Summer in Provence
Nice
Sasha was unrecognizable when she came over to my table at Le Tarte Tropezienne at the airport. I thought she was a tourist who wanted to sit with me. A few weeks ago we had a video call for the first time in a long time, and within the first five minutes we agreed to meet in the south of France.
We didn't plan anything else, booked the tickets, and now here we are. Anticipation ran high, with the freedom of open days and recklessness cocooned by the invincibility that summer inspires.
Antibes
We couldn't afford to rent a car so we took a train and stayed in a room in a villa in Antibes. The first night we walked around old Antibes and I loved the fortress and the ports, which reminded me of another summer in La Rochelle. In the morning we went through the markets and separated - she to go to a cafe to work, and I to dip in the sea. I hadn't seen such clear waters in a long time. An Italian family offered me a banana. Sasha came back and we had a lunch of baguettes, Port Salut, jam, and fresh peaches.
St Raphael
Every night we were in a different town. At St Raphael we lived in a big chambre with two windows that opened up to the town's only cinema. I didn't sleep well again, in the oppressive heat of peak summer with the air hanging heavy with humidity, without any circulation. We could open the windows but it meant sleeping with mosquitoes buzzing in my ears. It was usual to wake up with the sheets sticky with sweat.
St Tropez
In my daydreams it was a glitzy yacht that took my bikini-clad self to St Tropez, but with 27 euros you can only get passage on the tourist ferry. It was a city of many charming alleys and corners, and photos of Bridgett Bardot and many celebrated people who came by to pass their summers here. I was covered in sweat all day - the only relief was when we went for a dip in the ocean. Even the breeze while on the ferry was little relief - still, I fell asleep, head in a haze of post-sun fatigue.
Gare de St Raphael
We took our suitcases and waited an hour in the train station. I flipped through some magazines while eating a quick dinner comprising of a Coca Cola, leftover baguette, cheese from Monoprix, eaten with a plastic knife. It was such a pleasure to arrive early at European train stations and wait. But it was never enough time for me to start doing what I wanted to do all vacation: to read, write, and daydream. Too soon the train arrived and we found a booth to sit in, for the three hour journey to Marseilles.
Marseilles
I got all excited again because I had heard so much of this city, tracing all the way back to the time when I knew France only through little snippets and images in my cahier niveau 1. We arrived late but nothing could keep me inside - I was attracted to the streets and went for a solo walk through midnight Marseilles. All my senses were heightened from the reputation of this city and the unfamiliarity of it. It was a Friday night and I was heading to the Friche du Belle Mai. I could understand the notoriety of Marseilles - the streets looked shady from all the graffiti and groups of men sitting outside.
Tonight there was a show until late. All around the Friche - a youth cultural center combining a multi-story event venue, skate park, basketball court, and beer garden - were groups of young people dressed trendily, and there was an almost palpable energy in the air that I wanted to be a part of. I was an observer and I wanted suddenly, so badly, to belong there, to be part of the hip crowds. I decided I had to stay and see what happens. So I bought a 10-euro ticket, went into the show, and was immediately disappointed that no one was inside. I had misunderstood, through my poor understanding of French, what the show was. I was too early. I sat on a chair to the side to re-evaluate the rest of the night, to be content with absorbing the atmosphere, but suddenly, the situation was subverted. Marseilles was too vibrant to let me play the part of the observer - it absorbed me right into the atmosphere.
One of the blue-jacketed security guards came up to me and asked <<tu es toute seule?>> Are you alone? Did I want to get a beer and come back later? His name was S. I said yes, and left with him and his other security guard friend. I went with them as they navigated the streets. The further we left the venue, the more bizarre I felt the night go. This walk to get a drink, which I thought was going to be a quick pass at nearby bar, grew longer and longer, passing well-lit streets and main tramway alleys into rubbish-filled alleys. It was a little difficult to understand their Senegalese French accents, so I never really fully understood what was happening. We sat on the street and a man emerged from the window of the building across us, brushing his teeth and saying something at us. It was his friend or cousin or someone. We left and passed some guys on the streets, from whom S bought three pieces of cigarette paper and a single cigarette. We bought some beer from a grocery store that stored its beer in a fridge covered by dark cloth. We sat on the streets again, now becoming like the rest of the groups of young people whom I had been suspicious of. The streets departed away from being threatening - after being part of it for a while I thought it had an energy that resembled a festival.
At the Vallon des Auffes, this beautiful valley of yachts and daredevil divers, the only bus that came by that went back to the city center was so full that we couldn't get on it. I told Sasha, hey, let's hitchhike, and stuck out my arm on the incoming traffic. I felt that everyone was looking at me -- the two Marseillias at the bus stop, the cars who drove onward after looking curiously or looking like they were contemplating stopping. Shortly a big SUV pulled up - the driver, a bald man, rolled down his windows and quickly I said <<Bonjour monsieur, on voudrait aller au centre ville>>. He said something about being able to drop us nearby, then <<Allez, allez! Vite, vite!>> and there was no more time for thought, and acting to trust that first instinct, we got in, incredulous and swept over by a wave of adrenaline. Inside the car, the woman on the passenger seat made a joke about how she had just gotten the bald man out of prison, for some crime to do with three young women. They dropped us off near a bus stop, complete with recommendations and areas to avoid.
Nice
We checked into our last AirBnB. After a kebab at the beach, we went for a slow walk to Old Nice. The next morning she left first, on 23 bus, door shutting quickly and the bus taking her to the airport before we could properly understand it was the last time we'd see each other until the unknown next time. I wandered around Nice, to get a peach at the market. I walked up and down the main avenue, feeling the same relentless sun beating on my tanned skin.
Grasse
Sasha went to a visit a perfume factory for a workshop, while I chose to stay in the town and wander, popping in and out of the many shops and houses. The heat got to me - I went to my beloved Monoprix for lunch and tried to find somewhere in the shade to sit. But the town didn't have a shady square; everything was out and open to the sun's oppressive scrutiny. I went into the Musee Internationale de Parfumerie, less interested in the exhibit than the orange garden. I had my lunch of jus d'orange, citron biscuits, an apple, and a peach. I fell asleep on the bench under the shade of orange trees.
When I woke up Sasha was calling me on the phone. She was also in the museum, about to buy her ticket. She came to the garden to find me and went to see the exhibits. I admired her patience with all these workshops and museums -- I couldn't do it, preferring to leave my mind empty and let the sun fill it everywhere, so that I was entirely an unthinking being. I stayed a while longer in my garden and went to check out the museum very quickly. Did you know that the eau de Cologne is made from a bergamot base? It was the only thing I learned.