Arles, France, Saturday, March 27, 6 p.m. — Here we sit in our funky, stone-walled hotel, the Hotel d’Arlatan, a 15th century mansion of a former count, relaxing after another rather exhausting day. Will is winding down by shooting his new wooden crossbow — the ammo is wine corks — at the wall, trying to flick on the light-switch. Set just off a bustling square, the hotel is tucked into a corner and a bit hard to find; it was a hair-raising drive down narrow, twisting streets to reach the hotel, and Rick is still recovering hours later from the trauma.

We woke in Saint-Remy, after a rather un-sleepfilled night because of the smoking, talking guests who parked out under our window until 4 a.m. Yes, 4 a.m. I got some people to leave at midnight, but they continued to converge — and we were supposed to be in the country. Anyhow, that may be why we are kind of tired today. Though we did have a great morning in Les Baux, a village and medieval castle perched on a spur of the Alpilles mountains near St. Remy. Because it is so picturesque, it is also very touristy, but we were fortunate to be there in the off-season and early in the morning before the postcard shops opened. Will had a fabulous time clamboring around the steep stairways and narrow paths of the former castle, which was finally destroyed in 1631. The views across the valley and out toward the Mediterranean were spectacular — vineyards and olive orchards into the distance.

We then saw the Val d’Enfer, or the Valley of Hell, which has inspired everyone from Dante to Jean Cocteau with its weird rock formations. We then came down to Arles where we had one of the worst meals of our lives. Will compared it to a dismal night we spent in Salt Lake City when we missed our plane to Sun Valley and ate in the most horrible restaurant imaginable on the airlines’ dime — the most horrible until today. Recommended by three guide books as a charming “Van Gogh” inspired restaurant, it was ghastly. And expensive. Can’t wait to get onto Trip Advisor with this one.

We then  toured the Roman ruins in Arles, but maybe we’re tired, and maybe we’re spoiled by the amazing ruins we’ve seen so far, because Rick, Will and I were underwhelmed. The theater and the arena were in much worse shape than elsewhere — though the arena is still open for bullfights and other events. Rick is bummed because a bullfight festival starts tomorrow — too late for us to see as we plan to head back to Paris in the early afternoon. He doesn’t want to see the bullfight, but the running of the bulls — so Hemingway of him.

We’ve got a reservation at a restaurant called something like the “Gullet of the Wolf,” so we’ve got our fingers crossed for a good Provencale meal to end our time in the south. Will says he doesn’t want to leave France, but he really misses his dog. Hang in there, Zeus, we’ll be on our way home soon!