originated from Dr. Gachet’s garden. There he was in this simple country cemetery and I couldn’t think of anything better. He was surrounded by wheat fields, red poppy flowers and all of the landscapes that he loved to paint. I kept saying to everyone, “Can you believe that Vincent van Gogh is just lying there under the dirt. Right there!” The cemetery is just up the road from where Vincent painted the famous church. Let’s take a look…

 

Here are a few more examples of the pieces that Vincent van Gogh painted during his 70 days in Auvers-sur-Oise…

 

 

 

 

 

If you would like to see (and you should) all 77 paintings that Vincent van Gogh painted during his 70 day stay in Auvers-sur-Oise, France, click HERE.

I could have stayed in the little town exploring for hours but my counterparts were ready to get back to the city. They had had enough culture for one day. But for me, it was different. All those years growing up in Missouri and California so far removed and now here I was smack dab in the middle of where one of the greatest painters of all time sought inspiration. How many times have I looked at his paintings at school, in books and in museums happy to be even in close proximity to his work and here I was in Auvers-sur-Oise where Vincent van Gogh would get off the train, go to his apartment, eat his dinner and paint some of the greatest artworks that ever were to be! Be still my heart!

I don’t even care if I am one of “those Parisians” because this is a day that I will never forget. David should be so happy that I did this for him for his birthday. :-)

*All photos by my handsome husband.

Road Trip: Provence

Surprisingly, it’s rare that David and I fight on a road trip. It’s also rare that David and I don’t fight. We can fight about everything including the proper route from our Right Bank Parisian apartment to our favorite grocery store, La Grand Epicerie, on the Left Bank of Paris. He likes to remind me that he has lived in Paris since he was 17 and that he knows every street by the back of his hand and I like to remind him that I have a better sense of direction than him no matter what city we are in. Our fighting tactics are always the same: David likes to yell in French and I like to bring up things from the past into every argument. It works for us. We usually end every argument with, “Well, it looks like we’re going to have to agree to disagree.” What this means is that we both think we are right yet we are too tired or hungry to continue so we like to wrap up our argument with a sandwich and a nap.

 

However, on a road trip, we miraculously see eye to eye. We both don’t mind getting up in the darkness of the early morning, having the car totally organized and starting our adventure. Such was the case yesterday for our petite road trip to Provence. David does everything in his power to make sure my comfort is a priority so he basically transforms my seat in the car into an Air France first-class cabin complete with reclining heated massage chair, beverage, light snack and a movie. David’s favorite part about a road trip is stopping at French gas stations. He loves them and I hate them. David looks forward to his noisette café and his weird ham and cheese baguettes. He asks me what I would like at the gas station and my response is always, “Something American.” I think it’s unnatural not to have a Slurpie, nachos and a powdered doughnut on a road trip.

David always says that the reason why we continue to bear each other’s existence is because we both enjoy doing the same thing, going to flea markets being one of them. We work well together at a flea market, perusing at the same pace, showing each other equally aesthetically pleasing items and only rarely do I have to say, “Put that down, David, it’s ugly.”

David is slightly more relaxed than I am at a flea market. He likes to stop for a pre-fleamarket coffee and I like to dive in like an obsessed barracuda right into the thick of it. I like to be the first one at a flea market and if I am not, I spend the rest of the day wondering what I missed.

No worries yesterday because we arrived at exactly 9 AM to the L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue Sunday farmers market and brocante. We arrived just as the vendors were setting up… Just the way I like it. However, our first snafu occurred… My wheelchair was squeaking. Not just a light squeak, it was a heavy duty, ear piercing obnoxious squeak every three seconds as the wheel turned. It was driving me mad. The good news is that I am a complete MacGyver when it comes to “situations.”  ( I have used a meat cleaver for a hammer since before Gracie was born.) Considering we were at a farmers market in Provence, I knew the best thing to do was to buy the local olive oil at the first booth we saw. With our €12 bottle of olive oil, David poured it with a heavy hand onto the right wheel of my wheelchair and presto, “situation solved.”

I was both easily impressed and equally not impressed by our first day in Provence but I thought I would be totally honest with all of you with my observations.

First things first, L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue is shit for antiques. It’s also shit for little brocante accessories. When I first went to L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue in 2007 to shop for our antique store, I literally wanted everything in the entire town. Every vendor had something unusual, remarkable and well priced. Yesterday all I saw was ordinary, boring and overpriced. To put it quite simply, the town was definitely picked over. We can blame the Americans. They came, they saw, and they conquered. This town was dry. I have to say, Paris is still the best for antiquing. There, I said it… And it’s true. The vendors in Provence are grasping at straws to showcase anything extraordinary. Over the course of the five hours that I was in L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, I only purchased five items. Only five items! The good news is that I did find one item that is one of my most favorite pieces that I’ve ever bought, so not all was a loss. Don’t worry, I bought one for all of you as well and it will be available on my little online shop. Hint: Ancien taureau.

