GERMANY!!!!!! Oktoberfest: The making of a real man

28/9- Arrival Lubec
We excitedly got off the Ryanair flight to catch our first glimpse of Germany. It was Cold, Grey, German. There were very intimidating police officers standing on the tarmac watching us and more of them waiting in the distance with a firetruck that looked more like a tank than anything else. Outside the airport with met with Jules' friend Jacob who helped us get to our hostel via bus and his car. We drove through the lush green Lubec countryside and through the city streets that made me homesick for San Francisco and Humboldt, with Jacob commenting on various things that we were passing. The parks we passed were huge and the architecture of the city was absolutely great.

Streets of Lubec. Notice the grey.

A mass exodus of small German children from the building greeted our arrival at the hostel. They came out in seemingly never ending waves and took up positions around the building playing tag, table tennis or walking to the street. Inside the building, there were more of them milling about. We surmised that we were the only people (other than the maintenance crew) staying in the hostel who o were older than 12 (this was proven wrong when we met two fellow travelers who looked equally distressed by the large number of children constantly swarming through the halls of the hostel). We quickly stowed our bags and embarked on a quest for the two essentials we were all looking for: Drink and Food (in no particular order).

Germany believes in safe fruit.

While wandering through the streets, we stopped at a famous sweet shop to sample Lubec’s specialty: marzipan. 3 words: Super Amazingly Delicious. It was in this shop that I realized that I would have a difficult time switching out of French mode well enough to use the smattering of German phrases that I’d studied particularly for the trip. My conversations were made up of a combination of French and English….neither of which are similar to German at all. After walking through the light rain and the cobbled German back streets, we found a very authentic German looking restaurant that was exactly what we were looking for. There were giant flaming torches outside the building, and a painting of a dragon snake around one of them. The restaurant was giant, dark and brick, looking as though it could just as easily been some sort of medieval torture chamber. You can see why we were so attracted to it, im sure. Inside the restaurant was completely different. Tables were packed and the atmosphere was nothing less than jovial. My meal was thick, hearty and very wonderfully German (consequently, so was the waitress who served it). Upon the suggestion of our waitress, we ordered our first German drinks- those ½ litres of amber goodness definitely won’t soon be forgotten. We ate and we drank slowly, enjoying each bite, knowing that it would be difficult to find such a hearty meal in Aix where everything comes in much smaller, lighter portions. After the restaurant, we went to a nice little loungey cafe where we drank and talked some more. By this point the 5 hours collective sleep I’d had in the last 3 days was catching up with me and I was getting quite tired. The waitress saw this and brought me a giant coffee and another ½ litre to help me wake up. Problem solved. We chatted there for the better part of 2 hours, talking to the waitress, Jules’ friend who had met us at the airport and was showing us around, and the other patrons of the lounge. Our conversation was frequently interrupted by this gigglingly energetic little girl who would run up to our table and hand one of us her doll and then run away laughing to herself. She’d always return to take the doll back with a huge smile on her face, trying to hold back waves of laughter. This exchange seemed to be the funniest thing in the world to her and eventually she had us laughing too, even though her humour was way over our heads. In the proper mood and having waited long enough, we made our way to a nearby dance club where we figured we’d try our hands at the German club scene. The cover charge afforded us free shots and Tequila was the drink of choice. Downstairs, we danced to quite possibly one of the best mixes of Funk, Motown, 80’s and 90’s that I’ve heard in a long time. The dance floor was packed and people seemed to know the words to every song the DJ spun. The Funk and Motown excited me the most as it was very popular with the German crowd that was there. There was a group of lads running laps around the outside of the dance floor and dancing like madmen in the middle of the crowd, spinning their matching ties around their heads. My curiosity piqued, I started talking to them and found that they were the elite of an English drinking team and had just returned triumphant from Oktoberfest and were now celebrating at the club before their flight out the next day. We danced until 3 or 4 in the morning, then, completely exhausted and giggling like school children, we started the trek back to the hostel, completely unsure of where any of us were going. It was an Amazing night.

The morning after.
The morning after did not have the same magic as the night before. I rolled out of bed early that afternoon, showered and returned to the bedroom where a few people were still sleeping. Those of us who were awake, wearily made our way to the Hostel’s free breakfast. The hall with the free breakfast was brimming with shouting, laughing, loud, loud, loud, loud German children. We ate our breakfast in silence, each of us with our heads bowed over our own large mugs of coffee, cursing the children around us.

