Great Continental Railway Journeys (2012) s03e06 Episode Script
Lyon to Marseille
1 I'm embarking on a new railway adventure that will take me across the heart of Europe.
I'll be using this, my Bradshaw's Continental Railway Guide, dated 1913, which opened up an exotic world of foreign travel for the British tourist.
It told travellers where to go, what to see, and how to navigate the thousands of miles of tracks crisscrossing the continent.
Now, a century later, I'm using my copy to reveal an era of great optimism and energy where technology, industry, science and the arts were flourishing.
I want to rediscover that lost Europe that, in 1913, couldn't know that its way of life would shortly be swept aside by the advent of war.
This time I'm retracing a route outlined in my 1913 guide from the heart of France to the Mediterranean coast.
A century ago, the British in France were tourists in the territory of the traditional enemy lured, despite prejudices, by sun, food and natural wonders.
In 1913, rather to their surprise, the British found themselves allied to their traditional enemy, the French.
Suspicion might still attach to a country which, as Bradshaw's tells me, had in 1870 declared a republic for the third time in a Europe composed largely of monarchies.
But then again, Queen Victoria and King Edward VII had both extolled the virtues of holidaying in the South of France, and by now, Germany, ruled by their unruly relative the Kaiser, was looking much more dangerous.
Following one of the key arteries of the early 20th century railway network, I'll rediscover a country at the height of its technical prowess Wow, off we go.
.
.
where railway explorers could sample the finest French cuisine.
It's just rolling itself! En route to France's imperial hub The port of Marseille is as big like Paris.
As big as Paris? Yes.
That is extraordinary.
.
.
Bradshaw tourists who travelled these tracks were witnessing the birth of modern France.
From its most famous sporting event This would have been used in the first Tour de France in 1903.
My goodness, that is heavy, isn't it? .
.
to its stirring national anthem.
Marchons Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons! Bravo, monsieur! My journey will take me from Lyon, following the mistral wind, down the Rhone Valley into Provence, via historic Avignon and Arles, a magnet for fin-de-siecle painters.
I'll then head for the coast, finishing up at the gateway to the former French Empire.
My first stop will be Lyon.
Bradshaw's tells me that it is, "After Paris, the first city of France for size "and commercial importance.
" The Birmingham of France, industrial boom-town Lyon was served by the first-ever French railway, built for coal, which reached the city in 1832.
According to Bradshaw's, "It is the centre of the French silk, "velvet, and ribbon trades" and, "Its commercial prominence is largely due to its favoured "situation on two navigable rivers - the Rhone and the Saone.
" The peninsula that lies between Lyon's two rivers is known as the Presque-ile, and I'm following my guidebook to its heart.
I've come to the Place Bellecourt because Bradshaw's tells me, "It's the centre of activity in Lyon.
Here are the principal cafes.
" True enough, but some would go further and say that whilst Paris is the great metropolis of France, Lyon is the capital of cuisine.
For the Edwardian traveller, the chance to sample Lyonnaise cuisine was not to be missed.
Back in Britain, French cooking was all the rage.
And Lyon in particular was making a name for culinary excellence.
Home to no fewer than 15 Michelin-starred restaurants, Lyon still draws in gastronomes from across the globe.
According to American-born cookery teacher Lucy Vanel it's all down to the abundance of first-class local ingredients.
To the east of Lyon, we have the Alps, and you've got the foraged mushrooms and the beautiful mountain cheeses.
And then we have to the south, we have Provence, with all of its colourful vegetables and the beautiful oils and spices and things coming up from there.
Charolais beef is just outside of Lyon to the west, and then Burgundy to the north.
Until the late 19th century, Lyon was known for rustic dishes, based on cheap cuts of meat such as tripe - the traditional fare of the silk workers who toiled in the city's mills.
But then, a new force occupied the city's kitchens, the so-called 'meres lyonnaises'.
These were the Lyonnais mothers, women who came from domestic staff backgrounds.
They knew how to cook 'la cuisine bourgeoise', which was a very elaborate type of cuisine with truffles and foie gras and all of this.
So these women created restaurants where they would take the food that was known for Lyon and make it a little bit better.
For example, take a roast chicken and tuck truffles all around under the skin and then cook that and then serve it with morels in cream sauce.
To begin with, these former domestic servants set up humble establishments, but their reputation soon grew.
And who were the key figures amongst these 'meres lyonnaises'? La Mere Brazier was the most legendary, and she was the first woman in France to get three Michelin stars for her restaurant.
This influence of the women in the restaurants, is this quite unusual? At the time, it was unusual because women were not allowed to be chefs in restaurants, they could mop the floor, wait the tables, do things like this, but they were really not allowed to be the people who were in charge of the menu and in charge of the whole business.
This was not going on in France.
But in Lyon, it was.
Well, praise to les 'meres lyonnaises'.
Yes! Today, La Mere Brazier's restaurant is still going strong, under the leadership of Mathieu Viannay.
Eh, Michael, en cuisine.
Oui, Chef.
I've stopped by for a cookery lesson.
Alors, Chef, je suis a votre disposition, I am your servant, qu'est-ce qu'on va faire? Une omelette.
An omelette? Sounds easy.
La plus facile, mais la plus dur.
Oh, my goodness - it is the easiest, but it is the most difficult thing to do.
First, beat the eggs with salt.
It sounds simple enough.
Et la, on mets les oeufs, d'accord.
It's all in the way he moves it, I've never done that when I've made an omelette, never moved it like that.
It's rolling itself! That is amazing.
D'accord? Parfait! Alors je dois faire la meme chose - I now have to do the same thing.
Et tous, tous, tous.
Bien, remuez comme ca, stop.
Comme ca.
Ah, comme ca.
D'accord.
Round motion.
Et maintenant, je commence Stop, stop, stop, stop.
Regard.
Apres tu enleve, est c'est la Now I have to start turning it.
D'accord.
Il faut taper, il faut taper! Non, comme ca! Non.
Ah, oui, oui C'est pas bien, c'est pas bien, stop! It's not good, not good.
Poubelle! Vas-y donne moi la poubelle! Donnes moi la poubelle, tiens C'est pas bien, d'accord? Je suis desole, chef, je suis desole.
'I fear that la Mere Brazier must be turning in her grave!' For British visitors to Lyon in 1913, the city's hedonistic pleasures must have been tinged with a sense of lingering danger.
The declaration of the Third Republic 43 years earlier had been the latest of a series of revolutions and counter-revolutions.
Political tensions had continued to smoulder.
And according to my guidebook, in 1894, they erupted here, at Lyon's Bourse, or stock exchange, when President Carnot was assassinated.
I'm hearing the story from historian Cecile Brun.
So, here we are outside the Bourse, who was President Carnot? He was born in the centre of France in a rather high family, rather wealthy, and so he was an engineer at first, and then he becomes Minister of Public Works and Finance.
And in 1887, he became the fifth President of the French Republic.
Ever since the first French Revolution of 1789, monarchists and republicans had battled for control of the country.
Since 1870, there had been a republic, but it was challenged by monarchists on one side and radical socialists and anarchists on the other.
President Carnot set out to try to unify the splintered nation.
He made a lot of travels in France.
He visited, I think, 73 towns.
And so, it was the occasion for him to show to the people the Republic.
And the people, they don't know him, so it was a way to make him a more familiar figure for them.
On the 24th of June, 1894, Carnot's travels brought him to Lyon, to attend a glittering world fair, designed to show off the vitality of France's second city.
Having explored the exhibition, he attended a lavish banquet at the Palais de la Bourse.
But as he left in his carriage, an assassin leapt from the crowd, stabbing the president fatally.
So, who was it who killed Carnot and why? He was killed by an anarchist - Sante Geronimo Caserio, who was an Italian.
It was, for him, a way to attack thewhat represents for him the bourgeoisie, at the time, so these were his motivations.
Caserio showed no remorse, even as he later faced the guillotine.
But rather than bolstering support for anarchism, the murder shocked the French nation, which rallied against this attack on its symbolic figurehead.
Paradoxically, it reinforced the Third Republic.
It was quite fragile at the beginning, from a political point of view, and then it becomes more and more stronger, from the point of view of the institutions, and people were more united around the Third Republic.
The nation became more firmly committed to the republican idea than before and some of the pillars of modern French national identity were put in place.
And so, the Third Republic was a moment that was really important for all the symbols that are today ours, for instance, symbols that became official at that time - for instance, La Marseillaise, that became our our own national hymn and, for instance, also the 14th of July, which is our day still now.
By making the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille France's national day, the Third Republic anchored itself in the country's revolutionary past and closed the door on restoring the monarchy.
And by the early 20th century, the efficient French railway network was also helping to bind the nation together.
Thanks to lines radiating out from Paris, a Bradshaw traveller could get to Lyon from London in just 15 hours.
But the tracks couldn't reach into every corner of this vast country, so it fell to another mode of transport to plug the gaps.
British expat David Wilson has researched France's love affair with life on two wheels.
Hello, David.
Hello, Michael.
Nice to meet you.
Great to see you.
Surrounded by bicycles! David, I think, you know, part of the British stereotype of the Frenchman, apart from, you know, the beret and the onions, involves a bicycle.
