Actually Written on a Train

The following is straight from my paper journal:

I'm currently on a slightly rickety train running through the Provncal countryside between Nice and Marseille. We cut out our Cannes stop (didn't want to deal with the hassle of finding a place for our bags, then have to rush to catch another train after only a few hours out, etc.), but it's enough just admiring the beautiful landscape outside the window - terraced farmland, ragged white cliffs, and terra cotta roofed houses are all currently zipping by me as I sit and write.

Nice ended up being fantastic, mostly because of the group of fellow travelers we managed to befriend (two of the three were our roomates in the hostel, the other was a friend of one of those girls). As I mentioned in the last entry, one of our roommates is a cook (or training to be one, I should say), so we all chipped in for groceries and a couple bottles of cheap table wine to create a homecooked feast. It turned out to be some of the best food I've had all trip - all of us worked as a team, prepping and cooking rice, coconut curry with veggies, and some chicken, then happily devoured the awesome food, chatting away all the while and getting along like a house on fire (whatever that expression entails). When the food (and wine) was finished, all five of us walked down to the water through a lovely pedestrian boulevard (decorated with glowing human statues that changed colour!) and enjoyed the sea breeze while admiring the shimmering lights of the Cote d'Azur at night. We ended off the night with a stop for nutella crepes from a little streetside stand - it really was a perfect evening through and through!

This morning, after a good long sleep, Max and I checked out, then went with one of our new friends (a girl from Chicago who's currently teaching English around Europe) to a great little cafe down the street, then wandered up to the gorgeous Russian Orthodox Cathedral that just happened to be yet another sight close to our hostel. The church's existence in Nice isn't some weird anomaly - well-off Russians used to spend their summers in the city during the 19th century, then after the Revolution many emigrated to Nice to save their skins. This fact of the city's history may also explain some of the fabulously ornate apartment buildings, some of them gracing ven the seedy streets.

After saying farewell to our friend (who had an earlier train to catch), Max and I went to our first proper European supermarket to obtain some lunch foods for a wee picnic. I'm proud to say I managed to order a chunk of cheese entirely en francais, with the woman not speaking a word of English to me the entire time. Quite a thrill for me, I must say.

And now the entry continues from our first minutes in Marseille onwards...

We haven't done much in this city yet. Our hostel is quite nice - we have our own room and it's quite sweet, sort of a corner garret-type room on the third floor, complete with our own shower and a little balcony. After getting settled in, we went on a quest to find a rstaurant recommended by Max's guide book. The directions took us down a main street, past a cathedral, then directed us right off the beaten path and down a streer that made us both feel as if we might have never left Istanbul.

The restaurant ended up being apparently nonexistant, but I give the guide book credit for leading us away from the main drag and allowing us to find a hole-in-the-wall couscous place whose menu was entirly in French and whose proprieter didn't speak a word of anglais. I got yet another chance to flex my French skills, and believe I managed relatively well. He was an interesting host, showing not a lick of expression the whole night, but managing to be warm and kind nevertheless. We both ordered a heaping bowl of couscous, mine topped with stewed vegetables in a perfectly spiced broth, and another huge bowl of veggies-and-broth appeared on the table for us to ladle over the bottom layers of couscous. After we'd stuffed ourselves with the heavenly food, we inquired after the desserts and wound up letting him choose us a genuine Tunisian (is that what one calls something from Tunisia?) patisserie, which was chosen through a series of questions (how big? sweet or less sweet?). We ended up with an almondy-honey-laced confection that I think may have actually been compsed of couscous, just like everything else in the place. Tres delicious! I don't usually talk about prices, but I have to gloat over this meal - the two gigantic bowls of couscous/topping, plus the dessert and the extra broth/stew came to just under 13 Euros for the both of us - amazing, eh?

I love how much I've already been able to use my French here - I know that the French have a reputation for being unforgiving towards foreign attempts at their native tongue (and I've heard first-hand accounts of Paris' snobbery), but all the people I've attempted to speak to so far have been ridiculously kind and patient with my slightly stumbling speech. I made brief mention of the sweet waiter from our first night in Nice (he complemented my accent and then told me I was vivant/vivacious and that he could tell I loved life - and he wasn't just flirting with me, I swear), but so many people since then have let me fumble my way around the language, which is the best thing for me at this stage (some are even kind enough to help me out with vocabulary words I get stuck on). Perhaps the south of France is more laid back, but I'm hoping that I continue to get chances to pratique this beautiful language!

Now 'tis time to get off the computer and go back to my little attic room and get some sleep, for we're exploring Marseilles in the morning. Au revoir mes amies!