We drove today to Aix de Provence and as we were driving around I recognized where we had a meal with our friends Rod and Emily several years ago.  Susan recognized it too.  We decided to buy gas and Susan pulled up to a pump and it was Lola’s turn to buy gas so she went in to pay.  She came back and said that pump only accepted certain cards.  Susan pulled up to another pump and it was out of diesel.  She tried to pull up to another pump and a motorcycle was parked there.  The fourth pump worked.  Lola had gone in to pay four times and everyone in the store was cracking up.

Driving back toward Arles we drove up to a toll booth but we hadn’t gotten a ticket when we got on the autovia so we had no ticket to put in the slot to show how much we had to pay.  We learned after our last incident to press the red button so she pushed it and got a recording in French (of course).  She pushed another button and a person came on and Susan explained in French that we didn’t have a ticket and the machine came up saying we owed 1.80 Euros.  We paid and voila! The gate went up.  We drove to Miramas Le Vieux and had another great lunch at Le Manjador.  The chef even came out and shook our hands and later asked if we enjoyed our meal.  We drove on up the hill and discovered a medieval village.  We walked around the village and it was adorable.  People were living there and I’m sure behind the stone walls were beautiful homes.  On the way back to Arles we saw a sign saying Roman Aqueduct.  We found the ruins and it was an amazing thing to see.  There was a group of artist there sketching and painting the ruins.  Returning to our hotel proved exhausting.  The narrow little streets are one way and we were about a block and a half from our hotel and couldn’t get there.  Susan was now tired and irritated, I was hysterical, Lola was thinking “This is France.” and Barbara was calm but silently sobbing.  I hysterically demanded that Susan park the car and we would get the hotel guy (who parks the cars at the hotel) to come and get the car.  She found a park space (a miracle) and it was so tight she couldn’t get out the driver’s door.  I refused to take a picture of her trying to squeeze through the narrow space.  She somehow climbed over the stick shift, console and brake to get out the passenger door.  We walked 2 blocks to our hotel and the young man who parks the cars said he would go and get the car.  I walked with him to show him where we were parked.  I discovered his father was American and his mother was French and he was raised in Dayton, Ohio.  He came to Arles to visit his uncle who owns the hotel and never left.  That was 10 years ago.  He drove the car to the hotel, dropped me off and I joined the other three old  broads who were waiting for me.  Exhausted we all sat in the shade under the umbrellas in Forum Plaza and drank a couple glasses of wine.