"A French Connection" Marseille Travelogue by flyingkiwi

DAY 1 - DESTINATION MARSEILLE

Saturday 21st May 1994.

5.00 p.m., a slight scattering of rain trickles down the window of the busy departure lounge at Gatwick Airport. I await my call to board British Airways flight 3208 - destination Marseille.

I plan to visit some friends who live in the small Alpine town of Barcelonnette in Southern France. We arranged to meet at Marseille and spend a few days on the popular Cote d'Azur staying at their apartment in St. Raphael. I last saw them a couple of years ago when they visited England. I will be staying with Suzanne and Pierre for ten days.

At 5.20 p.m. the tannoy announces the call to board. I grab my pack and follow the exodus down a spiralling corridor leading outside onto the runway. The plane looks small but once inside it is surprisingly spacious. It had been almost eight years since I last set foot on an aeroplane, that journey was to New Zealand and it took a day and a half. My memories of that flight were not good so as I sat down a bit of apprehension set in.

After the safety formalities the pilot started up and the aeroplane's engines roared. We trundle down the runway at a reasonable speed but not, it seemed, fast enough to carry us into the skies. Then suddenly and so quickly that I was rocked by the g-forces the plane found an extra gear and jetted off.

Within seconds all was silent again as we rose several thousand feet above the rain clouds. Specks of Britain could be seen below, towns and cities dotting the landscape. I felt relaxed, I had forgotten how powerful these machines are! I sat next to a middle-aged gentleman who travelled with his family. His wife and kids sat one row in front. As the kids argued over who was sitting next to the window, his wife tried in vain to shut them up. To be honest the only thing that I could see through the window (when I wasn't blinded by the sun) was clouds, clouds and more clouds. Then again I suspect that I would have been the same at that age.

The flight to Marseille is only two hours long and there was barely time for dinner. But dinner was served and it was surprisingly edible.

The meal was brought to me on a small tray and everything was contained in one of those cellophane covered cups that are impossible to open. The menu consisted of: -

Starters
Small Bread roll (with butter)
Orange Juice

Main Course
(dodgy) Salmon and Salad Sidedish

Deserts
Stone cold Apple Pie
Cheese and Biscuits

8.15 p.m., I can make out the city of Marseille far beneath the clouds. The landscape resembles a skilfully woven quilt, such was the image projected by the tightly packed fields. Our decent to the Airport in the province of Marignane carries us over a vast lake known to the French as Etang de Berre. Lower and lower the plane descends and just at a point when I feared that it would hit the water a landing strip appeared and touchdown is complete.

The sun was setting in Marseille and although the weather outside was warm it was not uncomfortable. As I make my way to the baggage lounge I meet up with Suzanne and Pierre - friendly faces in a foreign country.

No time is wasted and after collecting my luggage we drive off along the coast in an easterly direction to Suzanne's apartment in St. Raphael. After a good hours drive we arrive in St. Raphael. The town is positively vibrant. Although late the seafront cafés and bars are busy, their neon lights reflecting onto the luxury yachts which sway steadily in the calm Mediterranean sea. This region of the Cote d'Azur, situated only miles away from St. Tropez and Cannes, houses the richest men, women and children in the whole of France. Suzanne's apartment usually houses her mother. Not, I've been informed, one of the richest women in France! She's staying in Manosque at the moment so we make St. Raphael our home and a centre to explore the Cote d'Azur region.

The apartment, situated inland, is not on par with the large villas on the coast but it still had a certain charm about it. We sit on the balcony overlooking.....well - just a carpark really (although there were some rather nice palm trees)! Here we eat, drink and generally catch up on past news. A wonderfully pleasant evening passes in the peace and quiet of St. Raphael, Southern France.


DAY 2 - ST TROPEZ, PLAYGROUND FOR THE RICH AND FAMOUS

Sunday 22nd May 1994.

9.45 a.m. Intense heat forces me to get up. I wrestle for a while with the primitive foldaway bed, nearly breaking both arms in the process. As I pull open the decorative curtains I am blinded by rays of sunlight. I lunge at the shutters leading onto the balcony almost gasping for breath in the increasingly stuffy lounge. Even now there is no escape, it's even hotter outside!

In fact it's a gloriously sunny day on the coast and ideal for a visit to Tahiti beach in St. Tropez. Sunbathing, as like many things in St. Tropez, did not come cheaply. It cost the equivalent of three pounds just to set foot on the sand! I felt totally out of place among so many brazen bodies, I was an Englishman among people of the Mediterranian, and didn't it just show!