German transportation: Frighteningly Superior in every way.

Its so German!

That day we made a brief stop in Hamburg, and then arrived in Berlin’s main Hauptbanhoff train station. It was there that the immensity and absolute organizational prowess of the German culture hit me. Trains came and went and crowds moved with such clockwork precision that we almost didn’t know what to do. Signs with train schedules and maps were posted everywhere and all were very clear and easy to read and understand….something that really caught us American’s off guard. Having grown weary of traveling with such a large group, two others and I headed off on our own to tour Berlin and find our own lodgings. We found a really great guy on Couchsurfing who gave us his couch to crash on. He had called me almost immediately, and being a big advocate for the Couchsuring community, he was really excited to host us at his place. We agreed to meet him at his place at 7 and took off to explore the historic Berlin before then. Leaving the train station we met another American who spoke a fair amount of German and joined the 3 of us. We wandered around Berlin looking at the sights slowly making our way to the Brandenburg Gate, Reichstag, and Berlin Wall. Berlin’s cosmopolitan diversity was amazing to see and I realized that I could easily live in such a lively city. We heard the crowd before we saw it. Madonna’s hit song got louder and louder as we approached the Brandenburg Gate. When we finally got to it we saw the giant clusters of speakers pumping out the 80’s hit to a crowd of brightly colored spandex wearing Rollerbladers. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who associated the Cold War and Nazi Germany with Madonna, Spandex and Rollerblading as the local German government had decided that this historic meeting point of East and West Germany and home to Hitler’s historic government headquarters would make a perfect location to host an international Rollerblading marathon.

The Path of the Berlin Wall (1961-1989)

So as we walked around the gate, followed the path of the Berlin Wall and started at the architectural giant that is the Reichstag and memorials surrounding it, we were accosted by men and womyn in skin tight multicolored spandex rollerblading around or dancing to the blaring house remixes of Madonna, Paula Abdul and other 80’s hits that one would only expect to hear in a very stereotypical gay club. We finally left the area and went to the Holocaust memorial that was near by. Fighting through the rainbow sea of spandex on wheels took us 45 mins to walk the 3 blocks to the memorial. The Holocaust memorial was breathtaking and I got lost in it for quite a while.

The entrance of the Holocaust Memorial

Walking between the giant cement pillars made me loose track of the sky and everything else around me. It was one of the most powerful pieces of artwork that I’ve ever experienced. We tried to find the bunker where Hitler died but after searching about 5 mins for it, we gave up and started to head back to the train station to meet our couchsurfer. We got lost for a bit but eventually ended up at the right train stop and made it to his apartment. On the way we crossed the barrier where the Berlin Wall once stood and although it was the same neighborhood, it was clear which side was once east and which was West Berlin. Andre, the guy we were surfing had a really cool apartment and also had another surfer (Jazmine from Australia) staying with him. He showed us around his very non-touristy part of Berlin that night. We spent that night at a really cool art gallery opening and seeing 2 indie German bands perform at an awesome little bar. Had we not been couchsurfing, we never would have seen this underground side of Berlin and this experience forever cemented my love and devotion to couchsurfing. We left Andre’s early the next morning for our train to Munich and the world’s greatest festival that awaited us there.

Train station. Notice clock (this was one of many): Germans don't believe in tardiness

Oktoberfest: building a tolerance too expensive for foreign students in Europe.

Welcome to Oktoberfest!

Follow that beer carriage!

Really, Really Big Madness

Oktoberfest was madness. Really Really Really Big madness. Covering the festival grounds is a giant amusement park, food vendors, Giant statues, a monster truck arena, beer gardens and of course, the Beer Tents. These tents are giant. Erected in a mad 8 weeks and taken down in just 6 wks before and after the festival these very permanent looking structures are designed to hold a full kitchen, a giant orchestra, many bathrooms and over 7,500 rowdy drunks each. Long wooden tables fill each tent and beer enthusiasts fill each table. As these enthusiasts do what they love to do, a traditional Bavarian band on a raised platform over the crowd pumps out some of the best music to drink to- Bavarian music, with the rare cover of some American classic rock or crowd created drinking song. When the music plays, people stand up on benches and on tables waving their steins in the air singing along, uncaring of the lyrics or of the beer that’s sloshing out of their swaying steins. The music wasn’t the only thing that got people to stand on the benches, it seemed like we were always being pulled up to the benches for some reason or another.

