Palm Sunday Morning

Within three blocks of our hotel in Aix, there are three churches. Provençal towns abound with churches and steeples. Some churches have been here for 1,000 years, others as little as 180 years. Some are cold and dark, others light and inviting, all have beautiful stained glass windows.

Our hotel is next door to a modest church. So modest that we didn't realise it was a church until, on Palm Sunday morning, we see an altar being set up for an outdoor Mass: six gold candelabras, red velvet, the crucifix covered for lent with a purple cloth, a tapestry rug on the cobbled floor, a basket of olive branches for the faithful.

We are still finishing up in our room when the sound of singing reaches us. I peer down and see the congregation, the priest and the four altar boys. The wind tugs at their garments; the faithful huddle against the crisp morning.

We head for our morning breakfast walk. Along the route, the head-scarved poor hope to sell an olive branch or two. We turn left off Rue d'Italie and hear the singing of other worshipers celebrating the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. Large palms reach above the throng as they follow the priest into the church from the square. We find a spot in the sun, watch the procession for a while, and then resume the walk to our fresh fruit and yoghurt bowl.

We've tasted the traditional croissant and cappuccino for breakfast. It is good, but not good enough to convert us to the French way of eating breakfast. When it comes to something sweet for breakfast I prefer fresh fruit and we are both keen on yoghurt: particularly plain Greek or Bulgarian style yoghurt. Thick and creamy is how yoghurt should be.

After our first course for breakfast, we stop by the boulangerie for a fresh-out-of-the-oven baguette. Returning to our hotel, we pass the little church at the top of our street. It is filled to capacity with standing room only: backs are pressed against the glass doors. At our hotel, a white towel serves as our tablecloth and hosts the baguette and goat cheese. We break off chunks of the bread and smear on the soft cheese: a delightful and superb second course to our breakfast.

Mass finished, the neighbours next door spill out of the church and down the steps in convivial form. Enjoying the sun and conversation, they buy traditional chocolate Easter eggs. M and I are out of the door again, off to explore Aix and work up an appetite for our third course: crunchy brown sugar wrapped in a hot crêpe.