Fallas, 16-18 Mars, 2007

How could you stay away from Spain when they have festivals like these? Last time it was La Tomatina, now the lively citizens of Valencia just finished Las Fallas, the Spring festival of noise and smoke. It started back in the days of Spring cleaning, without the council pickups. So everybody just burned everything they were throwing out instead. In order to build the biggest bonfire, they started putting less useless things on the fire, then making things specially for the fire, then making figures of people, and so on until in 2007 they construct huge statues in papier mâché, often as political satire, and burn them all over the city! They are seriously enormous, and only one is built by the council: the rest are all paid for by the cultural clubs (not your regular RSL).
















As well as the burning, which has a lead-up of almost all of March until the 20th, there's a huge beauty competition. All the entrants come from those same cultural clubs, who take it in turns to parade down the main streets. It goes for two days, this parade, and it is impossible to get around the city because of it. Half the locals leave Valencia each year because of Las Fallas, but the rest of Spain moves in.















The place is PACKED 24 hours, and there are crowds at every corner, inspecting the year's artwork. The city has a good arts scene because they need so many artists to build the Fallas, and they need the, every year because they are all burned.















All the competitors in the parade/competition carry bunches of flowers which they take to a big placa in front of the cathredral where they are put into a wooden structure resembling a giant woman in the traditional clothes the contestants themselves are wearing.
















There are three firework shows each day. 8 am, to wake you up. 2pm to send you deaf. 1 am to make you dizzy. Three firework displays a day for a week! Also, they've constructed a church facade out of coloured lights, a sort of prolonged firework display.
















All the really traditional parts of Fallas are done in the streets, with really really cool street parties














And fireworks that everybody throws all day and night. They tried to forbid under twelves from throwing them, but then repealed the law in the face of public appall.















Sam went to Fallas; and stayed with our good friend Karina, you ,ight recognise her from previous episodes, such as La Tomatina... She has family there who are really into the FAllas spirit, from dressing up to throwing fire crackers, if you need any tips just give them a call: Belen, Jordi, Belen, Karina















Unfortunately, someone started Spring during uni semester, and Sam had to get back for class on Monday. So two overnight buses, and one overnight festival later, he popped into Aix at 6am, via Barcelona once more, and fell into bed.

Hyères, 9-11 Mars 2007

When we got back from Biarritz, we were going to take part in a “stand up for the burrup” protest. However, the numbers fizzled thanks to the ski season, and we decided to join them, rather than beat them. We went to a friend’s place in Hyères, a mostly sailing boat port city near Toulon, near Marseille. It’s a cool place, divided into three parts: a presque’île (nearly an island), the old city, and the suburbs area.

We arrived in the night, and went to catch up with some old friends of friends: Julie, Fabien, Tiphaine, and us!






























The next day we popped off for the first swim of the season (it's still winter, but abnormally warm)















Then for a picnic on the 'nearly an island' (translation of the seriously official name)















While we remembered everything, charcuterie, baguettes, et fromages, we forgot to bring a knife. Luckily, we had a flash of inspiration!














We strolled around, and got lost a little, then found our way and thought we'd pose like a rock and roll band in the 70s to celebrate















We stayed another night, and sampled the large action/thriller collection of Tiphaine's parents, then went to the market the next morning, where Sam added to his collection of childish dvds. Calmed him down for the long countryside drive home.

Hitchhiking to Biarritz, 4-8 Mars 2007

Holiday time! Uni and work are both over for a week. What to do? At the beginning of the year we thought we could go to Germany, or Morocco, but thanks to the swift French bureaucracy we still don’t have our “Cartes de sejour”, and can’t leave the country. We’ve also got a little problem of liquidity, and figured the best way to get around would be: hitchhiking.
So, one Saturday arvo we find ourselves en route to Toulouse, the 4th biggest city in France. As well as important achievements in making things out of liver, Toulouse is known for its Space and Airline industry. Yes, the capital of the Airbus empire and home of the Concorde. The driver who took us there works with airbus, and he filled us in: how the recent model took too long, and now they can’t sell any. The company’s broke, and just before we got there they fired 10 000 workers in Europe, 5 500 of them in France (i.e. Toulouse). But we didn’t get caught up in any demonstrations, instead opting to investigate the café and bar scene.