Germans on Tables

This is what excitement looks like

We got into Munich, found our campsite (big field of tents in the middle of a stadium a little outside of town) and made our way to our first night of the Festival as fast as we could. We got to the festival in the evening and bee lined to the first tent we could find. Being that it was dinnertime and we didn’t have reservations we had to forage for seats in one of the beer gardens until we could make it into the tents. The beer gardens and the tents are the only places in the festival where one can buy and drink beer. The Gardens are outdoors and are usually attached to the tents and run by the same breweries (each tent is run by a different brewery). The beer gardens are made up of long wooden tables where you wait around for people to vacate and quickly fill in the empty spots. We were told that finding seats in any garden would be difficult but as soon as we walked into the first one, an old German couple and their friends waved us over to join them at their table. We ordered our first beers of the festival and some giant Bavarian pretzels (we hadn’t eaten in a while).

That pretzel was bigger than my head.

These pretzels were nearly rock hard, larger than my head and delicious! The 3 of us worked our way through 2 of these pretzels and a few steins. The old Germans sitting with us gave us the lowdown on the festival and taught us about the drinking traditions that we’d be abiding by, the most important of which being how to “Cheers” one’s fellow drinkers. When a person at the table says “PROST!” (Literally meaning “Health” and the German equivalent to Cheers), we were told to be sure to raise our steins and, most importantly, make eye contact with those we were clinking steins with. The consequence of not making eye contact is too horrible to mention (also, I promised my parents to keep this bog as G-rated as possible due to the variety of people who read it). We eventually did make it into a Tent that first night and had an absolute blast. We woke the next day in our tent, cleaned ourselves up as best we could and hurried back to the festival. It was around 11 am when we reached and we were hungry to get something in our stomachs. We entered the festival following a traditional horse drawn carriage through the city that was delivering the day’s beer to one of the breweries. It was Grand! Breakfast was a roasted chicken and another round of steins. Delicious! These Chickens were roasted in butter and served with mashed potatoes…..mmmmmm. We had various types of pretzels and other German goodies. We spent the day wandering around the festival exploring its many wonders. We met people from around the world and had a blast looking at all the Germans in their traditional dress. We learned that this festival is one of the largest German cultural festivals in the world and that the Bavarians take great pride in their traditional lederhosen and other outfits. The Tents, food, dress, drinks and culture of the festival was all kept to traditional Bavarian standards and this is one of the things that I appreciated most. There were families all over the festival, with each member of the family in traditional German dress. There were also tourists and travelers from around the world enjoying everything the festival had to offer. Every so often we’d see a group of people dressed up in matching drinking costumes (Roman gladiators, Australian men in matching orange dresses, a group of Irish people in all green matching outfits with challenges to other drinkers printed on the back of their shirts). We spent the whole day there and that evening we met up with the rest of the people we had been traveling with, partied until the festival shut down that night, then absolutely exhausted, we made the long trek back to the campground ending another day at the festival.

The next day (our last day in Munich), we decided to explore the Munich outside the festival. Surprisingly it wasn’t hard for me to leave the festival as I am sure that I couldn’t have withstood another day in the unbridled insanity that is Oktoberfest. We saw the old parts of Munich, marveling at the architecture of old Cathedrals and of city plazas. It turns out that Jesus is really popular round those parts. Each Cathedral seemed larger and grander than the last and eventually I couldn’t stand to walk through another one of them. We ended up taking a break in a plaza where various street performers were either setting up or taking down. We plopped ourselves down in the middle of the plaza right in front of two old men who had started to play some jazz.
One of them played an upright bass and the other played the Clarinet. They were absolutely amazing. As we sat there on the floor watching them play, a crowd formed around us and eventually a small child squeezed his way to the front, and much to the amusement of the two old men and the gathered crowd, started dancing to the music. Every time the men stopped playing the young boy would shoot them and accusing dance and when they started again he would clap and start dancing again. They played all the jazz classics and played many of their own pieces as well. We sat there relaxing and listening to them for nearly an hour and a half and I ended up buying a great cd of theirs that I listen to nearly every day. That evening we went to have a last hoorah Oktoberfest and boarded the train back to Lubec to fly home the next day. What an amazing Trip.