I mean, a bicycle is a big part of French life, isn't it? It has been for a long time.
Yes, it certainly has been.
Over 100 years ago, the French were very keen on cycling.
And bicycles had been invented in 1818 by the Baron von Drais, a German, but in fact, it was the French, apparently, who invented the pedal.
By the eve of the First World War, there were an estimated four million bicycles on French roads.
France was a major manufacturer, with many bikes produced here, in Lyon.
But the city had another claim to cycling fame - as the end-point of the first-ever stage of the first-ever Tour de France.
Henri Desgrange, the founder of the Tour de France, wanted the Tour de France to go in a clockwise direction, so quite naturally, Lyon was the first stopping point.
It had very important train links to Paris and it allowed the young Lefevre, who was the hack who originally thought of the idea of the Tour de France to get back to Paris, to file his report and get back down again, two days later, to see the cyclists depart on the second stage.
Geo Lefevre and Henri Desgrange had dreamed up the Tour de France as a way of promoting their new sports newspaper.
And their thirst for publicity was also behind one of the race's most iconic emblems.
The yellow jersey was first introduced to the Tour de France in 1919 as a response to the general public who wanted to have some means of identifying the overall leader.
Desgrange's magazine was actually printed on yellow pages, so quite naturally, Desgrange thought that the best way of promoting his newspaper was also that the overall leader wore a yellow jersey.
Of the 60 riders who set out to cover the 2,400 kilometres of the first Tour de France, only 21 made it back to Paris.
Since then, the race has evolved, and so have the bicycles used in it.
So, Michael, here we are, we have a modern bike.
The maximum weight authorised by the cycling authority is 6.
8 kilos.
That's very light.
A carbon bike.
May I just test that? Yes, by all means.
Oh, that's beautifully light, isn't it? So that's all carbon.
What are its other features? Well, it has a derailleur, which allows you to change gear on the move.
A derailleur? Yes.
Well, the French would call it a derailleur, The word comes from derailing.
In other words, it was originally from the trains.
It was basically a set of Nothing more than a set of points.
So what sort of speed can you achieve on this? On average, around about 40km an hour.
And certainly, this year's Tour de France was won at just over 40km an hour.
And this, I take it, is not the newest model.
No, this was the original.
This would have been used in the first Tour de France in 1903.
Really?! As you can see, it's what's we call a fixie.
In other words, it has one single gear.
And if you can imagine at that time, on roads that weren't tarmacked, these guys were pushing this thing, weighing 20 kilos, up these mountains and other hills without any kind of means of changing gear.
My goodness! That is heavy, isn't it? That is amazing.
And so, what kinds of speeds could they achieve on these? Well, surprisingly, they could actually go quite fast.
And Maurice Garin, who was the first winner here in Lyon, he got in at 26km an hour on the first stage.
So These guys must have been pretty tough, I think.
Oh, they were referred to as the demigods, so, yes.
Some people even referred to them as half bull.
And to be quite honest, personally I see that today's racers are lightweight compared to these boys.
In 2012, a British rider won the Tour de France for the very first time in its history.
I'm no Bradley Wiggins, but I can't leave Lyon without taking to two wheels for myself.
Vive la bicyclette! Vive la France! Well, with a little assistance from David.
Well, they say the engine's behind, Michael, so I think you're doing a great job.
I think my legs are just going round.
With an extensive network of cycle paths, Lyon is a perfect city to explore by bike.
Whoa! Through the chicane.
And my tour is following in the slipstream of cyclists who've made sporting history.
Well, Michael, here we are at the finish line of the first stage of the first Tour de France won by Maurice Garin on the 2nd of July, 1903.
Well, I think if the yellow jersey marks the leader, it must be the blue jacket that marks the tail-end Charlie.
At the time of my guide, Lyon was a stop on France's most important railway line, which linked the city with the capital and the nation's premier port at Marseille.
70 years later, this route was the first to run France's pioneering Train a Grande Vitesse - Europe's first experiment with high-speed rail.
This country has long been an enthusiastic pioneer in transport technology.
And at the time of my guidebook, the passion for speed and adventure made its mark on literature.
The author Antoine de Saint-Exupery was born in this very square.
His book, Le Petit Prince - The Little Prince - disguised adult philosophy within a childlike tale.
The popularity of his book took off and has continued to soar ever since.
But I have a feeling that in the country where he spent part of his childhood, I'll find the very source of his inspiration.
The whimsical story of The Little Prince is a celebration of childhood innocence.
Its narrator - a pilot who has crashed in the desert - meets a boy from another planet, who's come to Earth to learn about life and love.
Some of the happiest hours of its author's boyhood were spent at his family's country retreat, 50km outside Lyon.
I'm taking a tour with Jean-Christophe Piffaut to learn how Saint-Exupery's lifelong love of flight helped to shape his writing.
Saint-Exupery, as an adult, shows a childlike imagination.
When he was a little boy in this delightful country house, was he very imaginative then? Yes, definitely.
His mother called him Pique La Lune.
I don't know if you know what it means.
He was always looking at the moon, and he always wanted to play and to to fly, in fact.
And he was eight years old, he tried to transform his bicycle in an airplane.
His imagination was so strong that he thought that he could fly.
And he tried and, of course, he failed.
That is extraordinary.
Why would a French boy be so fascinated by aviation? You know, in France, aviation was very important.
It was, in fact, the image of France, of modernity.
The first guy who crossed the Channel was French, he was Bleriot.
The first to crossed the Mediterranean Sea was Roland Garros, a French pilot.
So France was at the top at this time, in terms of aviation.
The young Antoine was determined to join this pantheon of heroes, and let nothing stand in his way.
Michael, it was his bedroom.
A little run down today.
Yes.
Tell me, when did he achieve his dream of flying? Oh, very early.
He was 12 years old.
And at 4km from here, he did his first fly with a Wroblewski.
Wroblewski was a constructor of airplanes.
And he said, "Please, please, I would like to fly with you.
" Wroblewski said, "You have the authorisation of your mother?" "Of course I have.
" Of course he didn't.
And he did his first flight.
And he came just over here.
Over his own house? Yes.
Fantastic.
Aged 21, Saint-Exupery joined the French air force - the start of a long and distinguished career as a military and commercial pilot.
But flight in the early 20th century was fraught with danger.
The most important crash he had, for his writer career after, was in the desert.
He spent five days in the desert.
He thought he would die because they had no water, no food.
Inspired by that incident, and published in 1943, The Little Prince has since charmed readers across the globe, becoming probably the most translated work of 20th-century French literature.
But Saint-Exupery himself didn't live to see this success.
And how did Saint-Exupery die? During the Second World War, he was a pilot, reconnaissance pilot, and he did a mission in France.
And he came back, the 31st of July, in 1944.
He crossed a Messerschmitt Bf 109 and he fall down in the Mediterranean Sea.
I mean, Saint-Exupery then is considered, I think, in France as both a literary hero and a war hero.
Yes, both of them, but most as the author of The Little Prince.
People don't know exactly his history, which is very important, and that's why we want to do a museum here, to explain this fabulous history.
In today's jet age, it's hard to imagine the thrills and terrors of flying a century ago.
To recapture some of the excitement, I'm going up in a light aircraft for a flying lesson with instructor Francois Pelletier.
OK, you push maximum power.
All in one go? Yes.
Push the throttle.
Yes.
Here we go! OK.
It's OK.
One more.
You take the stick.
Do I pull it yet? The power is OK, all is OK.
Yes.
Speed is OK.
Yes, pull the stick? OK.
Wow, off we go! Oh, that's wonderful, Francois.
It's OK, Michael.
OK, you turn left.
Turning left.
OK.
Banking left.
Turn into the stick, is that all right? Even in a modern plane with dual controls, taking off is a hairy business.
Back in 1913, most pilots had to learn solo, flying aircraft often made from wood and fabric.
OK.
Stick forward.
Stick forward.
Very soft.
Yeah, good.
Thank you.
Good.
Michael, you are a good pilot.
You're too kind.
I'm very glad you're there.
Oh, I meant to ask you Ou est le parachute? No parachute.
Now for the real test - it's time to land.
OK, the glide is OK.
Yes.
Wow.
Just clipping the top of the trees.
Adjusting our way onto the runway.
100 feet.
And what do we do now? OK.
Stick up.
Up.
Yes.
Stick up as we land.
Stick up, stick up.
OK.
Oh, we're down.
Oh, very nice! That was very, very nice.
Thank you, Francois, that was a beautiful landing.
Having safely returned to solid ground, I'm now waving goodbye to Lyon, and speeding south into Provence along the route of the famous Paris to Marseille railway.
For many readers of my 1913 guide, this line was the fast track to sunshine, carrying them to the glamorous French Riviera.
But for those who wished to take the journey slowly, there was plenty to see en route.
My next stop will be Avignon, which Bradshaw's tells me is on the River Rhone, and a very important place in the history of the Catholic Church.
It was the residence, from 1305 to 1377, of popes in antagonism to the popes of Rome.
