Our morning started off rather trying, however, when we found that we indeed had to use the famous phrase from RS's phrase books, "When will the water get hot?" We must say that this was the first time ever that the rare phone in our room came in handy, since we could just call down and ask them what was wrong with our shower. The woman came up and gave us a key to the hall shower instead, but we found that it was equally as lukecold, so we merely vowed to get up earlier the next morning. We then headed out toward the tourist information office, picking up two croissants and orange juice on the way for...$6?!? So much for France being cheap. We finally found the office, and were looking forward to going to one of the bullfights in the Roman ruin amphitheater that RS talked about. The woman at the TI, though she provided us with a lot of interesting information, said that they had stopped doing bullfights in September, not early October like RS said. Strike one, Rick.

Too bad we just missed the bullfights!

Our first stop was the Théâtre Antique, which was the ruins of a Roman theater built 2000 years ago. It is still used today for concerts and plays, evident by the modern metal handrails and wooden steps around the ancient rock formations. Before going in, we had decided to go ahead and buy the "global billet", which was a 60F--not 55, Rick--pass ($12 each!) that would let us into all of the sights. We normally would never buy such a thing, but since all of the sights were so highly recommended by good ole RS, we figured we'd be going anyway, and bit the bullet[66]. To a very enthusiastic cashier, we forked over a hefty $24 and went inside. It was pretty interesting, of course, but most of the `stage' was pieces of rock broken into pieces behind the stage, and not left standing at all. We were feeling pretty punchy by this time, so we took a series of silly pictures of us hamming it up on all the ruins. Doug did a Kirk impression on the stage. I pantomimed Liberace on some stone that looked like a keyboard. Doug became a tree-hugger. Ah, that was more fun than the ruins themselves. And others enjoyed it, too--though there were very few people who had paid to go inside, there was a giant tour group of Germans on the outside that were snickering as I melodramatically vogued it on a stack of broken pillars. We had to get our money's worth here, you know!

Doug gasps at 2000-year-old Roman architecture

Feeling a little more justified for purchasing our global billet[67], we then headed back toward the bus stop for the museum. We got there in time (after running a bit), and hopped on the totally empty minibus. He dropped us off at the museum stop, and we continued walking the 500 feet or so to the entrance, finding it strange that this museum wasn't more popular. But all was explained when we got to the entrance--the Musée de L'Arles Antique is closed on Tuesday! Not the woman at the TI, nor the bus driver, nor, most important, our trusted friend Rick Steves had ever mentioned this to us! Strike two, Rick!

So we hiked back to town ourselves, not fancying to linger about for another hour plus just to catch the next bus. When we finally retreated to our hotel room, I completely lost my composure. Ever since I had met Doug he had been singing the praises of France, declaring how much he yearned to live there someday. Well, we were here, and I hated it. And at that point I don't think I was the only one who felt numbed, jaded, and weary from traveling so much. I was exasperated as to what we should do, with over a week left in our trip?!? My sweetie soothed me, and helped me to feel less intimidated, making one decision at a time. The first thing we decreed at that point was to abort the plan to go to Spain--one more country and language and currency would be too overwhelming for us at that point. The second thing that eased us was the thought of a friendly face to help take the burden off, so Doug went out and bought a phone card to call his friend Pascal in Voiron--maybe we would be able to visit him a day or two earlier than we expected. Pascal wasn't home, but we left a message with our room's phone number for him to call us back...this phone-in-our-room thing sure was coming in handy!

Placated, we ventured out again, but to something familiar: McDonald's. Funny how McDonald's was always a welcome pacifier whenever we got stressed out or homesick! It was no cheaper there than it was in the other countries, but we still savored our ice cold coke and "Noveau McBacon Arch" and "McFarmer" sandwiches[68]. Doug ordered in French, but all the names were basically in English so it was kind of hard to tell. At least it felt a little like home.