*I tried to keep this as G rated as possible....Besides, if i didn't keep it edited, i'd have too much to write about.
**For those of you who have yet to figure out the metric system (this includes me) i will provide a handy dandy conversion: 1 litre = 2.113 pints........thats right. 2 pints.
***Once again, im sorry for finishing and posting this blog so long after the fact

I swear Heaven is in a jar of Nutella, Euphoria in a crepe. Also, Gee Golly Do i love street performers!

Do you doubt?

et Voila! I present to you one of the best Crepes in town. Sitting smack dab in the middle of Cours Mirabeau (the main street) is this nice little crepe cart.

While walking on the Cours Mirabeau, I stumbled across a wonderful street performance. There was a man standing next to a suitcase, bicycle, and red wagon, pulling various contraptions out of a giant jumbled mess next to his bike. People were already starting to form in a circle around him. My curiousity was piqued and I decided to stick around. A portly man made crepes behind me with his shirt hanging open over his hairy gut and a smoldering cigar dancing on the side of his mouth threatening to drop its ashes into the crepe he was making at the time. When i looked back at the man and his crepes, he was pouring a fair amount of malibu rum over the nutella then folding it all into the crepe. yes, france is amazing.

i took a video of the street performer but its too big to post here. Here are some photos:






I love the never ending supply of street performers here. Yesterday i was watching a juggler/mime/avant guard theatre performance that was drawing a giant crowd and left me laughing for quite a while. Also, i have learned that there is a never ending supply of beautiful people here. I think theres a factory that turns them out...i must find this factory.


Im leaving for Germany tomorrow. This is going to be an adventure and a half. Expect tons of photos and adventure stories as soon as i can acquire them and post them online. We don't know where we're sleeping and don't have any travel plans....all we know is that we somehow must get to munich for one of the world's greatest festivals: Oktoberfest. I go there a hairy boy, and will return a hairy man (with a beer gut).

ps- my apartment has been fixed for a few weeks now and i am loving living there. I can't believe i've been here for more than a month already....




*This is an old blog that i never posted....sorry for the tardiness!

have skype? If not, you should get it.

All you folks who don't have skype should get it asap and then chat with me.
Download it at skype.com

Then, Add me as your contact. You can search me under Saqibtravels. Do it. Now.



Also, Im pretty sure that Gelato is a gift from god.



I know. It brings a tear to my eye too.

1st day of preparatory Language classes!!

Today was my first day of class through my preparatory language program and it was amazing! The program is designed to be an intensive refresher course in French as well as a preparation program for attending French university. The school is so beautiful (see pictures from previous posts) and is a wonderful place to study. Classes only go from 8-noon, which allows me plenty of time to mischief throughout the rest of the day. I tested into a lower level than I expected but am now beginning to appreciate starting back at the beginning and working on the basics of the language (something I never put too much time into). This first test has no major consequences attached to it but there will be another test at the end of the program that will dictate what courses I can take through the university. That's the one I will have to really work my butt off on. The class I am in is made up of a few folks from my group and a few Japanese students who are also studying abroad here. I'll be in this program for another month, then will take another test to see which level of classes i can take through the University. I am hoping that I make it to the 3rd level so I can take some of the more specialized french courses rather than just piling on Grammar and phonetic courses. I am also considering going through with a specialized French diploma program through the University. This diploma wouldn't effect my major program back at Humboldt but would allow me a real diploma in French from this University (something I could always put on my resume). The down side to getting the diploma is that its a much bigger course load with more homework and much more tests. I'll have to figure this one out soon.

Im getting antsy to travel. I think I smell a trip to Paris and beyond coming up soon.

Im writing this from an awesome english pub i found here in AIX. They serve burgers. BURGERS!!!! It's really hard to find a good burger joint here, and in Bulldogge's I have found just that. Its heavenly!

me, a new apartment and a wicked shit demon

The system backed up....the septic system is backed up to all hell. I haven't even used the toilet yet and the system backed up. Apparently it isn't just my apartment but also the one next to me....AHHHH!!!!