That was at a time of schism in the Church, and I'm sure that for those who couldn't occupy St Peter's throne, Avignon, with all its beauties, must have offered some consolation.
TANNOY: Please make sure that you haven't left anything on the train.
I'm struck straightaway by the fierceness of the light.
We really are now in deep Southern France.
100 years ago, visitors to Avignon toured the 14th-century Palais des Papes or Papal Palace.
It's described in my guidebook as "a gloomy, fortress-like, Gothic "range of buildings, with endless corridors and staircases "and chambers of grim traditions.
" In a country that had once hosted popes, the power of the Catholic Church remained wide ranging until in 1905, the Third Republic passed a law to separate the spiritual authority of the Church from the political power of the State.
Still, railway tourists could follow the advice of their Bradshaw's and head to the river bank for a picturesque perspective on Avignon's medieval past.
Bonjour, Cedrick.
Bonjour, Michael.
Hello.
Ca va? Bien, bien, merci.
Je monte au milieu Cedric Castel is paddling me towards an Avignon landmark even more celebrated than the Papal Palace.
La nous allons nous rapprocher un petit peu du Pont d'Avignon, voila.
The famous Pont d'Avignon.
Exactement.
Cedrick, I don't want to be rude, but there's only half a bridge.
Was it a big bridge before? C'etaient grand avant? La actuellement, vous avez quatre arcs encore sur pieds, mais avant le pont faisaient vingt-deux.
It is now only four arches, but once upon a time, there were 22 arches, imagine that, stretching in that direction.
Built in 1185, over the centuries, the bridge was repeatedly damaged by flooding, until in the 17th century, it was abandoned, slowly to crumble into the Rhone.
Edwardian tourists would have known it from the famous song, popularised by an 1870s operetta.
Sur le Pont d'Avignon L'on y danse, l'on y danse Sur le Pont d'Avignon L'on y danse tous en rond.
Historic Avignon opens the way to Provence, a region whose rugged landscapes and vivid, sun-drenched colours have beguiled tourists before and since the time of my Bradshaw's guide.
I'm heading out into the nearby countryside to immerse myself in a quintessentially Provencal sensory experience.
At the time of my guidebook, lavender was beginning to stain the landscape, planted by entrepreneurial farmers.
Lavender grower Phillipe Soguel is their heir.
So, Philippe, I see you're harvesting the lavender today on an industrial scale.
100 years ago, what was this product going into, what sort of uses did it have? At that time, it was really for the perfume.
And of course, people smell the same perfume than today.
And I think that lavender is really a great perfume, loved by people all around the world.
Lavender scents were hugely popular in Edwardian Britain, with Yardley's Old English Lavender a household name.
And the craze also swept the continent, encouraging Provencal farmers to begin to cultivate the plant on an industrial scale and to use steam power to extract the pungent essence from the flowers.
This distillery was built in 1939.
The first boiler was in fact a locomotive.
Which was used to produce steam.
These days, a gas boiler is used.
But otherwise, the process is unchanged.
The harvested lavender is placed in a vat above the steamer, ready for the distillation to begin.
So I have to catch this.
Whoa! OK.
And you have to arrange all these branches, OK? Yeah, OK.
Perfect.
I used to play cricket.
Allez-y Merci.
Do you think you will be free for the next season? I'd love to.
The steam breaks down the flowers, carrying with it the scented oil that they contain, which rises to the top when the steam is condensed back to water.
So it's a pure and natural lavandin essential oil, a hybrid of lavender.
and so we will remove, I hope .
.
a few couples of kilograms of this essential oil.
Lavender has long been prized for its fragrance and for its reputed medicinal properties, being used to treat ailments from insomnia to burns.
At the time of my guide, it was trumpeted by advocates of the emerging practice of aromatherapy, and was even used on wounded soldiers on the battlefields of the Great War.
Oh! The scent of Haute Provence! Yes, absolutely.
The Avignon popes hugely improved the wine grown to the north of the city.
The Chateauneuf du Pape, the New Castle of the Pope, was actually built by John XXII.
The grapes may only be grown in soil that's arid enough to support lavender and thyme, and the wine has a sense of spices, and it glows ruby red like a sunset.
A new day, and my next train awaits, as I continue along my 1913 guidebook's recommended route through Southern France.
I'm bound for one of the country's most ancient towns.
I'll depart from the Paris-to-Marseille mainline to take the scenic route towards my final stop on the Mediterranean coast.
I shall be leaving this train at Arles - Bradshaw's says a very old place on the River Rhone, the Roman Arelate on the Via Aurelia, the old Roman highway.
Down the Rhone Valley towards the Mediterranean, blows the mistral - a very strong wind which can be maddening when it lasts for days, but it takes away the dust, leaving behind clear air and blue skies, the clarity and the colour which have made such an impression on painters and other artists.
According to my guidebook, here in Arles, "the interest for the traveller is in the Roman remains," and Bradshaw's ensured that Edwardian readers wasted no time in getting stuck in, directing them from the railway station straight to the town's famous amphitheatre.
The amphitheatre, Bradshaw's tells me, is 500 yards in circumference and dates from the beginning of the Christian era.
The 43 tiers of seats could accommodate 26,000 spectators.
Tourists still come here in their droves to admire the Roman architecture, but the town is also a place of pilgrimage for art lovers.
In the 1880s, an unknown Dutch artist - Vincent Van Gogh - felt the magnetic pull of the Provencal landscape and settled in Arles.
Gallery owner Julia de Bierre knows about his turbulent visit.
Julia, what was it that attracted Van Gogh to Arles? Well, of course, the answer is always the light.
And the reason that the light here is so special is because of the wind, which is called the mistral, which is like a living thing, an animal outside your door, which can howl for one day, three days, six days or nine days.
And on the ninth day, you go mad.
So, so, the mistral produces the light, which is lovely, but also it provokes you in some way, does it? It does, it creates a sort of a violence, a drama.
And I think that was very part ofof the life that, you know, when Van Gogh was living here.
I think that was part and parcel of his creative life here.
Van Gogh arrived in Arles in February 1888, hoping to establish an artist's colony.
His first recruit was another avant-garde visionary - Paul Gauguin.
But their dream soon took a darker turn.
Gauguin arrived in October.
They shared the little yellow house together.
They worked together.
They had many sort of artistic discussions.
And then, on the 23rd of December, they had a row.
At the end of that row, for reasons that are still not clear, Van Gogh cut his ear off.
And Gauguin? And Gauguin left for Paris.
Within 18 months, aged just 37, the troubled Van Gogh had died from a gunshot wound, thought to have been self-inflicted.
But despite his premature death, he left a remarkable legacy, with Arles having inspired him to new artistic heights.
In the course of a year, he painted or drew over 300 works.
So it was absolutely extraordinary.
And obviously, many of the masterpieces that we are so familiar with - the sunflowers in the vases, the iris, the portraits - so many of them were done here in Arles.
In his lifetime, Van Gogh's reputation was confined to artistic circles, but by the time of my guidebook, his fame was growing.
The British general public got its first glimpse of his work in a 1910 exhibition which was widely derided.
But this is one instance where I can't agree with my Edwardian forebears.
By an extraordinary piece of luck, Van Gogh's picture of the yellow house where he stayed in Arles, which normally hangs in Amsterdam, is here in town.
Here's the little restaurant where he used to take his meals and the routine of life is emphasised by the little train making its way towards the Rhone.
Here's the guest bedroom where Paul Gauguin stayed, with its shutters open to the world, and Van Gogh's bedroom, the shutters half closed.
With the typical vibrancy of Van Gogh's colours, we have a feeling of happiness.
And yet we know that behind these shutters, there occurred the most appalling tragedy.
Ever since Van Gogh's time, Arles has continued to attract artists.
Today, it's known as the birthplace and hometown of one of France's most celebrated photographers - Lucien Clergue.
Famous for works including striking images of Arles and intimate portraits of Pablo Picasso, these days, sadly, ill-health limits his work.
I'm honoured to enjoy a brief audience with this living legend.
Lucien, thank you so much for having us in your lovely house, but I'm thinking, Arles has been such an inspiration, it seems, to Van Gogh, to Picasso, to you Why? Arles is a very old town.
It's an open book about beauty.
Then, the light is unique.
Fantastic light because of the of the mistral, the wind.
Many artists had been visiting until Vincent Van Gogh was, uhimpressed by what those people were telling.
So he wants to go.
So Van Gogh was a step.
And 50 years after .
.
Picasso was a second step.
When a Van Gogh show was on, Picasso called the curator and say, "When you take off the painting, call me - "I want to have them in my hand.
" Could you believe? He came especially from Cannes.
To touch the painting? Yeah.
As a young aspiring photographer, Lucien met the great Picasso, striking up a friendship which endured until the painter's death.
As well as creating an extraordinary body of work, Lucien Clergue was one of the founders of an annual photographic festival here in Arles which showcases new talent from across the world.
And the town itself is full of attractions for amateur photographers.
Excuse me.
Yes.
You seem to have a pretty good eye.
Thank you.
When you decided to come to Arles, was photography one of the things on your mind? Yes, yes.
Like something like that.
It's different.
We don't get that in Australia.
