M is for Marseille... and Monaco

I am totally on a roll.


Marseille

I haven't spent nearly as much time in Marseille as I wish I could have up to this point, but I did make a point of going this port city one day with my friend Derek. We were on a mission to find a beach, catch some southern French rays of soleil and chill like only a southern Californian can. We did some sightseeing along the way.

I like to think of Vieux Port as the heart of Marseille. "Vieux port" literally translates to "old port" and now functions as a marina for local boats. What's particularly cool about the Old Port is that it is a natural port and has been used ever since about 600 B.C. when the Phocaeans set up a trading post there. Ever since, Marseille has been a central Mediterranean hub for trade and industry. This is a large city that feels as though it has been subjected to urbanization on a much grander scale than Paris or any other large city in Ye Olde France because it feels urban and industrial. Paris gives off a sense of haughty sophistication whereas Marseille is a strange "mélange" of southern French comfort and hearty industrialization. For lack of a better term, the place feels working class. Riding into Marseille takes one through the banlieues (the "ghettos" on the outskirts of town), where buildings tower above the 4-6 storey height common to many, many buildings in Paris, in Aix, and so on. The paint is peeling from the walls, the pale blue shutters have turned a dank grey, and the graffiti covers every inch of unoccupied territory. Old buses stand on end in junkyards and the red, green and blue tents of the homeless peek out from under the greenery that frames the highway leading into town.

Also, the beaches are not as nice as San Diego beaches. MARSEILLE, I AM DISAPPOINT. But I digress. This is Vieux Port:

Well, the right side of the marina, anyway

This map of the entrance to Vieux Port dates from 1695.

The city of Marseille, ca. 1720

For all you Dumas buffs out there, Marseille is also the site of The Count of Monte Cristo, a very lengthy novel that I could never finish because I kept wondering when Jim Caviezel was going to appear and sweep me off my feet.

I think he's trying to make love to me with his eyes. And I think it's working.

For those of you who don't know the plot, Edmond Dantès, a naive and ridiculously attractive young man with an equally attractive fiancée is wrongly imprisoned  for treason at Château d'If, a prison island off the coast of Marseille, by those whom he supposed to be his friends *cough*Fernand Mondego*cough*. While there, he befriends Dumbledore, who teaches Edmond the ways of the ninja (pass your hand through the water without getting it wet) and educates him in all things badass (namely, literature, philosophy, swordfighting, and other equally lofty pursuits). Eventually Edmond escapes and tracks down the treasure of the isle of Monte Cristo, which is located near Corsica. After the duckling-swan transformation is complete, Edmond slowly takes his revenge upon those who turned his life into a literal hellhole, reunites with the woman he loves, learns he has a son, and lives happily ever after. All while look smoking hot.

I was under the impression that Château d'If was this ridiculously imposing island - as infamous as Alcatraz and as isolated as Azkaban. Nope. Take a look at this picture.

Hey! That girl looks familiar!

See those islands on the right of the photo, not too, too far offshore? The little island in front is the former island prison of Château d'If. I am 90% certain that I have gone snorkeling that far offshore before by starting at the beach and swimming out there at a leisurely pace. I assume, then, that there must be man-destroying rocks and sharks with laser beams attached to their heads encircling the place, because otherwise, assuming one could get out of the château, I can't see how escaping back to shore would really be much a challenge to anyone who knows how to doggy paddle at the very least, especially when the château is just a bit over a mile offshore. I wonder what made this place, at least in my mind, such a formidable prison?

I don't see any laser-beam-carrying sharks. Perhaps they are hiding, waiting to surprise the unsuspecting escapee.

Ah, dangerous ocean currents, you say, Wikipedia? As well as gun embrasures that I am sure were well-armed with hundreds of sharp-shooters just waiting for someone to attempt a daring escape? That is more acceptable. Although, considering the fact that the detainees were mostly political and religious prisoners, I can't imagine that they were the sort of cutthroat criminals itching to get out and get their hands bloody again. In fact, if anything, the detainees would have been white collar criminals more along the lines of Neal Caffrey, who would have schemed their way from a windowless cell to one with a fireplace and a prime view of the Marseille skyline to right out the front door and on to freedom with nothing but their wits, charm, and sizable cajones.

I like to think that all con men look, act, and dress like this man.

Charming white collar criminals aside and former formidable French prisons aside, I couldn't help but compare Marseille to San Diego. I immediately picked up on the same style of beach-front property design that one can find in La Jolla: tall, skinny homes that are much deeper and larger than you originally imagined, packed tightly together across the street from a set of cliffs leading down to the waves and boats below in some parts... and grandiose, sprawling residences hovering above beaches in other places.