 

 

 

To be fair and not punished by the law, I had to give my caregivers a little break after the first three hours. We found a super chic little café/deli right on the main road of the village called Le Jouvet. Don’t you love when a shop just gets it right. This little place certainly did. They had me at the vegetable tart in the window and sealed the deal with the fruit tart. We selected a perfectly Provence sandwich of roasted peppers with pesto on soft bread. Delicious. I also spied a whole refrigerator filled with gelatos in little glass jars. On our way out of town in the late afternoon, my caregiver popped out of the car and bought me a gelato of refreshing cassis with Moroccan mint that I ate all to myself and didn’t share a drop because I can be a real peach like that.

 

 

With what the town lacks in quality antiques, it certainly makes up in charm. A beautiful river runs through the village with crystal-clear water, healthy moss, shaded with overgrown fig trees. The buildings are typical Provence… mustard yellow, pink salmon, milky ivory with (for lack of a better word) perfect shabby chic shutters. What I really liked about the town is that there was no Newport Beach style cutting back of anything overgrown. Weeping wisteria, sunny forsythia, those pink shrimp colored fluffy plants that remind me of Sonja Rykiel’s hair texture… It all just grows at its leisure and there is not one site of some asshole with clipping shears.

Armed with our five little treasures, we had to get to our reservation for our late afternoon lunch. My friend Heather from Lost in Arles, recommended a restaurant that she knew I would love… And she was right. Definitely check out her blog regarding the restaurant, Le Jardin du Quai, HERE. Not only did I want to have lunch at this restaurant but I wanted to live there as well. It’s the house and environment that I’ve been looking for.… Old charming house, pea gravel, carefree garden, shade trees, fountains, hidden statues, creeping ivy… A hidden gem. We were seated at the perfect stone round garden table under a beautiful old tree. First things first, a glass of rosé wine was in order. The menu was prix-fixe… Appetizer of salmon with onions and vegetables, main course of a beauty of a roasted lamb leg with onions and mushrooms and finishing with a dessert of juicy blueberries with lemon meringue and crème fraîche. What I also loved about this restaurant is that everyone seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves and had a fortunate look of, “We are so happy to be here.” The only drawback to this restaurant were the chairs. This is the only time I considered myself lucky to be sitting in a custom wheelchair which was 20 times more comfortable than the chairs at the restaurant. The owners definitely need to do something about this… I suggest wicker with ivory cushions.

 

After lunch, we took one more walk through the town and then decided that it was time to go. Even though I didn’t get to see as many antiques as I would like, I was just happy to be out in the sunshine of the South of France with my husband. When you get to this stage of my life that I am in (near death :-)), you learn to appreciate what makes life grand… The trees, the sunshine, the river, chirping of the birds, strawberries, vegetable tarts, farmhouses, and an occasional antique.

So that’s it for my first adventure this summer to Provence. Our next trip down south will be to Aix-en-Provence where my friend lives and has expertly described (and promised) the following… “June is one of the absolutely very best months in Provence. The weather will be summery warm, the many dozens of white, pink and apricot coloured oleander bushes will be in full bloom, trying to compete with the elegant roses in the rose garden. But, of course this won’t be easy … To give the oleander a head-start we planted them a bit everywhere on the property, while the roses are concentrated in the rosary.

The swimming pool is heated, of course, and we can splish splash for hours, which is best to be done with a cocktail in our hands.

The best hours to stroll around the narrow streets in Aix are late morning and early evening. I suggest a tour through the farmers’ market to start with. We’ll sample our way through the freshly cut melons from Cavaillon, the sweetest Mara strawberries and the white peaches Provence is so famous for, until we have elected our merchants and fill up our baskets. For cheese we have found the absolutely number one address, our fromager is originally from Corsica, is capable of eating a whole truffled buffalo mozzarella by himself and knows all about cheese. We’ll then stop at the stand that sells all kinds of salami, from tiny to quite amazing in diameter, flavoured with nuts, black and chili pepper, mushrooms, truffles and other interesting ingredients. David will have fun trying them all, especially when we sip our mojito in the evening, enjoying the sunset from our terrace.

We’ll sample our way through C.’s specialities and we’ll show her some new recipes. She has reached excellence in paella and her spaghetti with homemade pesto Provencale have gained reputation all the way to Lugano! I’ll prepare Wiener Schnitzel, thin, crispy, and light and topped with fresh ruccola.

J.C. will make you discover some rosé wines from the region and fuller Italian red wines. J. will shake up new cocktails and of course, there is no way around a real pastis with olives at the Les Deux Garçons.

We’ll share a million little joys while we walk through the garden, enjoy the views, watch the birds and the butterflies, pick the fraises de bois … directly into our mouth, sit next to the fish pond and keep the breath when Adorable comes to nibble on our fingers, talk and chat for hours, laugh when one finishes the sentence the other one has just begun. Love, S.”

 

I’m mean, c’mon, am I the luckiest girl in the world or what? I don’t have time for ALS, I have a whole summer of Provence ahead of me and I invite all of you.… But you’ll have to put up with David as well. If I have to, you have to.… He may be loud and bossy but at least he’s French, endearing, handsome and dresses well. It could be worse, he could be passive and wear a fanny pack. So, summer in Provence here we come.

A toute!