I'll spare you the graphic details but suffice it to say that there is feces coming out of the shower drain.....and it isn't even mine!!! I haven't even been able to used my toilet yet! I spent my first night in the apartment with both windows wide open as well as all sorts of scented candles and incense burning all over. I woke up at night afraid that a giant shit demon (a la Dogma) was festering in my bathroom coming out to attack me! Apparently the 400 year old pipes are finicky and harbor monsters.

The landlord moved me into another apartment across the hallway and has promised me that everything will be cleaned up and back to normal by Wednesday. I certainly hope so. It makes me sad that the apartment is so nice but this problem is so putrid. Oh well, all should be well by the middle of the week.

Behold! My new studio :)

Here are some pics of where i live and a few of where I go to school :)

The building I live in is gorgeous! Its over 400 years old and perfectly situated a block away from the center of town. It came fully "furnished" (i use this term loosely) with an orgy of Ikea gear that is both simple and pleasant to look at. Trouble is, there is tons of stark white wall space that I don't have enough money to cover just yet. Needless to say, thrift stores and me will quickly become best of friends. I am excited about my first time living alone and having my own place but know that eventually I'll be lonely. So, if any of you fancy a trip to France.....








Welcome to 17 Rue du Matheron. This is the door to the apartment building....not directly to my apartment. The door to my apartment is a bit deceptive as it looks like the door to a crack house as opposed to the door to a chic little studio in la centre ville.








The living room. Where I will be doing all of my Living. There is a clic-clac (the french futon) that comfortably sleeps 3 people and makes for a smashing seat to watch movies from.











The Kitchen (where I will likely be spending most of my time). The apartment came "furnished" which means that it has a smattering of awkward pots and pans that realistically couldn't be used for anything without a severe cleaning and repair of most of them. I have yet to get a good knife for the cooking and have been using my handy and amazingly versatile pocket knife. When I write that it's "my" pocket knife, I mean that I bought it for my dad as a Father's day gift then took it back a week or so later so that i could take it to france and use it on my travels. Im such a great son. There aren't nearly enough shelves, so I am going to build some out of odds and ends I find in the street. I just bought a roll of duct tape, with this and my handy dandy pocket knife, I can do anything.

Up the stairs is the mezzanin, which is where my bedroom is. Notice the Ikea bed, mattress, sheets, shelf, etc.

The mattress is nice and firm and the sheets are.....well, i don't know yet if they can be trusted, but i'm tough and whatever doesn't kill me will just build up my immune system.







This is the salle de bain. It's small and lacks major ventilation. We'll see how that goes....

Below is the shower. Its very small is difficult to turn around in. At least i'll be sure to take short showers and save on water heating bills.
















This is one of two windows to my beautiful ground floor newlywed's view of the alley. Note the bars on the window, that's how you know it's safe.

The alleyway really isn't shady at all (at least i don't think so...), its just always full of people who can see into my apartment and who i can see. Sometimes i feel like im on exhibit. I'm hoping that i'll eventually learn to close the windows when im changing or wandering around the house in various other levels of dress.

note: Ikea lamp, non-Ikea window bars.









And here are pics of where i go to school! The building is in the heart of town and is absolutely gorgous!!! There are all sorts of fountains and gigantic trees in the courtyards. I can't wait for classes to start!

A mediterranean adventure unlike any other

I just returned from an absolutely amazing adventure along the small towns of the Mediterranean. 2 friends and i got on a bus from Aix to Marseille's early Saturday morning with no plans of where to go or sleep. While on the bus we met a Frenchman who told us about a small town called Sausset Les Pins which was a favorite amongst French people and virtually unknown to tourists. We hopped on a train along the coast and were amazed by the absolutely beautiful beaches and towns we passed by as we traveled to our destination. At Sausset Les Pins we were surprised to find everything closed (everything closes at lunch) so, instead of asking for directions, we just started to walk in the direction that we thought was correct. One thing lead to another and we found the beaches that we were looking for. This is were the real adventure starts.

