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.