Skift Take
Cezanne transformed mundane objects into ever-lasting works of art while, in a very modest way, Eurostar's first direct rail service -- London to Aix-en-Provence -- is improving access to the region so people can discover how the old master did it.
Soon after we emerge from Le Tunnel, we start the time-honoured litany of English folk on to the Continent. "The French are so much more stylish." "Thinner too." "Cultured."
We eat croissants and pains au chocolat and resolve to kick out the schoolboy Franglais once and for all. "I am, finally, going to learn French properly, starting now."
It is the right time for such declarations. I'm with my son Conor, who has recently finished college and needs to think what to do next. He's also here to carry my bag as I've broken my kneecap.
"At least if you end up in a French hospital, they're much better than ours."
But our real panegyrics are reserved for the train: the first-ever direct London to Aix-en-Provence service, which Eurostar is trialling until 29 June (there will be another train to Avignon for the rest of the summer). It is certainly convenient, and fast: after hopping on at London St Pancras, we bypass Paris and before lunch reach Lyon, the first stop. I reckon George Stephenson is up there on his steam cloud laughing into his stovepipe hat, because the age of the train is definitely not over. In fact it might just be beginning, with global carbon dioxide levels hitting record highs and the success of trains like these crucial. Let's hope they extend the service, and repeat it next year.
Everything goes to plan until somewhere before Avignon, when Conor rouses me from a doze with an alarming message: "Dad, it's cloudy."
English weather in France
I look out of the window and let out a gasp of horror. Floodwater is coursing through the countryside while dark clouds pregnant with rain are threatening to unleash themselves on the poor pantiles and cypress trees. We complain to one of the train staff who makes one of those gloriously expressive French gestures that communicate stoical sympathy and fatalistic despair. A few minutes later he returns with a drinks trolley and gives us both a hefty tot of pastis. What can anyone say? Global warming has interfered with the jetstream and brought Provence the worst possible indignity: English weather. It is the wettest spring in years and we have come to go walking.
After just over six hours we arrive in Aix TGV station and pull on our walking boots. The plan is to tackle part of a new long-distance footpath, the GR2013, opened to mark Marseille's year as European Capital of Culture. This is no ordinary path: it has been devised by artists to reveal aspects of Provence that are rarely seen a