When you are in Arles, what do you like to photograph? Is it people or buildings or countrysides? Oh I like people and the buildings.
And the atmosphere also.
We have many, many sunny days in the year.
Thanks to mistral.
So we have to like it.
And how are you finding photography in the south of France? Wonderful, absolutely.
And how are you finding the light? Good.
I've just learned about it also.
I know, I'm doing it last.
Having feasted my eyes on the architecture of Arles, it's time to think of my stomach.
An advertisement in my Bradshaw's guide has brought me to spend the night at the Grand Hotel Du Nord-Pinus, as it says it is the only hotel contiguous to the Roman forum.
I've looked around for local products, which has bought me to this pastis.
A liquor which is a little too aniseed flavour for my taste.
But look at this tapenade made from locally-grown olives.
Delicious.
Just south of Arles, the Rhone splits into two for its final journey towards the Mediterranean, creating Western Europe's largest river delta - the Camargue.
In this extraordinary wetland habitat of 100,000 hectares, flamingos live side by side with semi-wild cattle, herded by local cowboys, who ride the indigenous horses.
Then, to the east of this magical wilderness, the marshes give way to one of the most dramatic stretches of the Mediterranean coast.
And my last railway journey in France promises a magnificent view.
This line was originally built for freight, but clipping the inlets and bays of the Mediterranean, passengers today know it as the Blue Line.
I must say, I love this landscape - rustic-coloured roofs nestling amongst umbrella pines and then all the various colours of the sea under this intense light that magnetised Van Gogh and mesmerises the tourist.
This railway was built in 1915 to provide an alternative route to the Paris-Lyon-Marseille mainline.
And with 23 tunnels and 18 viaducts, designed to allow the tracks to snake along the treacherous coast, it was an engineering triumph.
I'm approaching my last stop, Marseille, which Bradshaw's tells me is the principal seaport of France.
Trade with Algiers and Tunis, and to the East through the Suez Canal, has given a wonderful impetus, but the Suez Canal has also brought Trieste and Genoa into prominent competition.
The French had a lot of colonies - not only Tunisia and Algeria, but also Morocco and Vietnam - and so Britain's ally was also Britain's imperial rival.
If the port of Marseille was the maritime gateway to the French colonies, the Paris-to-Marseille railway, dubbed the Ligne Imperiale, kept the capital plugged into its sprawling empire.
Today, the port's imposing railway terminus, which opened in 1848, is a key stop on the TGV network.
Railway travellers can cover the 750km from Paris to Gare Saint-Charles in just about three hours.
Beneath the hustle and bustle of the modern station, it's possible to imagine Marseille at the height of the Age of Empire.
I'm hunting for traces of that past with historian Berny Sebe.
Berny, this magnificent station at Marseille Saint-Charles, what does this tell us about the French Empire? It tells us a lot about the ways in which France, first of all, wasconceived itself as a major imperial power through the reference to "Marseille - gateway to the Orient," because many of the French colonies were in the Orient, in the Far East, and also through the two statues which refer to the colonies of Asia and Africa.
By the time of my guidebook, the seven-million-square-mile French Empire was second only to the 13 million square miles controlled by Britain.
In the 1890s, competition between the Great Powers for influence in Africa had led them to the brink of war.
But the 20th century ushered in a period of mutual cooperation in the face of a new rival.
To a large extent, it's the rise of Germany which brings Britain and France closer and which forces them to solve their issues.
And the Germans realised that if they wanted also to have their own place in the sun, they would need to take some territories out of existing empires.
And the threat which the growing also German navy posed at the time, the territorial threat which Germany posed to France meant that the two countries actually could see eye to eye.
And they think, to a large extent, time has come for them to find an entente cordiale, which is finally signed in 1904.
The Entente Cordiale was a pet project of King Edward VII, a lifelong Francophile.
But many of his subjects were more wary of their revolutionary neighbour.
After all, the national anthem of the Third Republic, first sung by revolutionary troops from Marseille and now known as La Marseillaise, rails against tyrants, presumably aristocrats and monarchs.
And it's still sung heartily today.
Aux armes, citoyens Formez vos bataillons Marchons, marchons Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons.
Bravo, monsieur, bravo.
Tres bien fait.
Guten Morgen.
Allemande? Non, je suis anglais.
On est des freres.
Ah, est des freres.
Tres bien.
Merci.
At the time of my guidebook, with the Third Republic firmly established, the French Empire was reaching its peak.
Helped by railway lines built across Indochina and North Africa, exotic colonial products and raw materials found their way here, to the heaving port at Marseille, where they crossed paths with French goods bound for foreign markets, opened up by imperial expansion.
For the Edwardian railway traveller, the first glimpse of the docks must have been awe-inspiring.
14 miles of quays, more than seven million tonnes of merchandise annually imported and exported and more than 400,000 travellers landing and embarking.
The imports are cereals, oil seeds, coal, sugar, coffee, hides, sheep from Algeria and wool.
Although Marseille is the largest seaport in France, you get the impression that it is an international city of the Mediterranean, looking out towards North Africa more than it does back towards Paris.
Ever since its foundation by ancient Greek mariners 2,500 years ago, Marseille has been a cosmopolitan city.
And today, it remains the melting pot of France.
After the Second World War, as the European empires were dismantled, Marseille's prosperity suffered, and the waves of immigrants arriving here weren't always welcomed with open arms.
But the 21st century has given the city a fresh lease of life.
It's recently undergone a ã6 billion makeover, with new museums and monuments adorning the quays, which once thronged with sailors and merchants.
Marseille has a bit of a reputation for being a city of crime and drugs and racial tension, but that certainly isn't what the visitor feels or sees.
I'm struck by the glittering Mediterranean, by the fine architecture, by the beautiful mountains that surround it.
I'm stimulated by such a cosmopolitan city.
And there's a new Marseille of bold architecture, determined, apparently, to extinguish the old cliches.
The docks described in my guidebook declined in the second half of the 20th century, but Marseille is still a city that depends on the sea for survival.
Nowadays, a vast, modern port, built just up the coast in the 1960s, helps to support over 40,000 jobs.
I'm climbing the control tower to survey the scene with Jean-Yves Coz.
Monsieur le chef de quart.
Hello, how are you? How very good to see you.
I'm getting a very good view from here, this is superb.
How big is the port of Marseille? The port of Marseille is as big like Paris.
As big as Paris? Yes.
Around 80km from each side, between each side.
That is extraordinary.
By the 1960s, the French Empire was no more.
The government sought to rebuild Marseille's economy by encouraging the oil and metal industries, luring mega-tankers to the new port, which is built on a dizzying scale.
We receive aroundbetween 5,000 and 6,000 vessels per year.
This must make it the biggest port in France.
Yes, it's the biggest port in France.
And I suppose one of the biggest in Europe.
One of the biggest, yes.
We have a special port for oil here.
Yes.
Here we have a big iron factory.
And here we have also a very big container terminal.
We receive a lot of container ships.
On today, we have a big one, we have a ship 366 metres long.
Managing the arrivals of these enormous ships is a complex task.
I'm joining pilot Olivier Tillon to see how it's done.
Olivier.
Hello.
Bonjour.
Bonjour.
Montez.
Merci.
Apres vous.
Pilots like Olivier ensure the safety of the port waters, guiding supertankers and vast container ships safely to the right berth.
Which ship are we going to? The name is Minerva.
It's a tanker, about 100,000 tonnes.
Crude oil? Crude oil, yes.
Is it complicated to navigate into the port? Ah, it's complicated because it big ship, very heavy, so we have to makebe careful and to go slowly.
Once the pilot reaches the ship that he's guiding in, he boards the vessel and takes control.
The pilot is in charge because we know the area.
We have many training for this job.
Exciting.
Yes, it's exciting.
Very nice for a job, yes.
Where you nervous when you first did it? 100,000 tonnes under your control.
The first time, yes, it's incredible.
Do you want to steer the pilot boat? Oh, yes, please.
It's not very difficult.
You go straight I'm heading more or less for the tug at the moment.
Yeah, we arrive at a good moment where they make fast with tug, so we'll see the operation.
With the advent of heavy steamships in the 19th century, tugs became essential to help them to manoeuvre within the narrow confines of a harbour, and today's supertankers still depend on them.
You refer often enough in conversation to a supertanker, how difficult it is to turn them around, but actually, you have no idea until you get really close to one just how enormous they are.
And then I'm always astonished that these little tug boats can be powerful enough actually to influence the course of that massive vessel.
And then this process is going on day after day.
None of us ever thinks about it, but this is the oil coming to Europe that keeps our economy going.
This port is a crucial link in the 21st-century global supply chain, just as railway lines were the arteries of Europe's empires at their height.
My journey towards France's imperial gateway has revealed how the modern French nation was created during the age of steam.
100 years ago, at the time of my Bradshaw's guide, the United Kingdom was allied with a country which had recently settled that it would never be a monarchy again.
France's Third Republic institutionalised a revolutionary national day and a revolutionary national anthem.
Politics aside, from my rail journey following the mistral wind down the Rhone Valley to the Mediterranean, I shall long remember the countryside with its beautiful horses and the products of the land - red wine, lavender and olive oil - as evocative of France as the 14th of July and La Marseillaise.
