LA CORRIDA!

Because Sir Paul did not show up in Liverpool as (I had) planned on the day of my personal tour of historic Beatle-sites, our trip to the coliseum in Nimes in the south of France ranks as one of the most mind-blowing travel experiences I have ever had.

It began with a very long trip.

It is not supposed to be a very long trip from Soubes, where we were staying, to Nimes, the site of the best-kept Roman coliseum in all the world (Rome included), but there were some glitches along the way.

For example, our new friend, TomTom, pointed us in the wrong direction in order to avoid toll routes.  There is no way to avoid toll routes in France.  We ended up further south and had to spend even longer driving on the main highway, thus incurring an even greater fare. 

Also, there were bathrooms to try to find, then CLEAN bathrooms to try to find, then diapers to be changed in the backseat of the rental car because of the lack of clean bathrooms, and then more diapers to be changed five minutes later because Annabeth was so happy to finally have her wet diaper changed.

Once the kids fell asleep in the back, Trevor and I sought out a rest stop for coffee, as we’d been driving for a few (extra) hours.  We picked a large rest stop that advertised a bank machine on its signage, and I headed inside the store to check out the cappuccinos.

This is where I encountered the Russians.  I knew they were Russian because of their Made-in-China sweatshirts that said “Russia” – think about that one for a moment – and because they were REALLY BIG.  Also, they spoke Russian.  There were about six of them sitting around on a picnic table in front of the entrance to the store, being loud and looking big, sipping lattes from tiny cups (??) and generally eyeing up everyone who passed by.

I had on my Roots Canada hoodie, with the word “Canada” printed clearly on the front, in Canadian.  Their cryptic discussion grew louder as I approached.   I was scared, but I couldn’t resist:  “Ah ha ha!!!” I joined in jovially.  “St. Petersburg!...Stalin!...Nineteen seventy-two!”

At that, all sound stopped.  I winked, continued my little daydream in my head, and walked in to find there was no bank machine.

There was a sandwich-toasting machine and four coffee machines, but they were all cash-only, and we had no cash, and no sandwiches.  Alas, there were also no lids for the miniscule paper beverage cups, since the French don’t do ‘to go’, which is why everyone, including the Russians, truly were sitting around sipping lattes in the picnic shelter.

I was peeved that I couldn’t get any cash, so I used my card to buy a bag of Twix bars and some cheap candy in defiance of the French culture.  I tried to avoid Russian Girlfriend’s stares at the mirror in the ladies room, then left. 

Every rest stop thereafter also did not have cash machines.  And then we hit the pay stations for the toll road.

We handed Toll Booth Lady our MasterCard.  It didn’t work.  We handed her our Visa.  It didn’t work.  We tried the Loretta-only Mastercard; still nothing.  It wasn’t that our cards were denied, it was that their machines, contrary to everything everyone had told us, just didn’t accept foreign cards.

Ultimately, we brought out every secret, special, use-only-in-emergencies piece of plastic we could find, and none of them were admissible.  We explained how we couldn’t find a bank machine anywhere, even in places that advertised one.  Thankfully, Toll Booth Lady had some sound advice.  I’ll translate:

LADY: There’s a Totale gas station about 30 km north of here.  There is a bank machine there.

US: Thank you.

LADY: You can’t miss it.  It’s just 30km up the road.  Totale.

US: Great.

LADY: Do you understand?

US: Absolutely!  Totale gas station up the road, 30km, with a bank machine.  Thank you.  We’ll look for it.

LADY: I’m going to need some money now.

US: We don’t have any cash.

LADY: Those [eight] cards are all you have?  No cash?

US: No, that’s why we need a bank machine!

In the end she took our address and said she would mail us the bill for the fare.

Then it was on to Nimes!  And I hope you will continue to read this post, because it will be worth your effort, as it was ours in getting there.

Once in the city of Nimes, TomTom lead us down every one-way/no-way/all-way with cars parked in every direction street he/it could find.  We got the last parking spot in the whole town, began our walk to the coliseum, then turned the corner from our narrow street and BOOM!  There it was in front of us, materializing out of nowhere like so many historic European monuments do when the high stone houses block out your peripheral vision.

It was stunning, and almost completely intact.  There was a wonderful street fair going on, with vendors and food and souvenirs of the coliseum.  We didn’t stop to look; we wanted to see the coliseum before it closed.

It cost more than 40Euros just for the two adults.  “This better be impressive,” Trevor said after paying.  That was indeed quite expensive.

As soon as we entered, we were awestruck.  It was so big and so high; the stairs were so steep, and it just went round and round forever – a running little kid’s paradise. 

We were most amazed to find the coliseum filled with people, and we could feel the excitement in the air as though it were two thousand years ago at the heyday of this structure.  We approached an usher.  I had a brief conversation with him.  I’ll translate:

ME: Good evening, sir.  What’s going on here tonight?

USHER (Shooting a look to his colleague and pointing to some words on my ticket): La Corrida!

ME: Yes, I see that.  Is that an orchestra?

USHER (laughing with colleague): Madame, it is the bullfight….

LADY STANDING NEARBY WHO JUMPS IN ON THE CONVERSATION and provides a big long explanation: …to the death!

I was shocked, speechless.  I considered just exactly whose death might be taking place.  I told Trevor and STANDING LADY gave us the advice to “find a seat high up in the stands so that it will not be so emotional for your little boy.”  She suggested that Annabeth would not even know what was going on if we could climb high enough.  Then the usher checked our tickets and informed us that luckily we’d only paid for the cheap seats, and we’d have to hightail it to the very top anyway, as the show would begin in 15 minutes.

We decided to stay.  We hightailed it.  We climbed, and we climbed.  And we had a little talk with Shawn.   And if you ask him now about any of his favourite adventures on our trip thus far, chances are he’ll tuck his head down and charge right into your stomach.

VISIT TREVOR'S BLOG  FOR PHOTOS OF LA CORRIDA, SOUBES AND OUR WHOLE TRIP TO THE SOUTH OF FRANCE.  THEY ARE POSTED IN THE MONTH OF OCTOBER.

Incidentally, I have since read that the south of France is one of three places in the world that still allows such bullfighting.  Imagine all that had to take place in order for us to stumble upon it!