And I bet all of these places cost a least a million euros

I can't decide which one I want for my fourth summer home.

 The beach that we went to was a small stretch of sand protected by a line of rocks that ran along the southern edge, creating a double beach of sorts. The water was a bit too frigid for my tastes, so I sunbathed and read up on early Christian history in Byzantium while Derek, the brave soul, went clambering over the rocks and tested the water on both sides of the sand.

We'll always have... whatever the name of this beach is...

Something I am frequently asked, normally by friends of the male persuasion, is whether or not the tales of French beaches are true. Do the women actually run around topless? Is clothing optional? Do French women actually shave? Well, besides having repeated seen French women purchasing shaving gel and razors and razorblades, I can't really answer to French personal hygiene questions, but I am pretty gosh darn certain that, yeah, French women (or, at least, the young French women that my male friends are all drooling over) shave just like American women. As to the optional clothing... from what I understand, most French beaches, unless specified, allow women to go topless. However, full nudity is still saved for nude beaches, of which there are still plenty. Don't expect to come to France looking for gaggles of twenty-something Françaises walking along the shores in naught but an itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini bottom. It doesn't happen. However, forty- or fifty-something Françaises walking along the shores in itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini bottoms can be spotted fairly frequently, much to the chagrin of the fantasizing young American men who just can't wait to catch a glimpse of the liberated French women.

If there is one thing that people should know about the French, it is that they are not so different from us. Over the past 30 years or so, they have come to more closely resemble American society. Women shave and wear tops at beaches. With establishments such as McDonald's and Quick Burger (which I maintain taste nasty, but are still common haunts for school children), the hamburger is becoming more apparent in the mid-sections of portions of the French population. A general trend toward a more conservative lifestyle seems to have slowly started to emerge. Oh, and the French can be just as awkward as any American when it comes to (1) dancing, and (2) relationships. There is still so much here that is unique to the country and makes me consider whether I shouldn't spend half my year in San Diego and half my year somewhere on the coasts of France because I love the lifestyle here - the food, the wine, the lavender, the language, the fashion, the history, the art/architecture. And yet, the great looming shadow of lazy U.S. consumerism and gluttony never seems to be too far away...

But back to Marseille. We happened to wander for a bit on our way to the beach, managed to get a little lost, and had a great time. My favorite shot from this whole afternoon excursion is a candid one that I snapped while we were wandering through the city on our way to the beach:

Somewhere between a typical narrow street with pale blue shutters framing all the windows with the provençal sun shining, and a beach-side collection of expensive homes with walls of unusual colors à la southern California, this one little street made me feel completely at home.

Monaco


I first mentioned my weekend in Monaco in this entry, but never really elaborated. Allow me to do so briefly now.

As I mentioned, I went to Monaco as a representative of Wellesley College. I was not fortunate enough to give a formal presentation on what it is like to go to women's college or even what it is like to go to a liberal arts college in the United States versus a larger research university with 20,000 undergraduates and 6,000 graduate students. However, I was available for one-on-one questions after the initial presentations where I could focus more on specific aspects of my school as well as the admissions process for international students, and was very pleased to be able to speak to several young women who seemed especially interested in Wellesley.

The location for this event was in a bank about halfway between the famous casino and the Port Hercule along a street that I came to think of as Rich Person Street because there is a whole string of private wealth management banks, aka places I could likely not even step foot into without being spotted immediately for the poor college student that I am. Some of them also seemed like really good locations for the next Bond movie... or the next episode of Chuck. The entrance to the private banking establishment opens to a grand double staircase in the art nouveau style that simply screams of the wealth of the residents of the tiny principality of Monaco. Our bank was much less ostentatious, but included a friendly and inquisitive security guard that one had to pass in order to actually see anything of any interest within the building.

But what can you expect from a principality whose per capita GDP is over $150,000 (compared to the U.S.'s measly $48,000)?

Any second James Bond is going to pop out from behind that fountain. I just know it.

Everywhere in Monaco felt out of my price range. The casino had a ten euro entry fee, which seemed silly considering how much money people must throw away at that establishment. The Buddha-Bar, which looked like a really good time, was clearly out of our league judging from the clientele dressed to the nines in heels that would make anyone else's nose bleed. The club that we ended up going to charged twenty-two euros for the first beverage since there was no entry fee, and a glass of wine at the brasserie near the casino was roughly five or six euros while a little French coffee was four euros.