I'll be using this, my Bradshaw's Continental Railway Guide, dated 1913, which opened up an exotic world of foreign travel for the British tourist.
It told travellers where to go, what to see, and how to navigate the thousands of miles of tracks crisscrossing the continent.
Now, a century later, I'm using my copy to reveal an era of great optimism and energy where technology, industry, science and the arts were flourishing.
I want to rediscover that lost Europe that, in 1913, couldn't know that its way of life would shortly be swept aside by the advent of war.
This time I'm retracing a route outlined in my 1913 guide from the heart of France to the Mediterranean coast.
A century ago, the British in France were tourists in the territory of the traditional enemy lured, despite prejudices, by sun, food and natural wonders.
In 1913, rather to their surprise, the British found themselves allied to their traditional enemy, the French.
Suspicion might still attach to a country which, as Bradshaw's tells me, had in 1870 declared a republic for the third time in a Europe composed largely of monarchies.
But then again, Queen Victoria and King Edward VII had both extolled the virtues of holidaying in the South of France, and by now, Germany, ruled by their unruly relative the Kaiser, was looking much more dangerous.
Following one of the key arteries of the early 20th century railway network, I'll rediscover a country at the height of its technical prowess Wow, off we go.
.
.
where railway explorers could sample the finest French cuisine.
It's just rolling itself! En route to France's imperial hub The port of Marseille is as big like Paris.
As big as Paris? Yes.
That is extraordinary.
.
.
Bradshaw tourists who travelled these tracks were witnessing the birth of modern France.
From its most famous sporting event This would have been used in the first Tour de France in 1903.
My goodness, that is heavy, isn't it? .
.
to its stirring national anthem.
Marchons Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons! Bravo, monsieur! My journey will take me from Lyon, following the mistral wind, down the Rhone Valley into Provence, via historic Avignon and Arles, a magnet for fin-de-siecle painters.
I'll then head for the coast, finishing up at the gateway to the former French Empire.
My first stop will be Lyon.
Bradshaw's tells me that it is, "After Paris, the first city of France for size "and commercial importance.
" The Birmingham of France, industrial boom-town Lyon was served by the first-ever French railway, built for coal, which reached the city in 1832.
According to Bradshaw's, "It is the centre of the French silk, "velvet, and ribbon trades" and, "Its commercial prominence is largely due to its favoured "situation on two navigable rivers - the Rhone and the Saone.
" The peninsula that lies between Lyon's two rivers is known as the Presque-ile, and I'm following my guidebook to its heart.
I've come to the Place Bellecourt because Bradshaw's tells me, "It's the centre of activity in Lyon.
Here are the principal cafes.
" True enough, but some would go further and say that whilst Paris is the great metropolis of France, Lyon is the capital of cuisine.
For the Edwardian traveller, the chance to sample Lyonnaise cuisine was not to be missed.
Back in Britain, French cooking was all the rage.
And Lyon in particular was making a name for culinary excellence.
Home to no fewer than 15 Michelin-starred restaurants, Lyon still draws in gastronomes from across the globe.
According to American-born cookery teacher Lucy Vanel it's all down to the abundance of first-class local ingredients.
To the east of Lyon, we have the Alps, and you've got the foraged mushrooms and the beautiful mountain cheeses.
And then we have to the south, we have Provence, with all of its colourful vegetables and the beautiful oils and spices and things coming up from there.
Charolais beef is just outside of Lyon to the west, and then Burgundy to the north.
Until the late 19th century, Lyon was known for rustic dishes, based on cheap cuts of meat such as tripe - the traditional fare of the silk workers who toiled in the city's mills.
But then, a new force occupied the city's kitchens, the so-called 'meres lyonnaises'.
These were the Lyonnais mothers, women who came from domestic staff backgrounds.
They knew how to cook 'la cuisine bourgeoise', which was a very elaborate type of cuisine with truffles and foie gras and all of this.
So these women created restaurants where they would take the food that was known for Lyon and make it a little bit better.
For example, take a roast chicken and tuck truffles all around under the skin and then cook that and then serve it with morels in cream sauce.
To begin with, these former domestic servants set up humble establishments, but their reputation soon grew.
And who were the key figures amongst these 'meres lyonnaises'? La Mere Brazier was the most legendary, and she was the first woman in France to get three Michelin stars for her restaurant.
This influence of the women in the restaurants, is this quite unusual? At the time, it was unusual because women were not allowed to be chefs in restaurants, they could mop the floor, wait the tables, do things like this, but they were really not allowed to be the people who were in charge of the menu and in charge of the whole business.
This was not going on in France.
But in Lyon, it was.
Well, praise to les 'meres lyonnaises'.
Yes! Today, La Mere Brazier's restaurant is still going strong, under the leadership of Mathieu Viannay.
Eh, Michael, en cuisine.
Oui, Chef.
I've stopped by for a cookery lesson.
Alors, Chef, je suis a votre disposition, I am your servant, qu'est-ce qu'on va faire? Une omelette.
An omelette? Sounds easy.
La plus facile, mais la plus dur.
Oh, my goodness - it is the easiest, but it is the most difficult thing to do.
First, beat the eggs with salt.
It sounds simple enough.
Et la, on mets les oeufs, d'accord.
It's all in the way he moves it, I've never done that when I've made an omelette, never moved it like that.
It's rolling itself! That is amazing.
D'accord? Parfait! Alors je dois faire la meme chose - I now have to do the same thing.
Et tous, tous, tous.
Bien, remuez comme ca, stop.
Comme ca.
Ah, comme ca.
D'accord.
Round motion.
Et maintenant, je commence Stop, stop, stop, stop.
Regard.
Apres tu enleve, est c'est la Now I have to start turning it.
D'accord.
Il faut taper, il faut taper! Non, comme ca! Non.
Ah, oui, oui C'est pas bien, c'est pas bien, stop! It's not good, not good.
Poubelle! Vas-y donne moi la poubelle! Donnes moi la poubelle, tiens C'est pas bien, d'accord? Je suis desole, chef, je suis desole.
'I fear that la Mere Brazier must be turning in her grave!' For British visitors to Lyon in 1913, the city's hedonistic pleasures must have been tinged with a sense of lingering danger.
The declaration of the Third Republic 43 years earlier had been the latest of a series of revolutions and counter-revolutions.
Political tensions had continued to smoulder.
And according to my guidebook, in 1894, they erupted here, at Lyon's Bourse, or stock exchange, when President Carnot was assassinated.
I'm hearing the story from historian Cecile Brun.
So, here we are outside the Bourse, who was President Carnot? He was born in the centre of France in a rather high family, rather wealthy, and so he was an engineer at first, and then he becomes Minister of Public Works and Finance.
And in 1887, he became the fifth President of the French Republic.
Ever since the first French Revolution of 1789, monarchists and republicans had battled for control of the country.
Since 1870, there had been a republic, but it was challenged by monarchists on one side and radical socialists and anarchists on the other.
President Carnot set out to try to unify the splintered nation.
He made a lot of travels in France.
He visited, I think, 73 towns.
And so, it was the occasion for him to show to the people the Republic.
And the people, they don't know him, so it was a way to make him a more familiar figure for them.
On the 24th of June, 1894, Carnot's travels brought him to Lyon, to attend a glittering world fair, designed to show off the vitality of France's second city.
Having explored the exhibition, he attended a lavish banquet at the Palais de la Bourse.
But as he left in his carriage, an assassin leapt from the crowd, stabbing the president fatally.
So, who was it who killed Carnot and why? He was killed by an anarchist - Sante Geronimo Caserio, who was an Italian.
It was, for him, a way to attack thewhat represents for him the bourgeoisie, at the time, so these were his motivations.
Caserio showed no remorse, even as he later faced the guillotine.
But rather than bolstering support for anarchism, the murder shocked the French nation, which rallied against this attack on its symbolic figurehead.
Paradoxically, it reinforced the Third Republic.
It was quite fragile at the beginning, from a political point of view, and then it becomes more and more stronger, from the point of view of the institutions, and people were more united around the Third Republic.
The nation became more firmly committed to the republican idea than before and some of the pillars of modern French national identity were put in place.
And so, the Third Republic was a moment that was really important for all the symbols that are today ours, for instance, symbols that became official at that time - for instance, La Marseillaise, that became our our own national hymn and, for instance, also the 14th of July, which is our day still now.
By making the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille France's national day, the Third Republic anchored itself in the country's revolutionary past and closed the door on restoring the monarchy.
And by the early 20th century, the efficient French railway network was also helping to bind the nation together.
Thanks to lines radiating out from Paris, a Bradshaw traveller could get to Lyon from London in just 15 hours.
But the tracks couldn't reach into every corner of this vast country, so it fell to another mode of transport to plug the gaps.
British expat David Wilson has researched France's love affair with life on two wheels.
Hello, David.
Hello, Michael.
Nice to meet you.
Great to see you.
Surrounded by bicycles! David, I think, you know, part of the British stereotype of the Frenchman, apart from, you know, the beret and the onions, involves a bicycle.