The water was perfectly blue and dotted by small fishing boats in the distance. People were lounging all over the beaches (although they weren't crowded at all) in all levels of undress. We kept walking down the beach until we found some lounge chairs (none of us had brought towels or something to sit on) attached to a small beach restaurant. We lounged on that beach for hours, leaving our chairs only to swim and signal the waiter. We finally left the beach when the sun had just began to set and the owners of the restaurant asked us to leave. Not having a place to sleep or any knowledge of the area, we did what any self respecting traveler in our situation would. We went to the bar. This bar seemed like it could only have existed in a movie. As we walked up to it we noticed that everyone was sitting talking on the porch as if they were all best friends. Nearly everyone who drove by on the street, paused to honk their horns in respect and shout a few greetings out the window to the regulars on the patio. Although a bit tattered, the bar was bustling with life and was seemingly held together by the portly Italian man who was the center of attention. Meet Papa Jeannott, the owner of "The Bar Scampi," a man who I never saw without a generous glass of whiskey in his hand. We walked into the bar and were greeted by a row of Thong underwear hanging from the top of the bar like trophies and below them, Mitch, the bartender. Mitch was a man who looked like he missed his calling playing a forlorn cowboy in a spaghetti western and was now making due with spending his days making drinks under the tough supervision of Papa Jeannott. We tried to order drinks from Mitch, but before his swooping handlebar mustache had a chance to respond, Papa Jeannott stepped in and told Mitch what he thought we should be eating and drinking. Mitch nodded his head and started to slowly make the order Papa Jeannott had placed for us. We were surprised but completely unable to protest as Jeannott was already leading the 3 of us outside to the bar's porch where all the regulars were seated. It was here that we introduced ourselves to him and he found out that we were not only Americans, but were Californians. Someone had brought a table out for us and placed it in the middle of the porch, Jeannott nodded in approval and told us all to sit down. He immediately started asking questions about the U.S. and California along with what we were doing in France and how we like Saussett les Pins. Through a variety of crude gestures we found out that he hated the French and was clearly convinced that there was no place better in the world than Italy, with California coming in a close second. We sat on that bar laughing and talking for hours as Jeannott proudly showed us off to the other people at the bar and to his friends who drove or walked by the bar. As we became more and more popular at the bar, Papa Jeannot (a title he asked us to refer to him by) gave us more and more free food and drinks. He adamantly denied us the choice of eating cheap food or drinking cheap alcohol saying time and time again that we were his guests and would only be given the best. Papa Jeannott told us all about the beaut of Italy and the ample shortcomings of France, using a never ending supply of french and Italian curse words to pepper his sentences. The night was getting late and we told him that we had to leave and find a place to sleep as all the hotels were booked for weddings and there were no hostels in the area. Papa Jeannott didn't say anything. After looking at each of us, he picked up his phone and started speaking in a very fast blend of Italian and French as a big smile started to stretch across his face. After ending the call, he informed us that we would be spending the night at his friend Eric's house who would be at the bar shortly to pick us up. Papa Jeannot looked at me and said that I was the boss because I was like his son and I had chest hair like Tony Montana (i always knew the chest hair would come in handy). Minutes later, Eric parked his new BMW in front of the Bar's porch. Eric was slightly younger than Jeannott and seemed to be a bit less of a party boy. Papa Jeannot and Eric greeted each other with an enthusiasm that only brother's could have and immediately started joyously talking to each other in a very faced paced Italian (with a splash of french). Eric sat down at the table and started to talking to us as if he'd known us his whole life. After talking at the table for another hour or so and learning from Jeannot and Eric that we'd be staying alone at Eric's house because he was going to be out all night and that we had full access to everything in his house (a big plasma screen TV, pool, amazing view, etc). He told us that since we loved Italian food so much (nobody every asked us, but of course, we do), we'd be having lunch with his mother the next day, who he said, had a much bigger house and pool for us to swim in. We got into Eric's car and he insisted that he get us some dinner before taking us home because there wasn't too much food at his house. He took us to his brother's Italian pizzeria, who also greeted us like family and had us try all of the available toppings before picking ones to put on our pies. Eric's brother threw 4 beautiful pizzas for us and gave us a bunch of drinks as well. With 4 steaming pizzas, we got back into Eric's car and headed for his house. We drove through a few suburbs as we climbed up a hill to a cluster of houses along the top. We got out of the car and Eric pushed open a rusty whitewashed gate and antique wood doors, welcoming us to his house. As we walked inside the house we were greeted by artwork all over the walls as well as giant white leather sofas and a big plasma TV. On each of the tables were small artistic metal models of semi trucks as well as some sort of picture of him with a different type of truck. Eric made his living as the manager of a trucking company that had been in his family for generations and was originally started by his great grandfather back in Italy. Sitting proudly on top of one of the shelves was a model of a shiny brass helmet from some sci-fi film (turns out Eric is a bit of a geek). He showed us around the house and showed us to our large rooms, then excused himself saying that he needed to go soon. We put our stuff down and started eating dinner on the back patio. Eric returned shortly, showered with a new outfit on and said that he would see us in the morning. He made it a point to tell me that I was responsible and showed me how to use the cell phone he was leaving with us in case we needed anything. After he left, we immediately jumped into the pool and swam around under the full moon until we were completely exhausted and had no choice but to go to sleep. We woke at noon the next day and jumped back into the pool because it was wildly hot outside. From his backyard we had a perfect view of most of the town, all the small boats that dotted the coast, and a large red and white painted lighthouse that we had tried to hike too when we first got to the town.