I don't think Buddha would approve of your selectiveness, Buddha-Bar.

So, thank goodness for the carnival that was going on down at the harbor. Cheap fair food, fun games, silly rides, and an overall surprisingly well-executed fair. I had the best churros of my entire life in Monaco, and all for four euros! They gave me a bag stuffed full of churros, and it was so much warm, sugary goodness that I demanded that my companion help me eat them - something I don't always do when the food is as good as those churros were. I also enjoyed a specialty of the region called "socca," which is best described as a sort of crêpe made of chickpea flour and often sprinkled with black pepper. It was absolutely magnificent.

Come to meeeeee, socca!!!

FUN

More FUN.

Oh, and can we just talk about the female rock group from Thailand that covered some of my favorite rock songs ever... and did a damn good job of it? Adorable.

Peace, love, pandas, and sunshine,
Rachel

I Suck At Updating

Seriously. I think I am actually assimilating to French culture because I seem to be getting closer and closer to adapting the very laid-back attitude of "Oh, it'll get done eventually." And that is an awful idea to have. I need to be studying, filling out forms for credit transfer, finding out about how we shall be making up the time that we missed in class due to the "grève," getting in touch with the cultural exchange program I signed up for to see how my forms are being processed, and, of course, updating my blog. Oh, and there are a whole other slew of things I have likely forgotten, but they are on the to-do list as well.

Life, though, does seem to be a bit more relaxed here, which is a lovely change from Wellesley, but actually has caused more concern on relief on my behalf because I truly want to do well here. I want to earn good grades that will give me an extra confidence boost for when I go back to the States and have to finish up my pre-med requirements. If I do well here, then I will be on a roll and ready to tackle organic chemistry with all the energy of a French protester. And that, dear readers, would truly be a sight to behold. I honestly could not tell you how effective their strikes, protests, manifestations, and riots are in terms of influencing their government, but they are nothing if not determined to have their voices heard. 

(On a somewhat unrelated to my eventual narrative note: A friend of mine actually posted a really interesting article about why the French strike to her Facebook page, and I think it is very informative. The article can be found here.)

It has officially been two months since I came to France, which is rather surprising when I think about it. It certainly does not feel as though that much time has passed already. I certainly do feel as though I have seen a lot in a somewhat limited period of time, and I definitely get the impression that my French has improved in certain ways over these past two months, but I consider the fact that I have been in France for over 60 days now... well, that seems pretty darn staggering.

Aix-en-Provence is an absolutely gorgeous old town about 30 minutes northeast of Marseille. My apartment building, for example, is a charming unit from the 17th century (assuming I remember correctly... might have been 18th century...), which concretely establishes it as the oldest building in which I have ever lived. And that is not even close to the oldest building here. One of the older (and distinctly more noticeable) buildings here, for example, is the cathedral, which dates from around the 12th century and is one part Romanesque, one part Gothic, and one part Neo-Gothic due to some renovations in the 19th century. 12th century not old enough for you, hardened and world-weary reader? Well, the cathedral gets better. Inside and off to the right in a small alcove are the remnants of a 6th century baptistery, which would not actually have been a part of the former 6th century cathedral but would have been a separate, though adjacent, building to the actual church. I have spent several hours trying to wrap my mind around how friggin' old that really is, and I have discovered this to be nearly unfathomable and thus worthy of my undying admiration.

Yet despite its medieval roots in Christianity, Aix is a highly modern city in its own way. It is, after all, the city with the second highest cost of living in France - just after Paris, of course. Here, you can find an Hermès boutique, a Rolex shop, a Longchamp store... and if those "magasins" just aren't really your style, there is always the H&M which is about 10 minutes walking distance from my apartment. And in addition, there are numerous bars and cafés and restaurants all with outdoor terraces - some of which extend out into the public squares after the morning farmer's markets have been cleared away. And even at some of the cheapest brasseries, the food is still a level above some of the best mid-priced restaurants in the United States. (I will admit, however, that I am still adjusting to French cuisine, so everything here is new and interesting and tasty and French. I might have a different opinion come next May.) It is not uncommon to spend two hours at a restaurant for lunch or for dinner. More than once, I have run across friends sitting outside at such-and-such a café, sipping a tiny French coffee, munching on a croque-monsieur, or studying for class. It is also very common to run into people at establishments such as Wohoo, Sunset Café, or O'Sullivan's, which are known for their *ahem* alcoholic beverages. There are entire streets, in fact, which are practically lined with bars and/or clubs, and bar hopping is almost like a national pastime for French students on an average Thursday evening. Likely due to its high density of ever-changing (international) university students, Aix is a lively town and certainly does not feel like a stifling village that needs to be escaped each weekend via an excursion to Marseille where one can get in touch once again with civilization.