I mean, a bicycle is a big part of French life, isn't it? It has been for a long time.
Yes, it certainly has been.
Over 100 years ago, the French were very keen on cycling.
And bicycles had been invented in 1818 by the Baron von Drais, a German, but in fact, it was the French, apparently, who invented the pedal.
By the eve of the First World War, there were an estimated four million bicycles on French roads.
France was a major manufacturer, with many bikes produced here, in Lyon.
But the city had another claim to cycling fame - as the end-point of the first-ever stage of the first-ever Tour de France.
Henri Desgrange, the founder of the Tour de France, wanted the Tour de France to go in a clockwise direction, so quite naturally, Lyon was the first stopping point.
It had very important train links to Paris and it allowed the young Lefevre, who was the hack who originally thought of the idea of the Tour de France to get back to Paris, to file his report and get back down again, two days later, to see the cyclists depart on the second stage.
Geo Lefevre and Henri Desgrange had dreamed up the Tour de France as a way of promoting their new sports newspaper.
And their thirst for publicity was also behind one of the race's most iconic emblems.
The yellow jersey was first introduced to the Tour de France in 1919 as a response to the general public who wanted to have some means of identifying the overall leader.
Desgrange's magazine was actually printed on yellow pages, so quite naturally, Desgrange thought that the best way of promoting his newspaper was also that the overall leader wore a yellow jersey.
Of the 60 riders who set out to cover the 2,400 kilometres of the first Tour de France, only 21 made it back to Paris.
Since then, the race has evolved, and so have the bicycles used in it.
So, Michael, here we are, we have a modern bike.
The maximum weight authorised by the cycling authority is 6.
8 kilos.
That's very light.
A carbon bike.
May I just test that? Yes, by all means.
Oh, that's beautifully light, isn't it? So that's all carbon.
What are its other features? Well, it has a derailleur, which allows you to change gear on the move.
A derailleur? Yes.
Well, the French would call it a derailleur, The word comes from derailing.
In other words, it was originally from the trains.
It was basically a set of Nothing more than a set of points.
So what sort of speed can you achieve on this? On average, around about 40km an hour.
And certainly, this year's Tour de France was won at just over 40km an hour.
And this, I take it, is not the newest model.
No, this was the original.
This would have been used in the first Tour de France in 1903.
Really?! As you can see, it's what's we call a fixie.
In other words, it has one single gear.
And if you can imagine at that time, on roads that weren't tarmacked, these guys were pushing this thing, weighing 20 kilos, up these mountains and other hills without any kind of means of changing gear.
My goodness! That is heavy, isn't it? That is amazing.
And so, what kinds of speeds could they achieve on these? Well, surprisingly, they could actually go quite fast.
And Maurice Garin, who was the first winner here in Lyon, he got in at 26km an hour on the first stage.
So These guys must have been pretty tough, I think.
Oh, they were referred to as the demigods, so, yes.
Some people even referred to them as half bull.
And to be quite honest, personally I see that today's racers are lightweight compared to these boys.
In 2012, a British rider won the Tour de France for the very first time in its history.
I'm no Bradley Wiggins, but I can't leave Lyon without taking to two wheels for myself.
Vive la bicyclette! Vive la France! Well, with a little assistance from David.
Well, they say the engine's behind, Michael, so I think you're doing a great job.
I think my legs are just going round.
With an extensive network of cycle paths, Lyon is a perfect city to explore by bike.
Whoa! Through the chicane.
And my tour is following in the slipstream of cyclists who've made sporting history.
Well, Michael, here we are at the finish line of the first stage of the first Tour de France won by Maurice Garin on the 2nd of July, 1903.
Well, I think if the yellow jersey marks the leader, it must be the blue jacket that marks the tail-end Charlie.
At the time of my guide, Lyon was a stop on France's most important railway line, which linked the city with the capital and the nation's premier port at Marseille.
70 years later, this route was the first to run France's pioneering Train a Grande Vitesse - Europe's first experiment with high-speed rail.
This country has long been an enthusiastic pioneer in transport technology.
And at the time of my guidebook, the passion for speed and adventure made its mark on literature.
The author Antoine de Saint-Exupery was born in this very square.
His book, Le Petit Prince - The Little Prince - disguised adult philosophy within a childlike tale.
The popularity of his book took off and has continued to soar ever since.
But I have a feeling that in the country where he spent part of his childhood, I'll find the very source of his inspiration.
The whimsical story of The Little Prince is a celebration of childhood innocence.
Its narrator - a pilot who has crashed in the desert - meets a boy from another planet, who's come to Earth to learn about life and love.
Some of the happiest hours of its author's boyhood were spent at his family's country retreat, 50km outside Lyon.
I'm taking a tour with Jean-Christophe Piffaut to learn how Saint-Exupery's lifelong love of flight helped to shape his writing.
Saint-Exupery, as an adult, shows a childlike imagination.
When he was a little boy in this delightful country house, was he very imaginative then? Yes, definitely.
His mother called him Pique La Lune.
I don't know if you know what it means.
He was always looking at the moon, and he always wanted to play and to to fly, in fact.
And he was eight years old, he tried to transform his bicycle in an airplane.
His imagination was so strong that he thought that he could fly.
And he tried and, of course, he failed.
That is extraordinary.
Why would a French boy be so fascinated by aviation? You know, in France, aviation was very important.
It was, in fact, the image of France, of modernity.
The first guy who crossed the Channel was French, he was Bleriot.
The first to crossed the Mediterranean Sea was Roland Garros, a French pilot.
So France was at the top at this time, in terms of aviation.
The young Antoine was determined to join this pantheon of heroes, and let nothing stand in his way.
Michael, it was his bedroom.
A little run down today.
Yes.
Tell me, when did he achieve his dream of flying? Oh, very early.
He was 12 years old.
And at 4km from here, he did his first fly with a Wroblewski.
Wroblewski was a constructor of airplanes.
And he said, "Please, please, I would like to fly with you.
" Wroblewski said, "You have the authorisation of your mother?" "Of course I have.
" Of course he didn't.
And he did his first flight.
And he came just over here.
Over his own house? Yes.
Fantastic.
Aged 21, Saint-Exupery joined the French air force - the start of a long and distinguished career as a military and commercial pilot.
But flight in the early 20th century was fraught with danger.
The most important crash he had, for his writer career after, was in the desert.
He spent five days in the desert.
He thought he would die because they had no water, no food.
Inspired by that incident, and published in 1943, The Little Prince has since charmed readers across the globe, becoming probably the most translated work of 20th-century French literature.
But Saint-Exupery himself didn't live to see this success.
And how did Saint-Exupery die? During the Second World War, he was a pilot, reconnaissance pilot, and he did a mission in France.
And he came back, the 31st of July, in 1944.
He crossed a Messerschmitt Bf 109 and he fall down in the Mediterranean Sea.
I mean, Saint-Exupery then is considered, I think, in France as both a literary hero and a war hero.
Yes, both of them, but most as the author of The Little Prince.
People don't know exactly his history, which is very important, and that's why we want to do a museum here, to explain this fabulous history.
In today's jet age, it's hard to imagine the thrills and terrors of flying a century ago.
To recapture some of the excitement, I'm going up in a light aircraft for a flying lesson with instructor Francois Pelletier.
OK, you push maximum power.
All in one go? Yes.
Push the throttle.
Yes.
Here we go! OK.
It's OK.
One more.
You take the stick.
Do I pull it yet? The power is OK, all is OK.
Yes.
Speed is OK.
Yes, pull the stick? OK.
Wow, off we go! Oh, that's wonderful, Francois.
It's OK, Michael.
OK, you turn left.
Turning left.
OK.
Banking left.
Turn into the stick, is that all right? Even in a modern plane with dual controls, taking off is a hairy business.
Back in 1913, most pilots had to learn solo, flying aircraft often made from wood and fabric.
OK.
Stick forward.
Stick forward.
Very soft.
Yeah, good.
Thank you.
Good.
Michael, you are a good pilot.
You're too kind.
I'm very glad you're there.
Oh, I meant to ask you Ou est le parachute? No parachute.
Now for the real test - it's time to land.
OK, the glide is OK.
Yes.
Wow.
Just clipping the top of the trees.
Adjusting our way onto the runway.
100 feet.
And what do we do now? OK.
Stick up.
Up.
Yes.
Stick up as we land.
Stick up, stick up.
OK.
Oh, we're down.
Oh, very nice! That was very, very nice.
Thank you, Francois, that was a beautiful landing.
Having safely returned to solid ground, I'm now waving goodbye to Lyon, and speeding south into Provence along the route of the famous Paris to Marseille railway.
For many readers of my 1913 guide, this line was the fast track to sunshine, carrying them to the glamorous French Riviera.
But for those who wished to take the journey slowly, there was plenty to see en route.
My next stop will be Avignon, which Bradshaw's tells me is on the River Rhone, and a very important place in the history of the Catholic Church.
It was the residence, from 1305 to 1377, of popes in antagonism to the popes of Rome.
That was at a time of schism in the Church, and I'm sure that for those who couldn't occupy St Peter's throne, Avignon, with all its beauties, must have offered some consolation.
