Viva la France – that was said to me by someone already when I tried to hitchhike away from Genova. I guess he was a traveler from France. There I also met two more hitchhikers from France. They asked me if hitchhiking in Italy is ok and where would be best place to catch a ride to Pisa. Well, I didn’t want to say that there isn’t any good place, so I said that I don’t know, hitchhiking in Italy is damn hard anyway. They said to me that in France it is very easy. I really didn’t imagine. Actually, for the night I had to get to small town named Antibes near Nice. It was easy to get to Nice, but as I spent some time there, I got pretty late with hitchhiking to Antibes. I stood in bus stop, trying to catch any car, but yeah, at that time, I didn’t have any luck. Two old women came there and seeing me with a sign where was written Antibes, they tried to explain that there goes bus for only one euro. I tried to explain that it is mission for me to only hitchhike. It was amazing to see their faces, as they really didn’t understand why someone should want to hitchhike when bus ticket is so cheap. They offered me money, but then I showed that I don’t need any, I have lots of money, it is just principle. But finally, as the time when I promised to be in Antibes was getting close, I still took the bus. It was first bus ride outside the cities on this trip. But I didn’t want to leave it that way. I still wanted to hitchhike all the way through Europe. So, next day I hitchhiked back to Nice. So stubborn is my mind. But anyway, after that I was just all the time surprised how easy it is to hitchhike in France, and I was surprised of how French people seems. Don’t get me wrong, I always had believed that I find everything good and to my liking in France, but I still was surprised. How nice it all felt there, how friendly and open was people. Even language that I have learned a little bit, and therefore should be familiar with, felt just so amazing to hear after Italy, that I just felt happy all the time - finally in France. Moreover, I was surprised how many of them speak English. There are these legends about French people not really speaking English... you know, old feud and all this... that most of them even can’t speak English and those who could, they still don’t want to. This is all bullshit. On my time in France I never saw any xenophobia or anything against English speakers. True, some really can’t speak English, but they still try... even these old women in this bus stop, they didn’t speak English, but they understood some things that I spoke, and we successfully communicated anyhow. So myth about when you speak in English, they just don’t talk with you, is busted. Now Italians really started to feel xenophobic, nationalistic and even a bit stupid (of course not all of them).
After few days in Antibes and Nice, I needed to go to Marseille. I pondered for a while if I should go by coast and visit some more famous coastal cities, towns and beaches, or go straight by the highway. Marseille is quite far, so second thought won. I still hadn’t understood really how easy is to get a ride. Therefore this long way for this day took only barely half the day. But never mind, in France highways don’t have these high walls like in Italy or Austria, so you can still see some beauty of surroundings. Forest and hills, lots of forest… another legend that we have, that all the western Europe is pretty much clear of the forest and made into farmlands and plantations. This actually seemed true only in Spain, that there is no forest. Spain was almost entirely like a big desert or wasteland with forgotten roads, shabby or completely abandoned buildings and industrial thingies here and there. But now I got ahead a lot. France is truly amazing. I love the landscapes, the cliffy hills, forests, coast, these old lovely villages, medieval castles, old bridges and even churches. Also big cities, perhaps these were not as beautiful as in Austria or Germany, but they certainly had more life in them.
So, Marseille – I have a friend there to host me and show me around a bit, so it was one of the certain places I had to go on my travel. Honestly, city itself isn’t very pretty, but as I said, just French people make it another good place to travel. Honestly, in cities what really counts, are people. Well, my friend also showed me couple things they value as historic monuments and architectural showpieces, but really, if such kind of things didn’t draw me in Roma or Firenze, then certainly not in Marseille. Even in these lovely, small French towns where everything is so beautiful and old, how much can you admire that architecture. At least I need some more living attractions, something that holds me active. And my friend and Marseille made it possible for me. I got to ride the bicycle, do some free climbing on small cliffs, go to party and to beaches, I did even some parkour in the city. This is what I love. Plus some fine French social life, food in a French way, French wine, etc. And I’m also forever thankful for my friend for one art exhibition he took me. Although sometimes even art exhibitions feel too lifeless to me… to me who I’m artist and feel that without art there wouldn’t be much reason for life and human civilization, but yes, especially this exhibition was amazing. It was orientalism themed, and if you don’t know already, then I’m absolutely fanatic of orient, Asia, Africa and Islamic culture. Moreover, this exhibition was full of super masterful works, from what I could learn forever, or I could just admire the beauty of it endlessly.
