We had committed a grave injustice in Avignon. Despite the multitude of places to see and things to do, we had honed in on only one. I blame Paris. We would be in the City of Light in less than two days. The city I had dreamt about during my teenage years was just about to become a reality. How could I think of anything else.
The quintessential symbol of Avignon is the Pont du Gard. A masterpiece of ancient Roman engineering, it is a three-tiered aqueduct that, from some accounts, puts those found in Rome to shame.
The grandeur of the fortification was lost on the many pale-skinned tourists aching to cannonball into the river coursing beneath.
