Now halfway through our trip, the musicians started with a breakfast buffet at the new hotel, Le Roi René. I later searched who it was named after, for ‘Roi’ means ‘King.’ There was no King René. Of France! However, there was a King René of Naples in the 13th century—of whom oft vacationed in Aix-en-Provence, and thus was known as ‘The Good King!’

I digress. We then drove to Arles, the largest town of France (by land area), known as the home of some of the most intact Roman ruins, such as their still-active Amphitheater and Arena— where French Bullfights occur. Romans called it an Arena for they used sand to soak up the blood of any animals and/or combatants, and the word for ‘sand’ in Latin is ‘harena.’ Thus, Arena just means sand! However, as the History Channel (and later the tour guide) have said, 9/10 times, Gladiators wouldn’t die; Gladiators might as well have been actors—trained to put on a show. They were well paid and well respected!

Yet Roman ruins were not the only thing we saw; we went down the bread-crumb trail of Van Gogh. He spent his most famous… 15 months there, leaving it with not a dime, giving him nothing. In fact, he gave to the city: his own ear. Despite his 15 month stay, however, he managed a little over 200 paintings (amateur), including Starry Night… which is at the MoMA! He famously said that the future of art lies in Arles. He was very wrong.

We then departed for Fourques, a town that really has nothing besides our concert venue. We were in this wonderful auditorium with a wonderful audience. It was absolutely packed. Each performance was spectacular, and the crowd knew it. Their clapping became synchronous—a signal in Europe which means, “That was more than just awesome.” That’s not the formal definition, but it’s around that.

We left the auditorium, still in concert wear and were treated with King Cake, sodas, and a slew of bravos. One hell of a night…

Every day I walk through these buildings and life feels more like a simulation—as if I can’t really touch anything of reality—as if there is really nothing beyond my head—as if my body is only some funky form of a nuanced Matrix which my mind believes it inhabits. These places feel almost too picturesque, as if God is dangling some life I will never fully live.

Cya tomorrow.