One of my greatest fears in coming to France was being able to communicate with others my age. I worried every day about my ability to understand what they were saying due to 1) my knowledge of "textbook French" and thus total lack of knowledge of French slang and contemporary idioms and 2) the all-too-common tendency for people my age to not only talk at a rather rapid pace, but to hardly enunciate a word that we let loose from our lips. This, coupled with the vestiges of my near-crippling shyness from which I suffered as a mildly awkward and definitely brainy child and my concern over French opinions of American citizens, had me wondering if I would ever effectively communicate with other French students to the point that I could actually call them my friends. Oh, and to top it off, they have Southern French accents.

Yeah, that was really silly of me to worry about.

Turns out, while people aren't exactly clamoring to be your friend, it is actually fairly easy to make friends as long as you actually put forth a little effort. In fact, it is essentially a more advanced, mature version of kindergarten where you walked over to one of the other kids on the monkey bars, introduced yourself and promptly announced that you and your new acquaintance should be friends. Now, though, you meet at a bar/club/café/classroom/party/etc., introduce yourself, talk about your life plans, compare lifestyles in France and the U.S., exchange phone numbers and slowly begin hanging out more and more, inviting each other to parties or movies or a little afternoon snack. You have to be willing to network and to put yourself out there as a foreign student there to speak French and to make the most of the time allotted to you in Aix. And once you do that, the French are very, very friendly. Since one of the first things they learn about you is that you are foreign, they will be happy to speak a little more slowly for you or help you when you are struggling with a word or turn of phrase that you can't quite make work. They also tend to have a lot of questions about life in a foreign country in general.

And my fear of incomprehensible slang? Yeah, well, I hear that now and then when I am out shopping and run across some high schoolers, but not so much in the everyday conversations between myself and a native French speaker. The problems with enunciation happen fairly frequently where they speak a little too quickly or don't articulate with the finesse of a stage actor, but considering that this also happens to me in English (albeit with a greatly reduced frequency) I have learned to not let it bother me too much.

My general comprehension of French has increased since arriving, as well. Even if I cannot understand everything that is said or sung or written, I finally know enough French and can translate in my head rapidly enough that I can catch the general understanding of things. Tiny nuances are still lost on me, but each day I feel as though I am getting closer and closer to my goal of fluency. I can converse easily enough, and my sentence structures and use of grammar and vocabulary are slowly becoming more sophisticated. It is an exciting process overall.

All of my new French friends seem to think that I am quite good at speaking French. They find my accent to be astonishingly non-abrasive and are overall impressed that after six years of learning a foreign language, I can speak with such ease. Hah, they are totally overestimating my abilities, but their kind comments are a welcome ego-boost to this foreigner. Classes are running smoothly, too. My history and art history courses are quite fascinating - I have never learned so much about the Middle Ages in my life. And my translation course is very interesting from a grammatical viewpoint. Learning, learning, learning: there really is something new every day, which makes my inner Hermione Granger jump for joy. Yippee!

My French friends all seem to enjoy going to the cinema as well, which is excellent news for me because, in my opinion, going to see French movies where there are no subtitles and you can't ask anyone to repeat themselves is an excellent test of one's comprehension skills. Last Thursday, I went out to the movies with a few friends, and we saw Les Petits Mouchoirs (English description here), which, I was told, was a classically and typically French film: where the emotions are super intense and nothing much really happens throughout the course of the movie. Those can actually be some of the best movies, though (ref. A Bout de Souffle, arguably Belmondo's best film), and I found the film to be highly enjoyable. It ran a little long at the end, but the balance of comedy and tragedy was appropriate and it gave a fairly accurate depiction of life in France. There were certainly little details I missed through a lack of comprehension, but once I figured out that Guillaume Canet's project (he wrote and directed the film) was basically a French adaptation of The Big Chill, I was able to understand so many more things about the movie. This was simply further evidence that a good portion of anything involving Guillaume Canet will be of quality (excluding The Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio, which many people pretend never happened).

And now, a few pictures to finish up this entry. Enjoy!

Our living room - and my computer Aristophanes

Our lovely kitchen and my roommate's family cookbook

Rue Granet - view from our window

Place d'Albertas

Place de la Rotonde - as seen from les Allées Provençales

Tootles, y'all! Next entry will be about my travels in Provence!

Gros bisous!!

Rachel