My friend in Estonia through whom I got to know this guy from Marseille, wrote me that I should let him to take me to beaches and to reggae bars… that there is lots of dark beauties. Yeah, as I would need it, more enticement! But of course I was in beach most of the time, and really enjoyed watching beautiful girls. My friend there also said: “Tauno, you don’t have to go to Africa, you can get a beautiful girl from here, much closer to your home.” True, probably French girl would also be amazing, and if I would live there long enough, I might be even able to get connection with some black people, but first of all, this is not my mission, and I also said to him, that it is still not Africa, I can’t be happy here, and these black girls are not Africans anymore. I’m not interested of getting just a black girl, I simply love African mentality… and I just love some certain girls. But this doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be able to let myself free a little bit. After all, when in Kenya I felt ultimate freedom, then closest we can get to that in Europe, would be in France. So, beaches, parties and parkour.
Sadly I didn’t get to go to any reggae bar, but there was a big festival around old port one night. About ten different stages, so everyone can find something they like. Actually, I even felt that there is too much to choose. Luckily there were big screens that showed what is happening on other stages, so I could see also some people doing break dance and at the same time hear some interesting French music. Well, most of my time on this party, I stayed at the salsa-reggeton stage. This was exactly the mood I was looking for. All the people taken to the dance floor together with real professionals. This night I danced like never before on this journey, and I even caught the attention of one of these professional dancers – another beautiful black girl. We just talked few words, I thanked her for fantastic evening, and then I left. That’s how I always do now… this is not my mission; my mission is to get back to Kenya. By the way, I don’t remember if I have already wrote it, but for that time I had already got a strong feeling that I don’t know why I’m going to Spain. I felt that I’m going to wrong way. I should head to south. But of course I always also understand that I need some money to get my life going in Kenya. I can’t just hope to go there and look how I could survive then. There must be some financial security to that enterprise. Ok, but I will write about these things, these thoughts, some other time. Now I write about my time in France. Though, now I started to think what else to write.
My friend in Marseille, he said that I write a lot, and asked if maybe I’m not an artist but writer. At the time when I stayed at his place, also one Kenyan guy wrote to me, asking if I would be his mentor in writing. Well, I accepted, but I would still say, and also said to my friend that I’m not a writer. When I read something that Remarque has wrote, then I always feel that I still miss something. I am not great enough to commit myself to the writing… and that what being a writer means. But it is still nice to exchange ideas with Festus (this Kenyan guy). For example, the idea to write about my ideas about love and my relations to girls, it is going to be pretty different from what Festus has wrote in his blog, but that is what is the meaning of mutual exchange of ideas – not to agree on everything, but to get inspiration and just to write down your own thoughts. Ok, maybe I’m writer, because I write, I find that I need to write, but then again, I still am much more an visual artist, as even more than writing I need to paint, to draw, to do things from clay, and so on. Just doing art needs much more, and so I can’t do it all the time.
