I’m on the bus from Marseilles to Nice, very close to Cannes. I should arrive at the airport bus station in about half an hour. Just long enough to jot down some thoughts and a story or two.

 

When I left you last, we had just met Ron Driven, Director of the Van GoghHuis. Again, thanks to Margaret, who can apparently sell ice to Eskimos; he agreed to have lunch with us. He took us down the street a hundred meters or so and we ate in the courtyard of what used to be a nunnery. I had the nun burger; so did Ron.

Not bad, but I’ll never understand why Europeans use filler in their burgers… tastes more like Salisbury Steak.

So we get to chatting about Vincent and his time in Arles, especially around the time he painted Café Terrace at Night. It turns out Ron knows quite a bit about this phase. One of the books he has written, available for sale at the Van GoghHuis is called Boch and Van Gogh There were two Bochs in fact, instrumental to his story. The first, Eugene, became a friend of Vincent’s while he was in Arles. They’d go for long walks through the countryside, to see the bullfights at the ancient, Roman collisseum, and sometimes they would visit a little café in the Place du Forum. Vincent immortalized Boch in this painting, which, he wrote was something like the face of Dante, the poet.

The second Boch, Anna, Eugene’s sister is famous for purchasing the only painting we know of for sure that was sold while he was still alive. The Red Vineyard.

 

As we’re chatting, Ron tells as that the road we’re on, the main road through town, the same one that passes by the little chapel where Vincent’s father used to preach was built by Napoleon. Fascinating. I don’t know what it is about me, maybe the beer was getting to me a little bit, but sometimes my mouth says things my brain gives it, before really thinking about it...

Trying to get some bearing of the age of the road, I ask “Was it built before or after Waterloo?”

Yeah, as soon as I said it, we all had a good laugh. I think it helps my character to be a bit foolish sometimes. Too often especially with my research, I become too convinced I know it all. I don’t know hardly anything. But I do know Vincent painted the Last Supper and it’s been hiding in plain sight for over a century…

After lunch, we drove to Antwerp. With a new travelling buddy, we needed to find other accommodations. Luckily, AirBnB, after I complained about getting eaten alive by the mosquitoes in Amsterdam, gave me a $30 gift certificate which help off-set the cost of the new place. A two bedroom apartment in downtown Antwerp.

The first place we went to was Saint Andreiskriek Chruch. Here’s another moment of my own foolishness. For some reason, I thought this was named after Saint James, when obviously the cognate is Saint Andrew. Que sera.

The retired couple in charge were very helpful and pretty good with English. They had spent two years in Michigan, near Detroit, I believe. So, yeah, they’ve seen a third world country. I ask the man if he could show me where the Stella Maris is. He takes me right to it. I tell him how it inspired Vincent. He remembers this story, returns to the gift shop, finds a book for sale there and shows me the passage that confirms my story.

I have arrived in Nice.

Au revoir for now!

Jared