Beyond the Papal Palace: Hidden Corners and Local Secrets of Avignon

My perfect Avignon morning begins at Les Halles, the covered market on Place Pie that locals have frequented since 1800. Arriving by 8:30 AM means beating both tourists and locals to the best produce. The ritual here is gloriously simple: first, a strong espresso at the corner café, then a methodical exploration of the stalls where generations of the same families sell olive tapenades, lavender honey, and cheeses that vary with the seasons.

Don't miss Maison Violette for their legendary navettes (orange blossom cookies shaped like tiny boats) or the mushroom vendor who keeps his prize cèpes hidden under the counter for regular customers—mention you're a friend of Madame Bonnet, and you might just get a glimpse of these treasures.

After gathering picnic provisions, I like to wander the labyrinthine streets of the Banasterie quarter. This medieval neighborhood was once home to basket weavers (banastiers in Provençal), and its narrow lanes offer respite from the crowds. The 12th-century Église Saint-Didier stands quietly here, often completely empty even as tourists queue for the Papal Palace just streets away.

For photography enthusiasts, the light in these lanes between 9-11 AM creates magical contrasts between shadow and the honey-colored stone. I captured some of my favorite Avignon images using my travel tripod, which is compact enough to carry all day but sturdy enough for the low-light conditions in these medieval passages.

By midday, Avignon pulses with heat, and locals know to retreat to shaded sanctuaries. One of my favorite discoveries came through pure serendipity—or perhaps it was the intuition my father always claimed came from our Japanese ancestors. Following an unassuming passage off Rue de la République, I stumbled upon Cour du Musée Calvet, a tranquil courtyard where locals spread out picnic lunches under plane trees.

For those without picnic provisions, La Fourchette on Rue Racine offers a dining experience that hasn't changed much since the 1940s. Family-owned and fiercely traditional, their daube avignonnaise (beef stew with olives) paired with a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape transforms a simple lunch into a profound cultural experience. Reservations are essential—this isn't a place tourists stumble upon accidentally.

For something truly special, seek out Le Jardin du Palais, hidden behind an unmarked wooden door on Rue Peyrollerie. This private garden café opens only during spring and summer months, serving simple tartines and salads amid medieval ruins and climbing roses. The owner, Madame Rousset, is a former historian who can recount tales of papal intrigue while pouring locally-made rosé.

After lunch, when most tourists retreat to air-conditioned museums, I recommend doing exactly what locals do—embrace the sieste. Return to your accommodation or find a quiet bench in the secluded Jardin des Doms, spread out a light travel blanket, and allow yourself the luxury of a short nap as church bells mark the passing hours.

While most visitors confine themselves within Avignon's impressive medieval walls, the city's relationship with its surroundings offers fascinating perspectives for the curious traveler. After your siesta, cross the Rhône via the Édouard Daladier bridge (not the famous partial pont) to Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, Avignon's historical rival city.

This lesser-visited town was once home to cardinals who wanted proximity to the Pope while maintaining independence. The Fort Saint-André offers the most spectacular views of Avignon from across the river—I've spent hours here with my pocket binoculars, studying the architectural details of the Papal Palace from this unique vantage point.

The Chartreuse du Val de Bénédiction, a former Carthusian monastery, provides a peaceful counterpoint to Avignon's grandeur. Its cloisters and private monk cells create a meditative atmosphere that reminds me of the Buddhist temples I frequented while teaching in Japan. The monastery gardens incorporate elements of both French formality and medicinal herb traditions—look for the ancient rose varieties that have been cultivated here since the 14th century.

For those interested in equestrian traditions (a passion I inherited from my father), time your visit to coincide with training sessions at the Centre Équestre de Villeneuve. The Camargue horses trained here descend from one of the world's oldest breeds, and watching these elegant white horses against the backdrop of medieval architecture creates a timeless tableau.

Return to Avignon via the river shuttle rather than the bridge—the approach to the city walls from the water offers perspectives few tourists experience. The late afternoon light bathes the papal palace in a golden glow that explains why painters have been drawn to this region for centuries.

As twilight descends on Avignon, the city transforms yet again. While tourists flock to overpriced restaurants on Place de l'Horloge, I prefer starting my evening at Le Vin Devant Soi on Rue des Trois Faucons. This innovative wine bar features self-service dispensers with dozens of local wines available in tasting portions. The owner, Philippe, is passionate about small producers and will guide you through Rhône Valley varieties with infectious enthusiasm if you express genuine interest.

For dinner, venture to Rue des Teinturiers, Avignon's most atmospheric street where medieval water wheels still turn in the canal running alongside it. Restaurant La Mirande offers farm-to-table Provençal cuisine in a 14th-century building. Ask about their chef's table experience in the original medieval kitchen—it's one of Avignon's best-kept culinary secrets.

After dinner, Avignon offers cultural experiences that many visitors miss entirely. During summer, locals know to check the bulletin board at the Conservatoire de Musique for impromptu concerts by students and faculty in church courtyards. Year-round, the tiny Théâtre du Chêne Noir hosts avant-garde performances that reflect Avignon's status as a theater city beyond just the famous summer festival.

One of my most memorable Avignon evenings involved following the sounds of a guitar to discover an informal flamenco performance in the courtyard of the Collection Lambert contemporary art museum. The dancer, I learned, was the museum curator's sister who had studied in Seville.

End your evening with a nightcap at Bar Le Complot, hidden on tiny Rue Bancasse. Its stone walls have absorbed centuries of conversations, and the bartender's selection of herbal liqueurs offers the perfect meditation on Provence's botanical heritage. Their house-made vin d'orange reminds me of the yuzu liqueurs my Japanese relatives craft each winter—traditions of infusion that span continents but share a common appreciation for patience and subtle complexity.

On your final morning, rise early for an experience that connects Avignon's spiritual past with its present. While tourists will queue for the Papal Palace, locals begin their day with quieter rituals. The Basilique Saint Pierre, often overlooked despite its central location, opens its doors at 6:30 AM for morning prayers. You needn't be religious to appreciate the transcendent quality of Gregorian chants echoing through the vaulted space as morning light filters through ancient stained glass.

Afterward, follow my favorite contemplative walking route along the medieval ramparts. Beginning at Porte du Rhône, the 4.3-kilometer circuit atop the walls offers constantly changing perspectives of the city and countryside. I practice a walking meditation here—a habit formed during my years teaching in Kyoto—focusing on the rhythm of my footsteps against the ancient stones.

For a different kind of spiritual experience, the Calvet Museum houses remarkable collections in a stunning 18th-century mansion. Visit before 10 AM, and you'll likely have the Lapidary Gallery to yourself—a meditative space where Roman sculptures seem to breathe in the morning stillness.

Before departing Avignon, I always make a pilgrimage to Pâtisserie Mallard on Rue de la République for their lavender honey madeleines—a perfect marriage of French technique and Provençal flavors. The owner once confided that the recipe dates back to when Avignon belonged to the popes rather than France, a small but delicious piece of living history.

As a yoga practitioner, I've found that travel requires its own form of mindfulness. My travel yoga mat has accompanied me to castle ramparts and palace gardens across Europe. There's something profoundly connecting about practicing sun salutations in places where people have greeted the morning for centuries before us—a continuity of human experience across time that makes even the most famous monuments feel personal.