Our touring enthusiasm somewhat rekindled (and trying to squeeze more use out of our expensive global billet), we went to the St. Trophime church and cloisters...though the church would have been free anyway. The church had a neat stone-carved façe;ade that was newly restored (and also already free), but not much else, so we used our billet to get into the cloisters. Again, this wouldn't have embodied much to write about if we hadn't discovered a plain, empty, 100 foot room that just so happened to have a marvelous reverberation! Mustering enough courage, we began to sing our favorite two-part pieces, experimenting with acoustics in different parts of the room and eyeing the passers-by who would pause for a moment to listen, then move on. The guard posted there didn't stop us, so we continued...until a man with his wife stopped and clapped for us. He was an American[69], and we had an in-depth discussion with him about the dumbfoundedly limited amount of classical concerts we were locating on our respective tours. At least we weren't the only ones.

At this point we were starting to suspect that Rick Steves must have been on dope when he wrote this chapter, since the sights he spoke of just weren't worthy of the praise he gave them. The writing itself also hadn't really sounded like him--little things like the appearance of the word "I" when he normally wrote "you should" were tip offs, but the last and final straw was the Musée Arlaten. That is when we knew: Fess up, Rick! You didn't even write this chapter! We know he didn't because there was no way that he would have included praise for the sorriest excuse for a museum we'd ever seen! No wonder nobody was there! We could do nothing but point and laugh. What, is this sad looking rug thing giving birth to a red snake or something? Hmm, is this construction or art, I can't tell. Ah, somebody left behind their used coffee cup...now that's art! Oh, I get it, they must have had a real piece of art glued to the wall, and then just ripped it off....what, this was the art?!? And what about the 70 famed Picasso drawings that were supposed to be here? Oh, joy, here he scribbled some lady's phone number on a cocktail napkin or something. Yeah, that's art[70]. The only remotely interesting Picasso painting was being photographed, so we didn't even get a good chance to look at it. Our opinion of the Musée Arlaten? In the immortal words of Luke Skywalker, "What a piece of junk!"[71] We were tot-ally thwarted to reveal that our greatest discovery ...our trusted Rick Steves ...now had to be taken with a grain of salt like everything else[72].

The only historic sight was the nearby Roman baths, where absolutely no attendants were there to let us in. Doug deciphered the French sign enough, though, to figure out that we should go back into the Musée Arlaten (NO!) and ask for entry. They gave us the key to the city, er, uh, the baths, which was really just a metal spike that more closely resembled a crow bar or a screwdriver on steroids. So as you'd expect, we had the place entirely to ourselves...except, of course, for the abundance of cats! Cats willfully in the bath...boy, that doesn't happen very often. It was interesting to saunter around and soak up the atmosphere[73], stroking the heavily affectionate and heavily drooling kitties. A serene break, this sight wasn't even listed in the Rick Steves--or should be say Steve Smith?--book. How ironic.

When we withdrew to our hotel[74], we had a message from Pascal waiting for us. He said he would try calling back at 6 pm...only a few minutes away. He did, and were able to take the call from the comfort of our own room--you know, that aspect of the accommodations was becoming more of a luxury than the shower or toilet! Pascal explained that he had cleared Friday[75] for us, but wouldn't be available on Thursday until the evening. Well, it was better than nothing, because even though we would have to waste another day in Arles, we still had the Archeology museum to go to[76]. So it was probably perfect timing.

Our last adventure for the day was locating a dinner that would be cheaper than last night's, but still as memorable. Not an easy feat, believe me. We hunted all over the town, including in the "Forum" center highly recommended in the RS chapter (so you can see how long and hard we looked around there...not!). I was craving beef in a big way, but it was nowhere to be found...the closest we got was "Hamburger au Cheval" (hamburger on horseback?). `A hamburger patty with an egg on top' sounded scrumptious...until we realized that it would be raw, and cost $8+! Forget it. We tried everywhere, even the place from the previous night whose menu du jour didn't sound too appealing that jour, until we ended up at, you guessed it, McDonald's yet again. Ah, but we thoroughly enjoyed our Royale cheese, Double cheese, McNuggets, Coke, and two sundaes (which were excellent, even though they were about half the size of normal), all for $16. (Hey, it was the only beef we could find). I spiked my soda with rum and Doug guzzled his little Genovan bottle of wine to double the fun...not something you could do at most American fast food restaurants. We were quite homesick!