We ate lunch on Tahiti beach. Huge yachts and speedboats passed by on the sky blue sea. I could feel the sun burning away at my skin, temperatures had reached thirty degrees plus by midday and before it got unbearable we decided to head into the town for some shade.

St. Tropez has everything you could possibly want but could never afford, a real playground for the rich and famous. The harbour, like nearby St. Raphael, was lined with luxury yachts. The one exception was that these yachts were bigger, better and more expensive. Everything about St. Tropez is bigger, better and more expensive, it's the way the people like it!

The place had a real Mediterranean feel to it. On the promenade painters sold their ware, the many cafés and open air restaurants acted as havens from the intense heat. These havens would trap passers by and charge the earth for a thirst quencher. Unfortunately we were gullible enough to be drawn into one such café, two in fact! At the first café we were served by Madame Attitude herself and after debating the cost of a glass of water with the obnoxious lady we left and took a place in the next one along.

Although it was three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon the streets of St. Tropez were busy. To escape from the crowd (and sun!) we went for a walk around the back streets. The tall stone buildings protected us from the sun but the crowds were just about everywhere. A group of young folk dancers passed by waving and laughing merrily. People may go to St. Tropez solely for its beaches but behind its flashy exterior lies a welcome and interesting town, one that was well worth a visit.

From St. Tropez we climbed the nearby hills to the small village of Grimaud, 10 kilometres away. The village is dominated by a large ruined castle built on the very tip of a hill. The views from here were truly stunning. The Gulf of St. Tropez glistening in the mid-afternoon sun, incorporating the towns of St. Martique and St. Raphael made it a great photo opportunity.

We arrived back in St. Raphael at 5.30 p.m. and after a delicious meal of beef cutlets, roast potatoes and lettuce garnished in olive oil we walked into neighbouring Frejus. The weather was so mild, warm even, that a T-shirt and shorts were sufficient. Like yesterday the seafront was illuminated and full of life, it capped a thoroughly enjoyable, if tiring, day.

DAY 3 - RETURN TO BARCELONNETTE

Monday 23rd May 1994.

The rusty old Datsun reeled off the miles, I sat on the back seat wedged between my brother and my gran, my arse was numb, the car was sticky. This was almost seven years ago to the day and I recall the journey vividly. My parents thought that it would be a good idea to drive the 700 odd miles to the Alpine town of Barcelonnette. Yeah, great idea! Today I was due to reunite with this little town.

I rose early and we climbed nearby Dramont. From the top you could see for miles. Below us waves battered ferociously against the crimson rocks. There was something so special about the area that I used a whole film in only three days. Situated at the foot of Dramont was a small, uncrowded beach. As Suzanne went for a swim I retreated to the beach café for a cool, refreshing coke.

Today was a bank holiday, shops closed at midday so before leaving we stocked up on food at the Hypermarket in Frejus. By four o'clock we were well on our way. Pierre drove his fine air-conditioned car at breakneck speed around the winding mountain roads. The air here was fresher, more bearable and after a couple of stops we had reached Barcelonnette. It was seven o'clock, the fresh smell of pine trees lingered in the air, paragliders were out in force and the town was bathed in evening sunshine as if to welcome me back. Apart from the demise of the Swimming pool, which once proudly overlooked the town, little had changed.

Pierre's house is precariously perched high above the town centre. How he grows anything in that 45 degrees garden is anyone's guess. I meet Pierre's mother, the elderly lady welcomes me with open arms and we sit outside drinking a bizarre aniseed drink of high alcoholic content. After this experience we head into the valley to Chalet des Pins. Chalet des Pins lies in the nearby hamlet of St. Pons, it is Suzanne's house. I stayed here in 1987 on my last visit. It's good to be back in Barcelonnette and I sleep well that night in the cool mountain air.

DAY 4 - A NEW BOY IN TOWN

Tuesday 24th May 1994.

The noise of light rain beating against my bedroom window wakes me up. I pull open the shutters and examine the weather, its overcast but not cold. I dress and discover a note left by Suzanne, her mother broke her shoulder last night and she has had to leave for Manosque. Tennis from Roland Garros and talk of a "killer bug" sweeping England provides less than enthralling viewing on the TV.

In the afternoon Pierre and I go into Barcelonnette. The town centre is pretty much as I remember it, narrow cobbled streets dividing the shops. Today the rain has washed away some of the towns real charm and the huge mountains surrounding it are obscured by low lying clouds. Despite all this its still 16 degrees centigrade outside so who was I to complain!

In a moment of madness I call into the office of AN Rafting and put my name down for tomorrow's Whitewater Rafting expedition. I've always wanted to try my hand at Whitewater Rafting and for 210 francs (approx. 21) now seemed as good a time as any.