We called Eric to find out where his mother lived and he told us that she wouldn't be able to meet us for lunch because she was sick but that we should go back to the bar because Papa Jeannott would take care of us. We were under the impression that Eric was going to come pick us up in the morning but apparently had a miscommunication with him and were left transportation less. We cleaned up the house, wrote him a big thank you note in miserably butchered french and left the house to walk to where we thought the beach and bar were. Even though our attempts at hitchhiking were unsuccessful, we did manage to get directions from some folks and found out that we were very close to the bar. With a bit more luck, we found the bar and Papa Jeannott's big welcoming smile. He lead us to his son's restaurant and told us to tell the restaurant that he'd sent us there.

We had a decadent meal of all different types of fresh seafood and said our thank-yous and goodbye's to Papa Jeannot and his family, which he had so graciously welcomed us into.

We returned to the train stop at the top of town, bypassed the broken ticket machine, and boarded the train for another night of adventure. We stood, with our noses pressed against the train windows, watching small seaside towns speed by. The beaches started calling to us again, and we decided to hop off at a town called Niolon.

We started to walk down the road to the beach and as we stood on the side of the street looking down at the beautiful beach and town below us, a man stood next to us and started speaking to us in English. Not only English, but Canadian English. I wish I had a photo of him, but you can all use your imaginations. Allen defines the term of Old Queen. He lived in SF during the heyday of the sexual revolution, acting out his wildest whims in a society that whose gay culture was exploding. He now sends his time living like a true queen in France, traipsing up and down the Mediterranean completely enjoying all that life has to offer. We walked and talked with him for a while, excited to have somebody who knew the area that we were in and spoke English. He enchanted us with stories of his past and all of his adventures during his time in San Francisco during the 60's and 70's, while we told him of the current state of San Francisco and about our adventures in France so far. Before parting ways, Allen kindly took us to the water's edge to show us good swimming spots and a few of his favorite spots to sunbathe. The area where we swam didn't have any sand but instead had loads of large flat rocks that people lay on or dove off of into the cool water below. We again stayed by the water for the day before thinking of where we would sleep for the night. Keen on saving money and staying by the water longer, we started searching for places along the water for us to sleep. I swam around the edge of the harbor and found a small secluded cove that looked like a perfect place to sleep for the night. We held our packs over our heads and tenderly waded on rocks all the way around the harbor to our own new beach house for the night. The small cove was more of a really big shallow cave carved out into the rock face rather than a small beach, and was floored with small pebbles rather than sand. Although the few scattered glass bottles told us that we were not the explorers we thought we were, we still felt that we had discovered a completely new world apart from anywhere else in France. We lay on the boulders jutting out low above the water looking out a beautiful night landscape of Marseilles across the sea and the lights of a few small drifting fish boats trying their luck under the full moon. We lay on the rocks peering into the clear water by the light of the moon, which seemed to hang low over us all night. From the rocks we could see schools of small fish swimming around near the surface of the water sporadically interrupted by the same larger fish lumbering through scarring away all the smaller ones before going back in its hole and waiting for them to return. We made our beds in clearings between the rocks by laying down the extra clothes we had brought as well as the towels and reed mats that we'd picked up at our last stop. Sleep came quickly and easily for us in our private cove, under the soothing light of the moon and the music of the waves washing over the rocks. We slept restfully and awoke the next day with a sunrise that slowly but completely washed the night away from our cove. We packed up our slapdash camp and once again waded into the water with our packs above our heads. I am convinced that there is no better way to start the day than with a swim in the Mediterranean before 6:00 am. Miraculously we got the packs back to the main shore without getting everything completely soaked and quickly jumped back into the sea for another hour long swim in the azure waters. We lay on the rocks drying ourselves in silence, with each of us completely lost in our own worlds. We sat there for what could have been minutes or hours gazing into the distance across the sea as the sun continued to rise and small fishing boats slipped out of the harbor to begin their day. More people slowly started to join us on the rocks and eventually, small noises or the gentle breeze brought each of us back from our thoughts. Completely dried off, we picked up our things and started the trek up the hill back into town and back to the train station. We stopped in a petit casino (small grocery store) to pick up some breakfast and continued up the road. As we neared the station we heard our train pulling in and we made a run for it knowing the next one wouldn't be for a few hours. In a very cliche movie like moment, we literally jumped on the train as it was leaving the station and took our seat huffing from the mad dash we'd just made. We sat in our seats eating the quiches we'd picked up from the casino and watched the sea side towns roll past our window. We were all fast asleep by the time the train pulled into Marseilles.

