The Last Leg Before Home

We took the train back to the airport and spent the night at the airport Hilton (to the tune of 188 Euros/night) and finally, finally got a shower head that was taller than we are.  We had been crouching under showers that were about the right height for a six year old.  Yes, we could have lifted the head out of the stand and sprayed random bits of ourselves, but we're not used to that -- shower heads stay where they're supposed to in America! - and we would have sprayed the entire bathroom!

We unpacked the next day's outfits and nothing else and went down to the bar for a beer.  The lobby/bar/restaurant area was pretty much deserted.  We sat at the bar and the only other guest was sitting down at the other end, visiting with the bartender. 

We sipped our beers and ate a peanut or two from the dish on the bar.   Another guest came in, a guy about 40-45 years old who walked up and sat one barstool away from Richie.  We got to talking and it turns out that he is a private pilot for an unnamed sheik; in Paris on a layover. 

He said he lives at home in Seattle for a month with his wife and college-age daughter, then flies back to the sheik and works two months; repeat.  Occasionally, his wife flies in to join him at some exotic location. 

He said that the sheik employs three pilots, but one of them had just left and the replacement couldn't join up until some time in September.  He added that the job pays very, very well and his personal goal is to buy a 100-acre farm, and pay it off fully.

I asked if they flew US regulation hours (eight hours on duty and that's all) and he replied that they didn't because it was a privately-owned aircraft with three different sets of regulations and charter rules.  Their minimum is 10 hours.

He said the sheik is in the process of buying a new, larger plane --no, not a 747 -- I asked! but that he's "a bit lazy" about crew quarters on the plane.  In short, not awfully concerned about the pilot comforts.  I thought that was funny - I pictured an irate sheik, standing in the doorway of a closet yelling at the pilot  sleeping on the floor, "The control for my revolving, king-sized bed is not working! Do something about it!"

Next morning we had to be at the airport by 7:30 a.m.  and we overslept until 6:45!  But we made it!  The Hilton shuttle was outside the door when we tumbled through it and off we went. 

Odds, Ends, Observations

His bag was filled with rocks - a geologist.

On the Train

The train conductor

We're in the first car after the engine.  The bar car is five on down.  The drug dog with a handler and two other officers came through.  All were in plain clothes and bright orange armbands that said "Douan" (Customs.)  They passed, I forgot about them, but then Richie came back from a beer run empty-handed.  He said, "They closed the bar car and the dog was sniffing around."

"Was the bartender still in there?"  I was curious because he had one of the more interesting mouths I've ever seen -- top row of teeth, left side only.  Bottom row of teeth, right side only.  Richie said he was, leaning against his counter.

Sidewalk Cafes
There's a reason they are everyone's second living room.  You can smoke with impunity and the French love nothing better than sitting (comfortably, of course) and critiquing passers-by's outfits.  French women are, generally speaking, well-groomed and well dressed, but they don't know squat about shoes.  It's as if they bought the outfit at Dior -- and then darted in to Payless for the shoes.  A disturbing new fashion -- bra straps everywhere you looked.  The women were extremely careless about matching the right  bra to the dress/blouse cut. 

The Busy Port
Due to construction, much of the sidewalks are blocked, and the roar is constant into the night - the back-up bells, the roar of engines or heavy-duty equipment, the scrape of a bulldozer blade on concrete -- and the ambulances.

Either the Old Port has a huge elderly population or else a very accident-prone one.  Every morning, I'd sit out on the balcony with my coffee and listen for the First Ambulance of the Day.  I must say help is at hand, because the ambulances circle (like vultures) on the road around the Old Port.  Never during our visit did see the accident or cause for the sirens.

Who Am I?
I was asked to my face if I was Dutch?  Another person asked if I were Swiss?  And on the train back to Paris -- "Are you English?"  You'd think that after four words in that accent! (mine) they'd know absolutely that I am an American.

Dejeuner en Pleine Air or Backyard Lunch

The groom's parents held Sunday lunch the day after the wedding in their back yard.  Some 100 guests mixed, sipped and ate.  I believe we were introduced to everyone present and because we were at a private party at a private house, every single one of them greeted us with the double kiss!  Not even in my long career as a woman of no particular repute have I been kissed by so many, including four and five year old kids!