The whole place is built of little bricks.

Like the cathedral

And the bridge

And half the houses and a lot of the streets. It’s called ‘the pink city’ in the language of the Office of Tourism, and it’s not actually built on a river. It’s built on an enormous canal some crazy king decided to build between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic.

We left that arvo, hitching ride to the next town, then the next town without any problems, before finding ourselves a little bit stuck. We’d left in the direction of Biarritz, but had come no further than an industrial town full of unfriendly people. We’d found that only Peugeots had picked us up till now, and waved friendlily to everyone who passed. Some waved back, but no one stopped. Some people contorted themselves to show how in a rush they were, but otherwise they’d stop of course. Others just looked at us like we were homeless. We waited an hour and a half, and it was getting cold when we started walking along the autoroute to the nearest service station. We actually met someone working there who very cheerfully told us she’d seen us by the side of the road, did someone pick us up? (why didn’t she?). We found someone there though, who took us all the way to Tarbes, saddest city in France, where we decided to spend the night instead of waiting for another hour, this time in the middle of the night. The youth hostel was actually temporary housing for immigrant workers, and we left the next morning at 5 am, hoping Biarritz would hold more promise.

We were so keen to get out of there we caught a train for the last leg, and arrived very early in the morning at Biarritz. We straightaway found our hostel and went into the city to see what we could see.
Biarritz has been popular since the 19th century when the empress of Napoleon III discovered she loved it so much, she insisted on having her baby there. At 8.5 months pregnant, she got the carriage there from Paris, refusing to go into labour before she got there. She sang throughout the birth to show her son how strong she was, and, we imagine, spent the rest of her life on holiday, recovering. Her palace is enormous, and is surrounded by similarly luxurious mansions.

The beach is also worth mentioning. No wonder they named our ocean Pacific, when compared with the Atlantic! Enormous waves, big storms, huge winds. All part of our first taste of Biarrtiz. It was too rough even for any surfers to be out!

There’s lots of chateux-style houses in this millionaire surfer’s paradise,

Some spookier than others. The Adam’s Family have their summer cottage here.

We found a chocolate factory, and helped a little bear escape

Then tried to keep sightseeing, but were blown back home by the incredible winds.

The next day it was still storming, but we had to be back in Aix two days later. So we decided to take some cheap-ish train tickets instead and give hitch-hiking a miss for the return journey. We continued sight-seeing!
We went to Bayonne, nearby bigger city, for a change of scene, but instead found another sad city with a beautiful cathedral and a horribly polluted river.

Even the gargoyles had an attitude, and kept spitting water at us as we passed by!

We had a great trip back, nice and easy, on the train, passing cities we hadn’t seen, like Lourdes, city of miracles that attracts 2 million pilgrims a year. But these pilgrims had already found their salvation from soggy hitchhiking: God bless the SNCF!

Destroying any last myths that Sam and I are good cooks.

Today while doing grocery shopping, Sam and I were both unusually attracted to frozen pizza. You know, the type that goes in the oven?

Being rainy and cold, we decided that, despite not having an oven, we would buy one box of pizzas and test it on our stove top.

One box includes three pizzas.















Trial 1:
We get home from shopping, starving and hoping that a simple technique would work. So, we placed the pizza in a paella pan and left it to cook. Of course, the bottom got burned. So, I suggested we quickly and swiftly flip it over. First, half the pizza ingredients went flying outside the pan. Second, (and this we guessed would happen to some degree), the cheese melted onto the pan.















We tried to eat it. But with a burned bottom, and no topping left really, it wasn’t so appetizing.

Trial 2:
We had a BRILLIANT idea. If the pizza only cooks on the bottom half, then why not lift it up a little and put a lid on? Without an oven, we need a little bit of creativity (and without internet any more we need a few projects).

So we emptied our cutlery drawer into the pan, then chucked the pizza on and put it on full!





























Despite your incredulous looks, and all good sense, we left it going for a good little while, and then with our home-made chefs hats at stake, we took the first hestiant nibble, and ended up brawling over the leftovers. It was great!
Score: Sam and May 1, Common Sense, 0

Mayan Birthday, 12 Fevrier, 2007

How do you celebrate a 23rd birthday in France ?

