“Hard to imagine much dancing happening here now, isn’t it?” Jean-Paul responded. He had been the consummate tour guide, explaining that in the Middle Ages Avignon had flourished because of its location on the Rhône River, and had once been the seat of the Pope. “The current metropolis spills out far beyond the original city gates, of course, but most of the medieval ramparts remain.”
Within the massive stone walls encircling Avignon was a labyrinth of cobbled streets and lantern-lit passageways. Jugglers and musicians entertained tourists in the Place de l’Horloge, a long square that stretched out in front of the Hôtel de Ville, or city hall. Vendors sold handmade jewelry and beautiful scarves, imported handicrafts from Kenya, and leather goods from Italy. Crowded cafés vied for space on the terraced square, and musicians and a juggler entertained visitors.
“Busy place,” Cady said. “And it’s not even tourist season.”
“In the summer, Avignon’s population is said to double withvisitors. It is not Paris, but it is a popular destination, for foreigners and French alike.”
Holding pride of place at the top of the Place de l’Horloge was the rococo Belle Époque Carousel. The running-board panels along the crown were lined with lightbulbs, inspiring Cady to imagine how it appeared at night, lighting up this stone plaza. Two levels of prancing horses and tilting carriages made their endless circles to a carnivalesqueoompah-pah, and several children, red-cheeked with excitement, waved to their parents as they whirled by.
Cady snapped numerous photographs, but the Avignon merry-go-round wasn’t distinctive enough to merit a special mention in a book focusing on Parisian carousels.
Just then several small papers skittered by in the wind. Cady was reminded of cleaning up after her last Prospective Parents fair at the Tilden Park carousel in Berkeley. The discount name tags hadn’t stuck well to fabric, and at the end of a long afternoon the weary social workers had given Cady the task of chasing down the fluttering stickers: Connor and Maria and Kristin and Tyrone. Prospective parents, blowing away in the wind.
“Are you all right?” Jean-Paul asked.
Cady realized she had been staring at the carousel through the lens of her camera, as though frozen.
“Yes, sorry. I’m done here. What’s next?”
“The Palais des Papes.”
“Lead on, Jeeves,” Cady said grandly. “I shall reward your efforts with a handsome tip at the end of the day.”
“Will you, now?”
“I’ll feed you pasta, at least.”
“I accept.Après-vous, madamoiselle.”
A short, narrow street led from the plaza to the fortress-like Palais des Papes, or Papal Palace. The tall, brooding Gothic structure loomed against the afternoon sky, grim and threatening.
“This would be your palace, then?”
“Pardon?”
“‘Jean-Paul’ sounds like a pope’s name. So this would be your palace.”
He looked confused.
“Sorry. It wasn’t very funny anyway,” Cady said. “So, the architecture here seems so different from Paris.”
“Yes, the medieval center of town has more in common with the south of France, and Spain. Avignon didn’t technically become part of France until the late eighteenth century, after the Revolution. Until then, it was a papal property. The cathedral is worth a visit,” said Jean-Paul, checking his watch, “but I don’t know if we have time to go in today.”
“That’s all right,” Cady said, eyeing the line of visitors waiting to purchase tickets to tour the palace. “It’s a beautiful day, and I’m enjoying my walking tour.”
“The Librairie Roumanille is down that way,” he said, pointing toward a stone passageway. “It is said to be one of the oldest bookstores in all of France.”
“That I have to see,” she said.
They walked down the rue Saint-Agricol, taking in gorgeous painted doors and small statues of saints set into shadowy niches on the sides of ancient stone town houses. They paused to peer in the windows of an antiques store displaying several wooden carvings, making Cady wonder again how Gus had ended up at a flea market in San Francisco, where Maxine had found him.
“It is time for lunch,” Jean-Paul announced as they left the bookstore.
“But we’re having pasta for dinner.”
“And?”
“I wasn’t planning on having a big lunch. Maybe just grab a quick sandwich.”
