Isabella Arles Whore ❤️

About Nantes

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the OGs of gettin’ by, swear to God. Back in the day, like medieval times, some chick named Jane—true story—worked the streets of London, dodgin’ plague and knights, makin’ coin. Little known fact: she’d trade secrets too, not just ass—spies paid her! That’s badass, right? Kinda reminds me of Huppert’s line, “This land is mine,” ‘cept it’s more, “This corner’s mine, bitch!” Gets me pumped, that kinda hustle.

Arles travel guide

In short, you see, the South which is painted so dryly by Gérôme and Fromentin is from here [Arles] on already essentially a country whose intimate charm can be.

There's this park, Parc Georges de Leusse right by the banks of the Rhône, where I chill on breezy afternoons. I can’t even begin to tell you how the soft sunlight warms my face like a lazy kiss. And lemme tell ya, the local vibe gets me so f***ing happy! I even imgine sass-ful dialogue from that Kiarostami flick in my head—I’m like, "Certified Copy, baby, certified copy!"

Arles: A Little Town Living in the Long Shadow of a Painter