Well, you buy the sweetest delight in the boulangerie and stick candles in it,




















Get dressed in your Friday night best,














And party the night away..... of course!

Me Vs Marseille.

I had been dreading the13th of February for weeks because on this date I would have to take my medical examination for my Carte de Sejour, all alone in big Marseille. As if this wasn’t going to be stressful enough, I would be suffering post-birthday blues.

I felt surprisingly confident this morning as I headed down to the bus station: armed with as much entertainment as I could fit in my bag: ipod, uni textbook, book, and some food. As I stepped onto the bus, I also picked up some street press, for good measure.

What I wasn’t armed with was much money. And as I caught the subway to the bus station after the doctors, I realized I would not have enough money to get home. What was worse was that I had had my wallet stolen on the weekend (yes Sonya and Lils, our one) so I had no way of getting more cash.

So, sitting on the tram I was inspired. For starters, there was a man playing guitar for everyone in the carriage. I took my earphones out, opting for live versions of French songs instead (who wouldn’t??). And then I had a great idea: I should beg for the couple euros I am short of.

The fact that I am currently reading about Mother Teresa (and her humility) further persuaded me that I could beg for my ride home.

But then, looking down, I realized something: I’m wearing expensive shoes, bag, pants and jacket. I look like a business woman (What can I say? I was scared of the doctors so I dressed up in the hope it would make me look healthier??).

So, I walked down the main street thinking of something I could say to get 2 euros. But before I knew it, I had arrived to the Vieux Port.

Two hours later, I was still sitting on a concrete step by the water, sun shining and 100 pages more knowledgable about Mother Teresa. And still short of 2 euros.

I reasoned that I don’t really need the money: “someone needs it much more than me”. Plus, “this could be fun” I thought, as I dreamed of the endless offers I may get from passer bys.

After another 2 hours, Sam told me he would arrive in the next hour or two or in four hours (he was at work so it all depended on whether he could re shuffle his schedule) and, I got excited about seeing money again in note form. However, in the meantime, I was starving and had concluded that I needed to ration out my three mandarins.

Another hour or so later, Sam had arrived to my rescue. Not only did he drag me off the streets, he fed me too.

With my health in order, Sam and I decided to go for a nice provencal walk. We even bumped into some circus crew and their dogs. I was more interested in the latter OBVIOUSLY.

It was good to finally get home this evening.

The only bad news is that I am STILL 153cm tall.

Martigues, 4 Fevrier 2007

The story was this: we’d slept in on Saturday, had a picnic, a few drinks, and played some soccer. The day was just too busy to do any traveling. So we decided to make time in our busy schedules on Sunday to see a bit of the area. We got the only bus leaving that hour to water sport central: Martigues. Lake on one side, Mediterranean on the other, the city is surrounded by enourmous oil refineries, an airport, and an overworked port. But you wouldn’t believe it when you’re there. The water looks clean, there are birds everywhere, and the old centre is still picturesque. It’s built on a canal, linked by blue bridges, where all the local fishing boats go to sleep.

While it’s nice even in winter, it’s a little bit empty. In summer, the place is packed and these great holiday houses are full.

Seachange option #3, then.

Avignon, 28 Janvier 2007

Aix, where we live, is the ancient Roman capital of Provence, the second province of the Roman Empire (after Spain). It won its influence from the Greek capital, Marseille, and lost it again during the middle ages, to Avignon. Avignon is on a river, so better defended, and with the militant French kingdom, it became mighty popular with everybody. So much so that the Pope, who was sick of the noise coming from his partying neighbours in Rome, ran away to Avignon for some peace and quiet. There he built an enormous palace, and solid city walls to try and keep the wind out. Unfortunately, this wind, “Le Mistral” is so unceasing it drives people crazy, and a later pope decided to extend his Italian holiday permanently. Nevertheless, Avignon, now the tourist capital of western Provence, is still pretty impressive.

We went there with some friends one afternoon, with Julie and Emmeline, and found the entire city deserted: everyone had been blown home this particular Sunday afternoon. This meant we could pop in on the Pope:

Survey the Elysian Fields:

Enjoy the beatific weather:

and still find time to visit Julie’s vineyard home, at Saint-Remy. This is where Van Gogh had therapy, and Nostradamus was born. For that, it’s on every single tourist map, despite its relatively small town charm.