'Tu le veux? C'est marrocain'

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The title of this blog is a story in itself! Anyways, it's Friday the 20th of June and as soon as class is over, and we part ways with our hangovers, we rendez-vous at the bus station to make our ways down to the fabled Marseille beaches. Up till that day, I had gotten mixed reviews about it, ranging from gorgeous to an absolute shithole, so I really was going with no expectations at all! Anyways, quick bus ride down there and eventually we found ourselves standing in front of the Quai de Ville. An enormous marina located smack back in centre-ville, it is home to just about every yacht or sailboat in the city. On an extremely bright and clear day such as ours, the hundreds upon hundreds of crafts, all gleaming white and shiny, reflecting the sun off their freshly waxed decks, mast spires and riggings really made a picture perfect site. If only I had a camera...

So as is the trouble with going in big groups we had to wait on a few stragglers who missed the first bus out but myself, Taylor and Gordon whistled the time away quite effectively by playing some hackysack! It really was hilarious, drawing the stares of all the quay side merchants and tourists watching this trio of weird English speaking kids doing all sorts of acrobatics just to keep a tiny sand bag from hitting the ground. There were a couple of close calls, with Gordon coming about an inch from roundhouse kicking some random dude in the jaw! Anyways, already hot and bothered we finally got on the 83 bus (again, without paying..I'm getting quite good at this!) to Prophete Beach. Took a hell of a long time but as usual, it was well worth it and we were once again rewarded with yet another beautiful Mediterranean beach - this being the first one that was fully sandy. Amazing weather, white sand, topless beauties and once again, when I found myself floating about 50 metres out to see with nothing but the sound of water slapping my ears, life was good, real good.

Being my usual fidgety and curious self, I set out to try and beach myself on a random island of scraggly, moss covered boulders. However, I had barely settled myself down when a lifeguard rolls up on his jet ski and very politely, but firmly, tells me to get the hell off before a wave comes and knocks me out. Spoilsport. So after that, the rest of our stay was the usual blend of shooting the shit with the guys, playing some kick up (this time with a volleyball), beachcombing with Brian and laughing hysterically at an ice cream called 'Pussy' that came, oh so cruelly, in three different sizes and a variety of parfums - Whenever I begin to question my maturity, I think of what Brian's friend apparently said his graduation "As funny was it was to draw penises on our friend's notebooks back then, it's even funnier now."

The deal of the century was also made when we were messing with the girls, trying to encourage them to go topless as well (we should really be put away) until finally, Shauna (the girl who will be coming with me to Amsterdam) suddenly pipes up says "Ok. If you boys wear speedos to the beach, we'll go topless." Are you kidding??? We were tempted to run right there and then to the nearest sports shop! We still haven't let them live it down and mark my words, we will see that deal through to its entirety by the end of this week!

Several hours and with the less melanin blessed among us ending up with some relatively angry burns, we headed back into town. By this time, myself, Brian, David and Gwynne wanted to stay back a little longer, see the city but most of all, sample some pastis - the anise based liquor for which the Provence region is famous for. However, the bus ride back proved to be a little more eventful than we imagined ( this is getting to be a habit it seems!) About halfway there, a group of rowdy, topless French guys roll in and take over the back of the bus - I imagine they were just some ordinary bunch of hooligans with obviously nothing better to do than make a racket. Finally, one of them just whips out a joint and starts smoking it in the middle of the bus and obviously, this catches my eye because I'm just plain impressed with the audacity this guy has to just start smoking hash in the middle of public! Eventually he catches me looking at him and next thing I know, I'm getting educated, in French of course, about the different varieties of hash that gets peddled through Marseille. This guy turned out to be a real connoisseur, filling me in on how to identify different types, which turned out to be a good vocabulary lesson! Learned how to say rough, smooth, coarse, fine, soft, crumbly and others in the somatosensory lexicon. Turns out the particular strain that he was smoking hailed from the mystical streets of Marrakesh ( must tell Rashid this!). Not to worry, I wasn't stupid enough to try or buy any - the Dubai police I think have permanently put the fear of God in me of getting involved in shit like this!

Finally back at the Quai, we headed down the closest restaurant that had a view of the marina and ordered pastis. The peculiar thing about this particular aperitif is that upon contact with water, it immediately turns from a clear liquid to cloudy and grey. The correct proportions are 5 parts water for every 1 part pastis. The flavor is definitely and acquired taste - I immediately likened to liquid sauf , the Indian mouth freshener (which is just anise seeds itself) - nonetheless it was extremely refreshing and definitely took some of the bite away from what was a real scorcher of a day!

To round off the day, we took a stroll down the side of the marina and browsed through the outdoor gallery of a renowned French photographer who has travelled all around the world to places like Sub Saharan Africa, India, Southeast Asia and all over South America to capture some of the most striking images. However, he adds a twist to his work - unlike modern artists who use technology to enhance the colors and hues, he stays far away from computers and instead uses natural textures and surfaces, coupled with vegetable dyes, to create some really amazing pieces. My particular favorite was the nude back of what appeared to be a woman of South Asian descent, arms raised but made to look like a thatched floor. It's really hard to describe exactly what I saw! I recommend that everyone visits this gallery if ever in Marseille..

And something I just have to mention: just before we get on the bus we stop by to get sandwiches and of course, the three Americans would order the Americano and I would order the Middle Eastern kebab - how stereotypical. More of a 'you had to be there moment' I believe.

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