TANNOY: Please make sure that you haven't left anything on the train.
I'm struck straightaway by the fierceness of the light.
We really are now in deep Southern France.
100 years ago, visitors to Avignon toured the 14th-century Palais des Papes or Papal Palace.
It's described in my guidebook as "a gloomy, fortress-like, Gothic "range of buildings, with endless corridors and staircases "and chambers of grim traditions.
" In a country that had once hosted popes, the power of the Catholic Church remained wide ranging until in 1905, the Third Republic passed a law to separate the spiritual authority of the Church from the political power of the State.
Still, railway tourists could follow the advice of their Bradshaw's and head to the river bank for a picturesque perspective on Avignon's medieval past.
Bonjour, Cedrick.
Bonjour, Michael.
Hello.
Ca va? Bien, bien, merci.
Je monte au milieu Cedric Castel is paddling me towards an Avignon landmark even more celebrated than the Papal Palace.
La nous allons nous rapprocher un petit peu du Pont d'Avignon, voila.
The famous Pont d'Avignon.
Exactement.
Cedrick, I don't want to be rude, but there's only half a bridge.
Was it a big bridge before? C'etaient grand avant? La actuellement, vous avez quatre arcs encore sur pieds, mais avant le pont faisaient vingt-deux.
It is now only four arches, but once upon a time, there were 22 arches, imagine that, stretching in that direction.
Built in 1185, over the centuries, the bridge was repeatedly damaged by flooding, until in the 17th century, it was abandoned, slowly to crumble into the Rhone.
Edwardian tourists would have known it from the famous song, popularised by an 1870s operetta.
Sur le Pont d'Avignon L'on y danse, l'on y danse Sur le Pont d'Avignon L'on y danse tous en rond.
Historic Avignon opens the way to Provence, a region whose rugged landscapes and vivid, sun-drenched colours have beguiled tourists before and since the time of my Bradshaw's guide.
I'm heading out into the nearby countryside to immerse myself in a quintessentially Provencal sensory experience.
At the time of my guidebook, lavender was beginning to stain the landscape, planted by entrepreneurial farmers.
Lavender grower Phillipe Soguel is their heir.
So, Philippe, I see you're harvesting the lavender today on an industrial scale.
100 years ago, what was this product going into, what sort of uses did it have? At that time, it was really for the perfume.
And of course, people smell the same perfume than today.
And I think that lavender is really a great perfume, loved by people all around the world.
Lavender scents were hugely popular in Edwardian Britain, with Yardley's Old English Lavender a household name.
And the craze also swept the continent, encouraging Provencal farmers to begin to cultivate the plant on an industrial scale and to use steam power to extract the pungent essence from the flowers.
This distillery was built in 1939.
The first boiler was in fact a locomotive.
Which was used to produce steam.
These days, a gas boiler is used.
But otherwise, the process is unchanged.
The harvested lavender is placed in a vat above the steamer, ready for the distillation to begin.
So I have to catch this.
Whoa! OK.
And you have to arrange all these branches, OK? Yeah, OK.
Perfect.
I used to play cricket.
Allez-y Merci.
Do you think you will be free for the next season? I'd love to.
The steam breaks down the flowers, carrying with it the scented oil that they contain, which rises to the top when the steam is condensed back to water.
So it's a pure and natural lavandin essential oil, a hybrid of lavender.
and so we will remove, I hope .
.
a few couples of kilograms of this essential oil.
Lavender has long been prized for its fragrance and for its reputed medicinal properties, being used to treat ailments from insomnia to burns.
At the time of my guide, it was trumpeted by advocates of the emerging practice of aromatherapy, and was even used on wounded soldiers on the battlefields of the Great War.
Oh! The scent of Haute Provence! Yes, absolutely.
The Avignon popes hugely improved the wine grown to the north of the city.
The Chateauneuf du Pape, the New Castle of the Pope, was actually built by John XXII.
The grapes may only be grown in soil that's arid enough to support lavender and thyme, and the wine has a sense of spices, and it glows ruby red like a sunset.
A new day, and my next train awaits, as I continue along my 1913 guidebook's recommended route through Southern France.
I'm bound for one of the country's most ancient towns.
I'll depart from the Paris-to-Marseille mainline to take the scenic route towards my final stop on the Mediterranean coast.
I shall be leaving this train at Arles - Bradshaw's says a very old place on the River Rhone, the Roman Arelate on the Via Aurelia, the old Roman highway.
Down the Rhone Valley towards the Mediterranean, blows the mistral - a very strong wind which can be maddening when it lasts for days, but it takes away the dust, leaving behind clear air and blue skies, the clarity and the colour which have made such an impression on painters and other artists.
According to my guidebook, here in Arles, "the interest for the traveller is in the Roman remains," and Bradshaw's ensured that Edwardian readers wasted no time in getting stuck in, directing them from the railway station straight to the town's famous amphitheatre.
The amphitheatre, Bradshaw's tells me, is 500 yards in circumference and dates from the beginning of the Christian era.
The 43 tiers of seats could accommodate 26,000 spectators.
Tourists still come here in their droves to admire the Roman architecture, but the town is also a place of pilgrimage for art lovers.
In the 1880s, an unknown Dutch artist - Vincent Van Gogh - felt the magnetic pull of the Provencal landscape and settled in Arles.
Gallery owner Julia de Bierre knows about his turbulent visit.
Julia, what was it that attracted Van Gogh to Arles? Well, of course, the answer is always the light.
And the reason that the light here is so special is because of the wind, which is called the mistral, which is like a living thing, an animal outside your door, which can howl for one day, three days, six days or nine days.
And on the ninth day, you go mad.
So, so, the mistral produces the light, which is lovely, but also it provokes you in some way, does it? It does, it creates a sort of a violence, a drama.
And I think that was very part ofof the life that, you know, when Van Gogh was living here.
I think that was part and parcel of his creative life here.
Van Gogh arrived in Arles in February 1888, hoping to establish an artist's colony.
His first recruit was another avant-garde visionary - Paul Gauguin.
But their dream soon took a darker turn.
Gauguin arrived in October.
They shared the little yellow house together.
They worked together.
They had many sort of artistic discussions.
And then, on the 23rd of December, they had a row.
At the end of that row, for reasons that are still not clear, Van Gogh cut his ear off.
And Gauguin? And Gauguin left for Paris.
Within 18 months, aged just 37, the troubled Van Gogh had died from a gunshot wound, thought to have been self-inflicted.
But despite his premature death, he left a remarkable legacy, with Arles having inspired him to new artistic heights.
In the course of a year, he painted or drew over 300 works.
So it was absolutely extraordinary.
And obviously, many of the masterpieces that we are so familiar with - the sunflowers in the vases, the iris, the portraits - so many of them were done here in Arles.
In his lifetime, Van Gogh's reputation was confined to artistic circles, but by the time of my guidebook, his fame was growing.
The British general public got its first glimpse of his work in a 1910 exhibition which was widely derided.
But this is one instance where I can't agree with my Edwardian forebears.
By an extraordinary piece of luck, Van Gogh's picture of the yellow house where he stayed in Arles, which normally hangs in Amsterdam, is here in town.
Here's the little restaurant where he used to take his meals and the routine of life is emphasised by the little train making its way towards the Rhone.
Here's the guest bedroom where Paul Gauguin stayed, with its shutters open to the world, and Van Gogh's bedroom, the shutters half closed.
With the typical vibrancy of Van Gogh's colours, we have a feeling of happiness.
And yet we know that behind these shutters, there occurred the most appalling tragedy.
Ever since Van Gogh's time, Arles has continued to attract artists.
Today, it's known as the birthplace and hometown of one of France's most celebrated photographers - Lucien Clergue.
Famous for works including striking images of Arles and intimate portraits of Pablo Picasso, these days, sadly, ill-health limits his work.
I'm honoured to enjoy a brief audience with this living legend.
Lucien, thank you so much for having us in your lovely house, but I'm thinking, Arles has been such an inspiration, it seems, to Van Gogh, to Picasso, to you Why? Arles is a very old town.
It's an open book about beauty.
Then, the light is unique.
Fantastic light because of the of the mistral, the wind.
Many artists had been visiting until Vincent Van Gogh was, uhimpressed by what those people were telling.
So he wants to go.
So Van Gogh was a step.
And 50 years after .
.
Picasso was a second step.
When a Van Gogh show was on, Picasso called the curator and say, "When you take off the painting, call me - "I want to have them in my hand.
" Could you believe? He came especially from Cannes.
To touch the painting? Yeah.
As a young aspiring photographer, Lucien met the great Picasso, striking up a friendship which endured until the painter's death.
As well as creating an extraordinary body of work, Lucien Clergue was one of the founders of an annual photographic festival here in Arles which showcases new talent from across the world.
And the town itself is full of attractions for amateur photographers.
Excuse me.
Yes.
You seem to have a pretty good eye.
Thank you.
When you decided to come to Arles, was photography one of the things on your mind? Yes, yes.
Like something like that.
It's different.
We don't get that in Australia.
When you are in Arles, what do you like to photograph? Is it people or buildings or countrysides? Oh I like people and the buildings.
