This is not Avignon. But it's near and it's very pretty. The colours all come from the colour around, the ochre, and it's so localised the next town is sandy brown.
Fortunately the rest of my pictures look more like France than Australia, as I suppose it should be. Here is some bread to reassure you:
What a funny place Avignon is. Apparently they had the popes there for a little while because, you know, why not? These days it seems to be tourism and whatever those industrious monks are producing: lavender, and wine and things. There are some students, some truffles. And of course they have a L'Occitane.
Amongst all the splendour and the medievalality some kid has still pasted its bird stickers on a door. The part of me that winces and cries “oh but the medievalality!” is happily overwhelmed by “awww, birds”.
But back to the bread. The market was just down the road and somebody decided to cook up a storm. We secured supplies.
The storm rages.
An addition to my pithy collection of porcelain houses, the most breakable item on earth. Excellent choice for someone with no fixed address! That said, looking at this little Amsterdamesque number — how can I not?
Avignon doesn't take too long but what it has is stunning.