So after all that unpleasantness in Barcelona, I had the chore of going to St Mandrier Sur Mer in the Sunny south of France again. Honestly, I do occasionally feel a little guilty for inflicting this life of mine on you. Really, I do. The feeling doesn’t last long though and is usually replaced by “smug”.
Caught the early train from Barcelona after an abortive attempt to do the same thing 1 day earlier. Forgot to reset the time on my phone which I was using as an alarm clock so when it went off at 7 am, it was already 8 am in Spain. Bugger. So I had to spend another day in sun-drenched, mellow Barcelona wandering to bars and looking at great architecture. Again, look how tough my life is. Feel free to punch me next time you see me.
24 hours late for the train, I went up to the ticket counter to be told that all the tickets for my train were sold. Doh! Do I really have to suffer another day of hedonistic pleasure on the Costa Brava? The answer was “no” as 2 very nice young American girls were at the counter next to mine cancelling their tickets for the very same train. Thanks girls! Ain’t there one damn song that can make me break down and cry? And thank you to the patron Saint of inept travellers.
I settled down for the 6 hour trip to Toulon courtesy of RENFE the Spanish national rail company. Unfortunately I got surrounded by a bunch of teenage, republican, Harvard student, American girls with Eurorail passes. They were not very nice and proceeded to blah on about politics and the state of the world in a way that it would be charitable to call ill-informed. Thanks to the patron saint of people surrounded by teenage Nazis on a train, Saint Ipod, the problem was soon solved and I gazed out of the window to the soundtrack of the new Saint Etienne album Tales From Turnpike House, (Gorgeous and inspired and the 3rd saint in this entry) as we whizzed through the Pyrenees (quite knobbly, smirk) and then on through the lush Southern French countryside framed with snow capped mountains on my left and the Mediterranean glittering in a very sparkly and blue way under the warm May sun on my right for most of the journey.
A snow capped mountain behind the French countryside quite lidderully yesterday…
Off at Toulon and a saunter through the city under a quite weighty rucksack down to the boat for St Mandrier. A coffee on a terrace by the harbour as I waited for this boat to arrive…
A trip across Toulon bay past the big aircraft carriers (cool!) cool spray on my face under warm sun, and I lick my lips and get a taste of sweet coffee mixed with sea salt, mmmmmmm…and then another wander up from St Mandrier harbour up to the road they call Corniche D’Or to where I was going to stay. Except when I got there and knocked on the door, there was no answer. Bugger, the messages I left on their ansaphone saying when I was going to arrive haven’t been listened to. I’ll just call them on my mobile. Balls! My piece of crap Motorola phone is out of batteries (a state that it spends most of its working life in, having an average battery life of 1 minute).
Fortunately, the next door neighbours saw me sweating under my baggage and since I have been happily drunk with them many times, invited me to sit on their patio and drink Pastis. You know the Divine Comedy song Charmed Life? I must be building up for a run of incredibly bad luck soon. I’ll go to bed until it’s over.
Later my friend Jean who hadn’t heard my messages turned up and we got slowly drunk and then went for a pizza and some Rosé in a nice restaurant where a friendly waiter, noting my slightly less than perfect Provencal accent, decided I must drink some local liqueur that he must give me for free. Nice man. Thanks.
Back after that for some mellow old jazz on the stereo and a couple of whisky’s to finish the day (and my head) off.
Up the next day at the crack of 1 pm having slept through any head unpleasantness that I should have incurred from last night and a shower, then a saunter into the village for some breakfast at this bar…
With this view from my harbour-side table…
Then off to the deserted beach for a bit of a read under the sun and to watch the boats go by…
Working is overrated…