Yet another dejeuner delicious at Suzanne's. Unfortunately this time I was tricked into eating 'black boudin' described to me as a spicy sausage popular in the Caribbean. It wasn't until I had gamefully digested the boudin that Suzanne explained the ingredients - dried animal blood and fat. Too similar to our very own Black Pudding, a food that I had vowed never to touch in my lifetime!

DAY 5 - RIDING THE RAPIDS

Wednesday 25th May 1994.

I leave the Chalet to take some photographs of the area. Its hot and sticky outside and today the lofty mountain tops can be seen clearly. I bump into Monsieur Esmenjaud, Suzanne's neighbour obviously remembers me. We shake hands and I manage to garble something in French about the weather. The elderly gentleman was affectionly known by my gran as Joe (pronunciation problems made this possible) but when he started doing chicken impressions I left him be.

Back at the Chalet the tacky word game known as 'Motus' was on. It had become a favourite of mine, mainly because it was so crap. In fact as a whole French television is crap and best avoided. I looked at the time and remembered that I was due to go Rafting in less than an hour. I quickly grabbed my gear and headed for the centre in Barcelonnette.

On arrival I was told that the pickup jeep was not going to arrive for half an hour at least. "No Problem" I said and left for a leisurely stroll around the town. Most of the shops were closed for lunch although I did manage to pick up some postcards. Upon returning to the pickup point half an hour gradually became an hour but, boy was the wait worth it!

There were five of us in our group and I wasn't the only mug trying this out first time, there were two others. We were briefed on the different strokes to use and the 'man over board' procedure by the charismatic, young instructor Pierre Dabout. Finally after donning wetsuits we took up our positions on the dingy and with little fear or trepidation we set off down the Ubaye. I sat in the middle row in front of Eric, a Frenchman who spoke a little English. Pierre was perched suicidally at the back directing the dingy so to maximise the impact on the rapids. The first few were pathetically tame and just as I began to play the roll of Captain Chapman, conqueror of the rapids it happened.

The flowing river turned into a rampaging torrent, the dingy tossed and turned, a huge wave engulfed us. The next thing I saw was one of our crew members shooting down the river on her back. We steadied ourselves and held out an oar which she gratefully accepted. Strangely this experience only made us more determined not to fall in and with gritted teeth we dug deep into our resources and completed the two-hour journey relatively unscathed. By the end of it there was a good comradely between the five of us. We surveyed the raging Ubaye river from the base camp high above Barcelonnette, a truly awesome site!

Eric gave me a lift back into town. He was staying in Barcelonnette for the week doing various water activities at the AN Centre. These activities included Kayaking and the bizzarly named Riding the Hot Dog. He had picked up his English from a visit as an exchange student to Bournemouth. Thanking him I made the short walk into St. Pons grateful for the experience of Whitewater Rafting.

DAY 6 - THE BIG MATCH

Thursday 26th May 1994.

2.30 p.m. I sit on a grassy slope high above Barcelonnette, spectacular views surround me. Momentarily the peacefulness is broken by the beat of cicadas wings. I'm eating French bread and ham that I'd purchased in the town this morning. It's taken a good few hours to reach this point but on a clear day like today the end result is certainly worth it.

After lunch I make the decent into Barcelonnette and enjoy a cool beer at the Café de Paris. Here I sit, life is totally relaxed.

In the evening Suzanne and I go to a Staff verses Pupils football match at her school in Barcelonnette. It bared little resemblance to the five-a-sides we used to play at my school. A fair crowd had gathered in a ground that would not have looked out of place in the English football league. There was a notable lack of linesman and even more surprisingly the teachers looked every bit as good as the pupils. A possible reason for this may have been that the 'Staff team' were largely made up of prefects and helpers. One such helper (an Englishman, I was informed) was particularly skilful. We left at half time when the score was 2-1 to the pupils.

7.00 p.m. Its Pierre's birthday, time to celebrate.

DAY 7 - WALKING LES ALLEMANDS

Friday 27th May 1994.

Suzanne tells me that the Staff verses Pupils Football match ended 6-0 to the pupils. Quite strange considering it was 2-1 at half time. Perhaps the teacher's goal was ruled out for an offside (although the lack of linesman makes this hard to believe). Then again who really cares? I for one certainly don't!

After lunch Suzanne visits her mother in Manosque and I take the nearby walk known as Les Allemands. A steep dirt track carries me upwards and in the sweltering heat it becomes quite a effort. Still, I needed the exercise. Tomorrow Suzanne and Pierre, pretty fit people in their own right, planned to take me on a four-hour walk up the mountain known as La Loop. If I felt bad today La Loop would kill me!

