Prado and Prejudice
18-20/08/06
By this stage we were feeling a little anxious about not having found an apartment yet (a little overdue, believe me), and we went straight to our agent and told him that we wanted the apartment we saw last week. Unfortunately it was now not available till September, because it had to be cleaned, painted and have furniture replaced. This left us with only three options: find a new apartment (even harder than you think), stay in an Aix hotel for ten days (not recommended in budget traveling guides), or go on another holiday to see our wayfaring friend Karina in Valencia.
So, re-inspired to see the sights, we booked a couple of spots at a hostel 200m from le Prado, à Marseille, where we would stay for a couple of nights before taking the bus to Spain. The Prado is the name of a stretch of about 4-5 beaches stretching from near the centre of Marseille to Point Rouge, the eastern end of Marseille. Beyond that are Les Calanques, a line of white cliffs and tiny inlets and beaches (said to be the most beautiful part of France). If you ever want to practice your strolling before hitting the promenades of Paris, then come and imitate the best, or wait till Mayan can relay everything she’s learnt.
There’s a million things we didn’t get around to doing. Sailing, touring, bushwalking, kayaking…
Instead we entered in the most competitive leisure sport: sunbaking.
From among the glare of the beach and the haze from the hostel bar comes one story though: one of the days we were contending in our chosen field, the water became infested with jellyfish. So all along the edge of the water, for kilometers, there was a line of gesticulating Europeans; counting, prodding, fleeing, and roundly scolding the little invertebrates. One Provencal gentleman was brave enough to attempt to remove a few offenders with a red shovel, depositing them on an empty spot of beach just behind, to the cheers of the crowd. A little while later some newcomers were seen hastily un-occupying their new-found water views. On reflection, I think it may have been the spot right beside the gentelman’s own esky.
So, after a few days on our back, and making friends with some hitch-hiking Russians, we were ready for a few hours on our bums, on the bus to Barcelona.
18-20/08/06
By this stage we were feeling a little anxious about not having found an apartment yet (a little overdue, believe me), and we went straight to our agent and told him that we wanted the apartment we saw last week. Unfortunately it was now not available till September, because it had to be cleaned, painted and have furniture replaced. This left us with only three options: find a new apartment (even harder than you think), stay in an Aix hotel for ten days (not recommended in budget traveling guides), or go on another holiday to see our wayfaring friend Karina in Valencia.
So, re-inspired to see the sights, we booked a couple of spots at a hostel 200m from le Prado, à Marseille, where we would stay for a couple of nights before taking the bus to Spain. The Prado is the name of a stretch of about 4-5 beaches stretching from near the centre of Marseille to Point Rouge, the eastern end of Marseille. Beyond that are Les Calanques, a line of white cliffs and tiny inlets and beaches (said to be the most beautiful part of France). If you ever want to practice your strolling before hitting the promenades of Paris, then come and imitate the best, or wait till Mayan can relay everything she’s learnt.
There’s a million things we didn’t get around to doing. Sailing, touring, bushwalking, kayaking…
Instead we entered in the most competitive leisure sport: sunbaking.
From among the glare of the beach and the haze from the hostel bar comes one story though: one of the days we were contending in our chosen field, the water became infested with jellyfish. So all along the edge of the water, for kilometers, there was a line of gesticulating Europeans; counting, prodding, fleeing, and roundly scolding the little invertebrates. One Provencal gentleman was brave enough to attempt to remove a few offenders with a red shovel, depositing them on an empty spot of beach just behind, to the cheers of the crowd. A little while later some newcomers were seen hastily un-occupying their new-found water views. On reflection, I think it may have been the spot right beside the gentelman’s own esky.
So, after a few days on our back, and making friends with some hitch-hiking Russians, we were ready for a few hours on our bums, on the bus to Barcelona.
posted by Mayan at 3:52 AM
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