In Marseille I stayed about one week. One day we also rode out of Marseille, over the hills to small coastal town. I don’t really remember the name of it. It was beautiful place – would be really worth to paint. Basically we went there to swim, although to such bad swimmer as I am, swimming in a breakers near coastal cliffs, wasn’t easy. But things do not have to be easy to be enjoyable as something different from everyday. There were lots of people sunbathing nude, reminding me that I still had my white stripe under the panties. I had a plan to go to some nude beach when going west from Marseille. In Languedoc-Roussillon were supposed to be best beaches of France, so of course I had to go there. But my leaving from Marseille happened to come to be exactly on a day when in the morning there was a heavy rain. My friend said that he will take me some way out of Marseille and then there rain is going to get over already – weather forecast said so. It was hard to believe, and being used to extremely uncertain forecasting, I was extremely skeptical, but as I finally saw, forecasts in France really are accurate. Soon rain was over. But I started to doubt if it is good idea to go to beaches. Maybe there will be more rains, and actually air went much colder after the rain anyway, and I had only two days to get to Barcelona. I decided to go forward without detours to beaches. Night I stayed near the small city of Beziers that has pretty amazing big castle. It was quite hard to find a good place for tent there. Private lands were everywhere, and I didn’t want to sleep in any place. Finally I still found a small bamboo “forest” on someone’s private property. That was reminded me by about ten signs on the way – PRIVATE PROPERTY; GUARDED; LANDSCAPE PROTECTION AREA, DAMAGING THE NATURE IS PUNISHABLE, etc. But I found out that my camouflaged tent is perfectly invisible among the bamboo. From here a suggestion to backpackers – certainly get yourself a tent that is natural green or even better with army camo. Bamboo forest was perfect for another reason too. Ground under bamboo forest is pretty much clear of any other plants except soft moss. If it wouldn’t had been cold and party noises from city, followed by really big fireworks, then this night would have been best ever I have had in a tent. But yes, it was cold this night. Actually so cold that when I got to Barcelona I started to feel that I get sick. But this entry was about France, so let it end with France, where everything was almost perfect. Actually, I have more to write about France, as of course I also went back through France, but also this will be a separate entry after Spain and Portugal.
But for the end, something more about Marseille. A French joke about how big sardine blocked the port of Marseille.
C'est la sardine qui a bouché le port de Marseille… est une expression populaire française datant du XVIIIe siècle. Elle signifie que l'histoire est estimée comme une galéjade, une exagération, une histoire à dormir debout. En fait, l'expression est basée sur une histoire vraie mais dont une coquille typographique en a fait une farce.
En 1779, le vicomte de Barras, officier commandant le régiment français d'infanterie de Marine de Pondichéry, qui avait été capturé par les Britanniques en 1778, était libéré, en vertu d'un accord d'échanges de prisonniers et rapatrié sur une frégate de la Marine du roi Louis XVI.
Le bateau sur lequel il embarqua avait pour nom le Sartine, avec un « t ». Pour assurer sa sauvegarde et son retour tranquille vers la France, il naviguait sous un pavillon de sauvegarde qui devait le protéger de toute attaque des navires de la marine britannique qui reconnaissaient l'ordre de le laisser passer. Le navire put ainsi arriver sans encombre après dix mois de navigation au large du port de Marseille.
Or, au dernier moment, le navire se présenta le 19 mai 1780 avec une inversion du code et la « Sartine » fut prise en chasse par un navire britannique qui tira contre elle deux salves de canons. La frégate française, navire imposant, finit par couler dans le chenal de l'entrée du Vieux-port de Marseille ce qui empêcha pendant un certain temps l'accès et la sortie du port à tous autres navires. (http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/C'est_la_sardine_qui_a_bouch%C3%A9_le_port_de_Marseille)
So, everyone understands it now, right !? Ok… actually even I didn’t completely. Anyway, story goes about like this – British navy was on the sea in front of Marseille. There was a naval battle and after that it was organized that they exchange prisoners, and French also planned to repair one of their frigate. I didn’t quite understand if this frigate or the ship they sent to repair it was named Sartine… with strong “t”. But well, there was some confusion, and British sank the Sartine at the mouth of the port. This port has a narrow way out to the sea, so ship blocked the way out or in. There was a lot of talking about the happening, but from Sartine came sardine (the small fish), and it became an expression that sardine was blocking the port of Marseille. My friend said that basically this expression means the love of people around there to exaggerate and play with the words, and make such kind of jokes.