Ahhhh love. Aix update 1

bon matin mes amis!

I am in love. Truly, head over heels, absolutely in love with aix-en-provence. The culture, the food, the zest for life is all completely intoxicating. I have been exploring my new home by wandering through perfectly picturesque side streets passing by small cafe's and creperies and getting into as many conversations as i can. It turns out that smiling to people randomly on the street is not part of the french culture...and doing so connotes a recognition of romantic interest. As i am often smiling, this has been hard for me to get used to. I often forget about this cultural nuance and will smile to folks as we pass on the street which has lead to both awkward and wonderful encounters. I really appreciate the complete love for life that seems to be so well worked into french culture. People here not only eat the best of foods but truly celebrate each meal and the company that they are having it with. I have yet to see the hurried commuter eating a meal on the go (walking while eating/drinking seems to be a major faux pas and also very american) as most people take the time to sit and enjoy their meals (no matter how simple a meal it may be). While walking around Aix, it is apparent to me that people here dress in celebration of their bodies. Outfits here are worn with a pride and grace that i dont often see in the U.S. and it seems that people are always ready for "the Look" (those of you who have been to france before will know what im talking about). The look consists of a brief but passionate romance on the street that is usually only conveyed by eye contact and body language. The people who do this will usually have a meal or coffee together as they both look for a mutual connection. Maybe im ready too much into this, but i've always considered myself to be a romantic and have quickly found that i am nowhere near the romantic that people here are. I clearly have a lot to learn and cannot wait to do so.
on another exciting note, the french love food. I love food. I love the french. my second day here i met a group of french students and had lunch with them. After lunch they took me to a cafe where we had delicious cafe au lait and pastries. After the coffee we got up to leave and they invited me to join them at nearby courtyard restaurant for dinner. We spent the whole day eating and talking, and this was not strange to them at all. I realized then that i had found my calling. When i grow up, i want to be french.
Currently i am living in dorms at the university while i search for an apartment or family to stay with. I plan on doing a homestay for the first semester then getting an apartment for the second half of the year. I am really looking forward to staying with a family and being completely immersed in french, but im also looking forward to the freedom that an apartment would offer. Im still not sure which i would choose if i had to pick one or the other.
I have also really been enjoying Aix's nightlife. The streets here are usually still going strong at 4 and 5 in the morning. There are street performers and bands playing all over the streets. I found this fun little club called "le skat" where there is a funky band that plays awkward renditions of bad american songs (but they do it oh so well!). I was there last night and didnt realize i was listening to a rendition of "Sweet home Alabama" until the song was almost over and only then because one of the band members did a shout out to "Creedence water." On my way home that night a group of french students were singing motown in the streets and we started an impromptu dance party in the streets, needless to say, it was amazing.
I miss you all very much and think about each of you often. What are the new and exciting things that are going on in your lives? I do miss home quite a bit. If any of you have skype, search me or send me your information so we can chat. I've got a webcam and all that good stuff.