.fr

the monks moved on long ago. now, the place is part museum, part writer-hermitage. this is a shot at the back of the main chapel. the area near the altar has fallen (or been bombed) away, and now gives a beautiful view of the castle iforgetwhat on the hill. rock doves* fly around the inside and perch on the stonework. in the walls, halfway up, are what looks like large empty earthernware jugs embedded to their rims, gaping out. the tour notes for the room indicate they were intended to capture the echoes that i'm sure plagued this huge stone box. i doubt they had much effect, but i'm curious. missy and i are dealing with the realities of large acoustically reflective spaces in our apartment, and i'm anxious for any suggestions.

just outside is a garden with trees bearing fruit i've never seen before. the fruit look like lemon-sized pumpkins, and are undoubtedly either yummy or deadly. i spend some time trying to learn the french names for herbs using my limited ranger plant-identifying skills and the little signs near each plant.

theatre is very big in avignon, as a result of jean vilar starting his festival here in the forties. the french government gives grants to writers of all kinds to live for a time in the old monk's cells in chartreuse and produce what they will. we walked through one restored cell on our tour of the grounds, and even in the state it was in in the 1600s it was enviable. they were basically small two story row houses, with secluded private herb gardens in the back (in the shape of a cross, of course) and a common quadrangle in the center. extremely serene. i was ready to sign up for a life of peace and quiet and the occasional penitence. miss and i couldn't quite figure out how to sneak her around convincingly as a man though.

missy took the above photo for when i publish my first novel.

*pigeons.