We are in St Maximin; not the St Maximin where we have been for a week - a small hillside village - but St Maximin-La-Sainte-Baume, near Aix. This St Maximin is apparently a place of great pilgrimage for Catholics, although this Catholic did not know that until she arrived. Last night we slept in a 13th-century Dominican friary which has been converted into a small hotel, mere metres from - if the story is to be believed - the remains of St Mary Magdalene. We visited her earlier in the day, in the Basilica which is adjacent to the friary, where they have her skull on display in a reliquary; it looks very old. It was discovered in 1279 in a sarcophagus on the site where the Basilica now stands (they started building it soon after). The Basilica itself is beautiful and full of amazing art and decoration. We were a bit surprised to see it in such poor repair though; paintings are holed, statues are crumbling. Sandy donated 10 euros and we lit candles; he couldn't see why they wouldn't charge admission to such an important place. Especially considering the number of tourists that were in there. The Basilica is really the only think worth coming to this St Maximin for. Having been to the Louvre and seen all the mugs paying 12 euros to get a "Da Vinci Code audio tour", I think perhaps the people here just need a wee bit of marketing advice. Anyway we are here not because of Mary (although it's quite a nice bit of luck for our religion quota, since it looks like circumstances are conspiring to mean we are not going to get to Rome) but because of our lovely new friend Stephanie, who we met at Le Piggonet in Aix and who has been our sort of travel guardian angel ever since. Her business partner runs this hotel, Le Couvent Royal, and before we left Aix she suggested that we come here if we had time. In fact she insisted we call her if we were planning to do this, so she could make the arrangements for us. What a sweetheart.
What a beautiful place it is. We are literally in the old monks' quarters, above the cloisters. I'm guessing it's a wee bit more luxurious now than it was when inhabited by monks. The building is made of massive stone blocks and there are wide, sweeping, terracotta-paved corridors; it feels quite institutional but in a cool, not a creepy way. The cloisters are beautifully arched, gorgeous Gothic stonework. The best bit though is the restaurant, which is in the old chapter house and looks over the cloisters and had the same graceful, sweeping arches. We saw photos of the Dominicans, who left in 1959, in the Basilica. It was a silent order apparently, so I have been walking around here wondering (out loud) what it would take to have to have the kind of discipline required to live life without speaking. I've also been making other suggestions about what men confined in the same space, not speaking, might be tempted to get up to, together. Sandy says "You're disgusting", and threatens to tell my mother when I say these things, and he is particularly not impressed with my accompanying hand gestures. So I won't go into that here. 
Last night we met Stephanie for a drink since she was in town for a meeting. It's fair to say that had she not taken us under her wing since Aix-en-Provence, we would have ended up having a much less interesting time. The places she sent us - Le Moulin de Lourmarin and now here - have been exceptional and the kind of places that frankly, we would not have found on our own. She's a woman of great taste (and it seems, excellent contacts. She knows all kinds of famous people. Ask me about who she has had stay in her hotel!). The next place we're going to, at Cassis, was also her suggestion, and I'm sure it will be the same. So Merci, Stephanie! Dinner in the restaurant was just lovely. It blows me away to be sitting in these rooms where centuries of activity (albeit silent!) has gone on before. I think the idea of living, breathing history, being in working spaces that are very old - rather than just visiting and viewing historic buildings - is quite exciting. And if you can get a great meal at the same time, even better!
I ate a really excellent duck foie gras (part of my plan to overcome my dislike of offal; it's going really well!) with fig marmalade, and Sandy had what was called a clafoutis but was more like an egg foo yong, and had prawns and seafood in it. We called this course a draw, since both dishes were excellent. I moved on to some beautifully cooked fish called rouget, that really seemed like red snapper to me, with spicy lentils and asparagus. I am still getting to grips with French fish names. Sandy had a magret du canard (duck again) which came with a whole roasted peach and slices of grilled, pureed chickpeas. At this stage I was ready to call it quits, but Sandy's dessert tooth came out and since profiteroles are one of his favourite things in the world, he ordered those. I was forced to order something to keep him company so I had a little sorbet. He's not allowed to complain when I can't fit into my jeans any more. Here we had a bit of a surprise. Profiteroles to us are small, delicate things. Justin at La Zeppa in Auckland does gorgeous little mini ones with caramel sauce that we love. But here we've been fooled twice now. In Aix Sandy ordered profiteroles at quite a nice restaurant ("fameuse" was how these were described on the menu) and what emerged from the kitchen was a monstrosity: enormous pastries, ice cream and mountains of whipped cream on top. Very un-French. Last night a similar thing; a bit more refined, but essentially a huge pile of chocolate, pastry and cream. I'm starting to think profiteroles must be some sort of jokey, kitch French dessert. Like sticky date pudding or something like that. Some sort of trick they play on les stupide touristes. I'd like to get to the bottom of this but I'm scared of being faced with another place of chocolatey, creamy mush. For now it will remain a mystery.
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