And the atmosphere also.
We have many, many sunny days in the year.
Thanks to mistral.
So we have to like it.
And how are you finding photography in the south of France? Wonderful, absolutely.
And how are you finding the light? Good.
I've just learned about it also.
I know, I'm doing it last.
Having feasted my eyes on the architecture of Arles, it's time to think of my stomach.
An advertisement in my Bradshaw's guide has brought me to spend the night at the Grand Hotel Du Nord-Pinus, as it says it is the only hotel contiguous to the Roman forum.
I've looked around for local products, which has bought me to this pastis.
A liquor which is a little too aniseed flavour for my taste.
But look at this tapenade made from locally-grown olives.
Delicious.
Just south of Arles, the Rhone splits into two for its final journey towards the Mediterranean, creating Western Europe's largest river delta - the Camargue.
In this extraordinary wetland habitat of 100,000 hectares, flamingos live side by side with semi-wild cattle, herded by local cowboys, who ride the indigenous horses.
Then, to the east of this magical wilderness, the marshes give way to one of the most dramatic stretches of the Mediterranean coast.
And my last railway journey in France promises a magnificent view.
This line was originally built for freight, but clipping the inlets and bays of the Mediterranean, passengers today know it as the Blue Line.
I must say, I love this landscape - rustic-coloured roofs nestling amongst umbrella pines and then all the various colours of the sea under this intense light that magnetised Van Gogh and mesmerises the tourist.
This railway was built in 1915 to provide an alternative route to the Paris-Lyon-Marseille mainline.
And with 23 tunnels and 18 viaducts, designed to allow the tracks to snake along the treacherous coast, it was an engineering triumph.
I'm approaching my last stop, Marseille, which Bradshaw's tells me is the principal seaport of France.
Trade with Algiers and Tunis, and to the East through the Suez Canal, has given a wonderful impetus, but the Suez Canal has also brought Trieste and Genoa into prominent competition.
The French had a lot of colonies - not only Tunisia and Algeria, but also Morocco and Vietnam - and so Britain's ally was also Britain's imperial rival.
If the port of Marseille was the maritime gateway to the French colonies, the Paris-to-Marseille railway, dubbed the Ligne Imperiale, kept the capital plugged into its sprawling empire.
Today, the port's imposing railway terminus, which opened in 1848, is a key stop on the TGV network.
Railway travellers can cover the 750km from Paris to Gare Saint-Charles in just about three hours.
Beneath the hustle and bustle of the modern station, it's possible to imagine Marseille at the height of the Age of Empire.
I'm hunting for traces of that past with historian Berny Sebe.
Berny, this magnificent station at Marseille Saint-Charles, what does this tell us about the French Empire? It tells us a lot about the ways in which France, first of all, wasconceived itself as a major imperial power through the reference to "Marseille - gateway to the Orient," because many of the French colonies were in the Orient, in the Far East, and also through the two statues which refer to the colonies of Asia and Africa.
By the time of my guidebook, the seven-million-square-mile French Empire was second only to the 13 million square miles controlled by Britain.
In the 1890s, competition between the Great Powers for influence in Africa had led them to the brink of war.
But the 20th century ushered in a period of mutual cooperation in the face of a new rival.
To a large extent, it's the rise of Germany which brings Britain and France closer and which forces them to solve their issues.
And the Germans realised that if they wanted also to have their own place in the sun, they would need to take some territories out of existing empires.
And the threat which the growing also German navy posed at the time, the territorial threat which Germany posed to France meant that the two countries actually could see eye to eye.
And they think, to a large extent, time has come for them to find an entente cordiale, which is finally signed in 1904.
The Entente Cordiale was a pet project of King Edward VII, a lifelong Francophile.
But many of his subjects were more wary of their revolutionary neighbour.
After all, the national anthem of the Third Republic, first sung by revolutionary troops from Marseille and now known as La Marseillaise, rails against tyrants, presumably aristocrats and monarchs.
And it's still sung heartily today.
Aux armes, citoyens Formez vos bataillons Marchons, marchons Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons.
Bravo, monsieur, bravo.
Tres bien fait.
Guten Morgen.
Allemande? Non, je suis anglais.
On est des freres.
Ah, est des freres.
Tres bien.
Merci.
At the time of my guidebook, with the Third Republic firmly established, the French Empire was reaching its peak.
Helped by railway lines built across Indochina and North Africa, exotic colonial products and raw materials found their way here, to the heaving port at Marseille, where they crossed paths with French goods bound for foreign markets, opened up by imperial expansion.
For the Edwardian railway traveller, the first glimpse of the docks must have been awe-inspiring.
14 miles of quays, more than seven million tonnes of merchandise annually imported and exported and more than 400,000 travellers landing and embarking.
The imports are cereals, oil seeds, coal, sugar, coffee, hides, sheep from Algeria and wool.
Although Marseille is the largest seaport in France, you get the impression that it is an international city of the Mediterranean, looking out towards North Africa more than it does back towards Paris.
Ever since its foundation by ancient Greek mariners 2,500 years ago, Marseille has been a cosmopolitan city.
And today, it remains the melting pot of France.
After the Second World War, as the European empires were dismantled, Marseille's prosperity suffered, and the waves of immigrants arriving here weren't always welcomed with open arms.
But the 21st century has given the city a fresh lease of life.
It's recently undergone a ã6 billion makeover, with new museums and monuments adorning the quays, which once thronged with sailors and merchants.
Marseille has a bit of a reputation for being a city of crime and drugs and racial tension, but that certainly isn't what the visitor feels or sees.
I'm struck by the glittering Mediterranean, by the fine architecture, by the beautiful mountains that surround it.
I'm stimulated by such a cosmopolitan city.
And there's a new Marseille of bold architecture, determined, apparently, to extinguish the old cliches.
The docks described in my guidebook declined in the second half of the 20th century, but Marseille is still a city that depends on the sea for survival.
Nowadays, a vast, modern port, built just up the coast in the 1960s, helps to support over 40,000 jobs.
I'm climbing the control tower to survey the scene with Jean-Yves Coz.
Monsieur le chef de quart.
Hello, how are you? How very good to see you.
I'm getting a very good view from here, this is superb.
How big is the port of Marseille? The port of Marseille is as big like Paris.
As big as Paris? Yes.
Around 80km from each side, between each side.
That is extraordinary.
By the 1960s, the French Empire was no more.
The government sought to rebuild Marseille's economy by encouraging the oil and metal industries, luring mega-tankers to the new port, which is built on a dizzying scale.
We receive aroundbetween 5,000 and 6,000 vessels per year.
This must make it the biggest port in France.
Yes, it's the biggest port in France.
And I suppose one of the biggest in Europe.
One of the biggest, yes.
We have a special port for oil here.
Yes.
Here we have a big iron factory.
And here we have also a very big container terminal.
We receive a lot of container ships.
On today, we have a big one, we have a ship 366 metres long.
Managing the arrivals of these enormous ships is a complex task.
I'm joining pilot Olivier Tillon to see how it's done.
Olivier.
Hello.
Bonjour.
Bonjour.
Montez.
Merci.
Apres vous.
Pilots like Olivier ensure the safety of the port waters, guiding supertankers and vast container ships safely to the right berth.
Which ship are we going to? The name is Minerva.
It's a tanker, about 100,000 tonnes.
Crude oil? Crude oil, yes.
Is it complicated to navigate into the port? Ah, it's complicated because it big ship, very heavy, so we have to makebe careful and to go slowly.
Once the pilot reaches the ship that he's guiding in, he boards the vessel and takes control.
The pilot is in charge because we know the area.
We have many training for this job.
Exciting.
Yes, it's exciting.
Very nice for a job, yes.
Where you nervous when you first did it? 100,000 tonnes under your control.
The first time, yes, it's incredible.
Do you want to steer the pilot boat? Oh, yes, please.
It's not very difficult.
You go straight I'm heading more or less for the tug at the moment.
Yeah, we arrive at a good moment where they make fast with tug, so we'll see the operation.
With the advent of heavy steamships in the 19th century, tugs became essential to help them to manoeuvre within the narrow confines of a harbour, and today's supertankers still depend on them.
You refer often enough in conversation to a supertanker, how difficult it is to turn them around, but actually, you have no idea until you get really close to one just how enormous they are.
And then I'm always astonished that these little tug boats can be powerful enough actually to influence the course of that massive vessel.
And then this process is going on day after day.
None of us ever thinks about it, but this is the oil coming to Europe that keeps our economy going.
This port is a crucial link in the 21st-century global supply chain, just as railway lines were the arteries of Europe's empires at their height.
My journey towards France's imperial gateway has revealed how the modern French nation was created during the age of steam.
100 years ago, at the time of my Bradshaw's guide, the United Kingdom was allied with a country which had recently settled that it would never be a monarchy again.
France's Third Republic institutionalised a revolutionary national day and a revolutionary national anthem.
Politics aside, from my rail journey following the mistral wind down the Rhone Valley to the Mediterranean, I shall long remember the countryside with its beautiful horses and the products of the land - red wine, lavender and olive oil - as evocative of France as the 14th of July and La Marseillaise.