Richie, being from New York, is quite used to giving female friends a quick peck on the lips, so coming in for the side of his cheek rather confused him in the beginning.

The weather co-operated beautifully, too.  Having survived the kiss-a-thon, we got beers and browsed.  One end of the drinks table held salty snacks -- black or green tapanede (both made by our hostess.) crackers, baguette slices and olives.

Much was made of the presence of a whole Iberian ham.  These hams are cured for 24 to 36 months and were once wild boars, fed largely on a diet of acorns.  Their Spanish name is "pata negra" because they have black nails, the distinguishing characteristic of Iberian hams.  Beware though -- unscrupulous ham dealers have been known to paint the toenails black!  And at between $639 -$650 per ham -- Sue the bastard!  France is much closer to Spain than we here are, so maybe they're not quite as roaringly expensive there as here.  The American price runs about $96/lb. 

The texture is not as coarse as beef jerky, but not as flimsy as prosciutto.  I liked it (but not at those prices.)

The Next Showstopper was the arrival of four men carrying an enormous paella platter.  Naturally the lead guy was a clown who faked stumbles and dropping it.   This was not a popular move - French people take their food Very Seriously Indeed. 

Salad followed the paella and then came the cheese course.  Dessert consisted of your choise of four, different ice creams (presented in the cartons so that you could see which was which) - vanilla, citron, strawberry and pistachio.  The groom's mother had also made a huge mousse au chocolat that was out of this world!  She adds crushed, sugared almonds to the mix which gives it crunch against the silky texture of the mousse. (I had two slices...)

Next trays of fruit were passed around and the French fastidiously peeled their peaches or carefully cut slices of melon as we all lounged around the tables; their tableclothes speckled with crumbs and wadded-up napkins.  Over all lay a mood of deep contentment, punctuated by the occasional belch. 

The paella

Paella cooker

Guests

World's Best Mousse au Chocolat!

Iberian ham

This repose lasted only for a short time.  The sportier members of the group went out to the front yard to play sand volleyball.  (Our hosts have a court.)  It was all I could do to stagger to a seat in the shade and watch.  Very unAmerican, I know.  But you weren't there and you didn't eat like I did!

At A French Wedding

The groom and his mother

The bride and her father

Reciting their vows

Married!

Well wishers after the ceremony

Our godson - handsome devil, isn't he?

The extended wedding party

The bride changed to something cooler - it was a hot night

We missed the Mayor's office because we turned left instead of right.  When we did find it, the wedding party was streaming down the sidewalk, ready to drive to the church.  We were told we hadn't missed anything and, in fact, his/her office was hotter than hell is reported to be -- no air conditioning.    

We Interrupt This Travelogue...for the Hermosa Beach Fiesta

Yes.  The bike has a wheel.

This is not a pig.  It's a dog the owners painted pink.

BIG beautiful dog (Great Dane, I believe)

Barbecued prawns



New This Year - Ferris Wheel



The oar as cane...



Santa Maria tri-tip



The patio crowd at the Poopdeck

Carrie-le-Rouet

It's a village (pop. 6,331) 19 miles west of Marseilles.  We went to recce the place, mainly how to find it, for the wedding on Saturday.  First we had to be in the mayor's office there at 4 p.m.; second we would all traipse to another village, 6 kilometers away, for the church wedding in Ensues-le-Redonne at 5 p.m.  Carry-le-Rouet is the couple's home village.

Naturally we timed our arrival for a leisurely lunch.  Below is the seafood salad supreme - skewers of scallops and mussels with lobster and deep-fried shrimp and a stuffed oyster.  We both ordered it -  16 Euros each and that's a big piece of lobster!

Lemon tart with meringue for me...

Mousse au chocolate for Richie

The beach

The water

The boat basin

Restaurant  Le Scoop, 13620 Carry-le-Rouet - first or second restaurant as you walk into the waterfront; white awnings. Lunch and dessert came to 55 Euros, including the service compris.

