Au revoir, Marseille!

POSTING # 3  -- JUNE 29


I'm sliding into a nice routine, only to realize tomorrow is moving day. I'll be taking the train north to Albi so this will be my last post from La Belle Marseille.

Breakfast looks a lot like this every day!

 Because people here like to linger over food and coffee (and cigarettes), the servers are in no hurry either, so this usually kills a couple of hours. I've started taking my computer to breakfast with me so I am managing to get some writing done.

After that, I head out for a run or go to the beach and watch fit guys with gray hair play volleyball. Usually, the guys and I have the beach pretty much to ourselves except this past weekend!

In Marseille, there's no such thing as too tan!

The French are apparently not concerned about either lung cancer or skin cancer (or crowds!) (or being half naked in a crowd!). The death defiers who really blow me away are the ones who are smoking WHILE sunbathing! When I asked someone about that, she said "Americans should be more worried about being shot and less worried about getting cancer since you all carry guns!"

Afternoons, I find new cafes where they don't mind if I sit and write. Once in a while I order a Perrier or another coffee to keep them (and me) happy. I've started writing a new novel -- this one is about a woman who decides to NOT take a motorcycle trip through Europe but rather goes out on her own through France, eating dinners alone, accepting a cup of coffee every now and then from a Frenchman who is most likely married (more on this in a minute!), trying not to get run over by Vespas that go 30 mph on the sidewalks, all the while finishing her first novel. I'm thinking of calling it "Eat", since praying and loving are probably not going to happen for me on this trip.

My French is coming along great. Actually, it's not, though for a brief moment this morning, when I did not have to consciously think before saying goodbye to someone and wishing him a good day, I confess to feeling pretty cocky. But I was quickly humbled minutes later by my faux pas with the man who runs the desk at my hotel. I walked in eating an ice cream cone and said, in my best French, "C'est mon prix pour courant," which I thought meant "This is my prize for running." However, he looked a bit stunned, then gave me sort of a lascivious leer and smiled and I hurried up the two flights of stairs to my room, locked the door, and did a Google translation of what I had just said. Apparently, I told him, "This is my current price".

My second faux pas of the day was not noticing the hole in my laundry bag that held lacy items of personal apparel. I inadvertently left an interesting trail, but fortunately, a guy from the laundry caught up with me and handed me my lost items. He kinda had a lascivious leer too, come to think of it!

Saturday, after buying a groovy pair of aviator sunglasses (very a la mode, and no, Gary -- that doesn't mean "with ice cream" -- although I did have some ice cream while wearing them, so... ),

I walked up this hill to Notre Dame de la Garde, a beautiful cathedral with a pretty creepy crypt below full of a lot of famous dead people.

I ended the evening having dinner at a table next to a huge wedding party and listening to their cheesy wedding singer who was a dead ringer for Gene Wilder. He was definitely a legend in his own mind, but it was fun hearing My Funny Valentine and Fly Me To The Moon sung with a French accent.

This is my new friend, Cecile Roure (think Roy Orbison's growl on Pretty Woman and you've got it!), an operatic soprano who held my place in the Opera line and will one day move to New York City to realize her dream of being world-famous. We took each other to the incredible Chez Fonfon last night where we had a five-course dinner that included champagne, crustini with shrimp, fish soup, dorado, a beautiful salad with local cheeses, an amazing assortment of mini dessert tastes, and espresso. Watch for her -- she'll be famous one day!

Tonight, I went back to my local dinner hangout -- Le Pointu -- to enjoy one more pizza with four cheeses -- camembert, roquefort, goat cheese, and mozzarella -- and ran into a man I met there a few nights ago, Mouldi. His daughter is apparently a big movie star in the Arabic world. Mouldi invited me to go with him to Tunisia on Friday for a week. While he is there, he will be making a bid for the Tunisian Parliament. (I swear I am NOT making this up!) It was tempting if only to make my book more interesting, but, not to worry, I declined! 

Mouldi

Au revoir, Marseille!