Back at the Café de Paris in the relaxed atmosphere of the town square. The square, dominated by the old church, is aligned with cafés and restaurants but Café de Paris had become a firm favourite of mine. I handed in my film taken in the Cote d'Azur to be developed and spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the easygoing life of Barcelonnette on this, yet another gloriously sunny day.

DAY 8 - CONQUERING LA LOOP

Saturday 28th May 1994.

The words "get up, we're going on a four-hour walk" after a sticky and uncomfortable night did not go down too well to say the least. However, that was the plan and I knew it so begrudgingly I slipped on my boots and packed some provisions for the hike ahead.

We start the ascent of La Loop. Gradually the tarmat roads turn to dirt tracks until we stand on nothing more than natural foliage. The going is tough. Suzanne and Pierre are experienced walkers, they're used to going on long hikes, but the thin mountain air severely stretches my resources. Through lush, green fields sporting a variety of flowers and plants, past flowing streams and along a winding path that never seems to reach the summit.

As we climb higher the conifers become noticeably sparse and before we know it patches of snow cover the land we walk on. We walk as far as possible and the views are amazing with a virtual 360 degrees scope of the surrounding area. Barcelonnette has been reduced to a mere speck many feet below us and only 65 kilometres to the east Italy lies.

We stop to catch breath and enjoy the views before heading to a tranquil area beside a small lake for a most welcome lunch. With our energy up again we make the less exhausting trek back to Barcelonnette. As I looked back on the walk with limbs aching I realised that it was worth the effort if only for the magnificent views.

Once back in Barcelonnette I called into the camera shop to pick up my film. My fears were compounded when the film was returned undeveloped. It seems that it became loose while inside my camera and there was little I could do apart from curse the fact that I'd lost a whole roll taken in the beautiful Cote d'Azur. To say that I was pissed off would be an understatement!

DAY 9 - THE PRAIRIE OF THE WOLVES

Sunday 29th May 1994.

I feel sore. Not from yesterdays walk but from the sunburn which has affected my legs.

11.00 a.m. - We go to Pierre's house for a barbecue. As always Pierre's mother is there to welcome us. The Spanish Grand Prix is on the television.

In the afternoon we drive to the ski resort of Pra-Loup (meaning the Prairie of the Wolves). Pra-Loup is a ghost town, the shops and are locked up, the streets deserted. Pierre estimates that there are less than 100 inhabitants at the moment in a resort that swells to more than twenty times that much in the winter. We take a walk along the mountain track, a route that Suzanne and Pierre use for cross country skiing in the winter. We continue to a point overlooking the valley, it's far less demanding than yesterdays trek.

DAY 10 - AU REVOIR BARCELONNETTE!

Monday 30th May 1994.

12.30 p.m. It's time for me to leave Barcelonnette and say goodbye to Suzanne and Pierre who have been so kind and hospitable over the last ten days. I thank them before boarding the coach that will take me to the town of Gap and, eventually, Aix en Provence.

1.30 p.m. Arrive in Gap, a busy town and the largest in the area. There is nothing to do except wait for the transfer. I eat my lunch in a park near the bus depot.

2.30 p.m. Board a second coach for Aix en Provence.

After spending a few hours on the coach the scenery flattened out, the conifers and rock faces became vineyards and fields and before I knew it I'd reached Aix en Provence. The coach stopped at a large and extremely busy depot and I waited in the sticky heat for a bus to the Airport in Marignane.

Eventually a bus arrived and it took me the few miles to the airport where I phoned the Hotel Ibis to be picked up. The three star Hotel was just what I needed after a busy day on the road. After checking in and taking a refreshing shower in my large and comfortable forth floor room I went into the restaurant for a late dinner. After securing a 5.30 a.m. wake-up call with reception I settle down and watch a bit of Golf on Eurosport.

DAY 11 - BACK TO OLD BLIGHTY!

Tuesday 31st May 1994.

5.30 a.m. I am awoke by the ringing of a telephone. Momentarily I forget where I am - who is this strange foreign voice on the line? Had the long coach journey of yesterday taken its toll? Then I remember, I have a plane to catch! I grab my luggage and head downstairs. The shuttle bus is waiting and my final connection is made.

Marseille Airport is near deserted when I check in and after buying an English Newspaper I sit in the departure lounge waiting and pondering the past few days. What a great time it had been. The weather could not have been better and it was going to seem really odd returning to the unpredictable weather of old Blighty. Nevertheless Blighty was where I was heading and that's where I live and in a strange sort of a way I missed that unpredictable weather.

THE END

Chalet des pins

A view of Barcelonette

The shepherds hut

MOO!