The 30Eu/Night Difference

Never having stayed in a Marseilles hotel prior to this visit, I had to rely on guidebooks and kayak.com to "see" the various hotels (and their prices.)  Travel expert Rick Steves praised one as being relatively cheap, clean, great location and so on.  He mentioned in passing that the hotel layout was a bit different.

Indeed it is.  After entering the street door, you climb up two flights of steep stairs.  You will arrive at the reception desk.  After signing in, you will take your bags up another flight of stairs where you will find the elevator.  It took us up one flight to our floor.  Why it's all the way up there and not down where an elevator would be useful, I will never know.

In truth, this building dates back to the 1800s and has been re-configured several times in its long history.  The floors tend to slope and gave me the feeling of a sailor on shore leave.

The room itself was small (I would later joke that I'

ve been in bigger bathrooms - on a plane!) and sparsely furnished -- one battered wooden kitchen chair or the bed were the sit-down choices.  The selling point was the view from The Window (one.)  The old port is U-shaped and the hotel was located in the bottom of the U.

It was very hot the night we arrived and since the a/c seemed not to be working, I left said window open -- and we listened to traffic, sirens, car radios and drunks yelling until I finally got up and closed it. 

Next morning, we went down for breakfast in the lounge area.  It was 7.9 Euros for both of us.  A nice spread - slices of deli ham, an egg cooker, croissants, butter, yogurt, dry cereals and apricot or orange juice.

The egg cooker, rarely, if ever, seen in the US.

That morning, my goal was to find another hotel and since the Old Port sides are dotted with them, we could just pop in and inquire.  The Alize is a very good hotel for youthful people - backpackers maybe who are used to hurtling themselves up mountains and down roads.  It's not for rapidly-aging Americans.

Hotel Alize, 35 Quai des Belges,k 13001 Marseilles alize-hotel.com

On our stroll around the port, we popped into the first hotel we came to -- Hotel La Residence, 18 quai du Port (hotel-residence-Marseilles.com) and they had me at the first "Bonjour!"

Look!  an elevator on the first floor!  A computer for guest's usage!  Wonderfully chill a/c.  A chic restaurant (theirs) just outside the front door!  The clerk gave me the rate -- 130 Euros/night and I asked to see a room.  She handed me the key to 403; we promised not to touch anything and bounded onto the elevator.  The room faced the right of the U with a splendid view from the solid balcony (not like New Orleans where balconies seem to be made of black iron lace) with a small table and two chairs.

We went back down, I handed her the key and said, "We'll take it!"  Richie made me stay at the Alize that night because I'd told that desk clerk that we would.  With a sigh that would have broken a less steely heart, I meekly acquiesced. 

View from our balcony

View from our balcony

Sorry - turn your head; this is the bed

Next day we moved into heaven.  In fact, we got room 403.  Some of the amenities:  A bathroom bigger (nearly) than our room at the Alize; coffee/tea maker with mugs, ice bucket, honor bar and two wine glasses; a much bigger bed with four pillows;  The balcony and chairs where I smoked contentedly - smoking is forbidden in the room, but an ashtray was provided along with a book of matches and the earnest written plea that we not smoke in the room. Happy to comply!

Best of all were the four desk clerks we encountered during our stay.  They of them were very professionally-dressed women; the fourth was the night guy who was very friedly and funny.  The ladies were long-legged (a trend now in France) and thin.  They reminded me of sleek greyhounds.

The ladies were of immense help -- called us a cab, showed us where to park, answered questions about where things were; provided maps and logged me on to the computer every morning -- all of these things were done with maximum friendliness and a genuine desire to be useful.  They were so nice that when we visited Aix, I brought them back little boxes of Callisons as a modest "thank you.".  They were quite surprised.

The breakfast help, a waitress and a young waiter were friendly and watchful.  Our first morning, I asked for a glass of water so that we could take our pills.  The next morning, this waiter grinned and brought a pitcher of water to the table.  "For the pills," he announced.  Yes, that kind of attention to detail.

The outdoor terrace was a great place to butter a chunk of baguette, spread honey on it and eat it, gazing at the never-ending parade of people along the port.

I liked it all there so much that I was only half-joking when I said I was going to move in and the hell with going home.