“Does this bus stop at Calisson?” I’m met with a puzzled look from the driver. Thinking he hasn’t understood me I repeat the question. “I don’t know any stop Calisson”he responds gruffly.

Calisson is a traditional dessert of Aix-en-Provence. Oval shaped little cakes,no bigger than a thumb, are made from ground almond paste, candied melon or orange, and a sugar coated topping. It’s also the name of a town that houses a museum and factory dedicated to these little delicacies. Of course I want to go and visit.

But getting there without going on an organized tour has it’s price- an experience of the total chaos of French public transportation. No one seems to know anything, from where the bus terminus is, to what stops a bus makes. Trying to organize an excursion requires patience, flexibility and a comfortable pair of running shoes. With the help of a friendly local on board and a young French woman herding her small group of students from a French immersion course, we ascertain that indeed we are on the right bus.

The visit to the museum, learning the history and watching the production from a large glass window above the assembly floor and the degustation( tasting) at the end is enjoyable. Seeing an informational video showing the veneration of these little treats- a day set aside each year replete with parade and crowds of locals in traditional costumes witnessing the blessing of the cakes is impressive.

But the real fun begins with our attempt to get back to Aix. Apparently we missed the bus which comes once every hour and a half. The “bus stop” is on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere. Full sun and no bench.

“Let’s hitch a ride back to Aix” Gerald suggests gingerly. “No way. And no one will pick us up.” My legs are aching, my body sweating and the cars are zipping by sending their exhaust fumes straight to our faces.

“OKAY. Let’s try.” Cars speed by, some slowing down to look at these two crazy people standing in the middle of the road with our hands out. (actually Gerald is the only one with his hand out, I am too embarrassed. )

Within five minutes a Renault stops and a well dressed French woman with flawless make up and neatly coiffed blonde hair, smiles and tells us to get in. We spend the next fifteen minutes in lively conversation and arrive at the Cour Mirabeau in the center of town refreshed and relaxed.

Now,sitting in our modern, sun filled apartment with two boxes of calisson on the table in front of us, we are trying our best to resist the urge to devour them with our apero, especially since they are meant to be gifts for our friends in Paris!