Campervan Therapy

Even the ring-road round the centre is graceful in Arles, wrought iron balconies on creamy limestone, where we park up before passing the Medieval and Roman town walls. The park by the walls hosts a striking WWI memorial fountain. The agonised face of a woman defending her children stops us in our tracks.

Not far from it is a mosaic column representing Van Gogh’s visionary use of colour. Arriving here in the snow in 1888 he produced 300 works in Provence before committing himself to an asylum.

The photographs tied to the park railings are testament to this vibrant city’s artistic life. There’s a 1940s boy with blood dribbling down his chin and a bat in the background; another young smiling man with a bomber in the sky behind him; and women with challenging stares.

We wander past the Roman Amphitheatre and I can almost hear the operas on the summer evenings filling the balmy air.

The old hospital courtyard at Espace Van Gogh is planted as it was in the artist’s day. He was confined to the hospital in December 1888 after cutting off his left ear. When he recovered he painted the vivid courtyard. We soak up the beauty and the tragedy of the place: the multi-coloured pansies, the fountain, the terracotta cloistered walls with their white edging.

Passing the Museum Fondation Vincent Van Gogh, we know we should go in because it sounds really interesting, the works exploring the artist’s legacy through works by David Hockney amongst other modern painters. But…and there’s always a ‘But’ with us – we’re starving and as it’s France there’s only a small window for a really quality menu of the day – namely 12.30 to 1.30. After that, forget it.

We wander along the imposing embankments on the great River Rhône, but the only restaurants are closed. We’re distracted from our hunt in the centre by the Café de la Nuit, where Van Gogh painted his famous night scene (the night’s colours fascinated him). Of course, I want to sit on its iconic terrace, with its lemon walls and red shutters so that I can claim I featured in a Van Gogh painting.

Finally, we stumble across the Café de la Paix in Place Voltaire, and feast on carpaccio of beetroot, cod brandade in a tomato coulis and a plateau of local cheeses. I’m sure the famous philosopher would approve. The whole ambience is typically French and I’m in foodie heaven.

Walking back to the van, we pass a black and white life-size photograph of two Sikh men on motorbikes and discover that Les Rencontres d’Arles is the most important photography festival in the world.

As if that’s not enough culture for one day, we then bowl through the open doors of an ancient church on the Rue de la Madeleine, and the modern art in there certainly makes us think.

The black and white photograph of a baby hanging above the apse represents pure innocence. The hoodies are sect like. The clothes that make up human figures are stained as in stained glass. It is a strange, other-worldly experience.

We’ve fed not only our bodies but our souls in Arles today.