A little Running Around in Marseilles

Marseilles from on high

It seems an age since I last blogged, indeed since I last ran! Worse, there's been the distinct absence of cake in my life. And although my cake/life balance may still be in check, I'd rather the dial was set much higher, where I need to run, to offset a cakey surplus. Part of the issue is that I have been to see my brother in Marseilles once again. I've unkindly suggested that Marseilles is the Stockport to Nice's Manchester. Perhaps more accurate would be that Marseilles is Macclesfield to Nice's Wilmslow.

I do like it, it's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, a little rough around the edges, but an honest and characterful place, where if you put in the effort, you find little gems of beauty that give rich reward. A favourite is the local 'bar', a coffee shop/gentleman's meeting place, with the Tour de France on the TV inside and a few plastic chairs and tables outside...and me. The charm of the service made me smile. Asking for an espresso the response roughly translates into 'espresso? ESPRESSO??? we sell coffee, you call it what you want, we call it coffee, do you want a coffee?' I took the coffee!

Me and my shadow...

Or perhaps looking for somewhere to run. It's the heat that was off putting, plus my state of perpetual tiredness, but it was so energy sappingly hot, that the very notion of running was fatiguing in itself. Yet I knew that once I got going and broke the 'sweat seal', it would be just fine. And so it turned out to be. I only managed one run, but as I ran, it again was the minor senses that let you know you are somewhere else, the noise of the cicada, the kind of musty smell, the crisp long dark shadows on the scorched earth, all things that remind you that you are somewhere different. Don't just look at what you can see is different, listen also, and take in the air, deep into your lungs. Yes, this is running around.

 

On the subject of listening, my musician brother is based out of a curious place, Hotel de la Musique. An apartment block in which most of Marseilles musicians come to practice, gather, jam, drink beer and so on. It's a good idea, but what a noise. Outside on the street, there is nothing. Inside in the studio there is only your music. Outside in the courtyard, it's a riot of conflicting sounds, styles and genres, all mixed up as if being shaken together in a spinning washing machine. Melancholic acoustic sets here, thrash metal right next door. Very funny...and very loud.

 

 

I'm off up there!

Almost the complete opposite of this experience was going to listen to my brother play in the quiet village of Villacroze in the region of Provence. During a 'pre set-up' beer, the isolation of language soon has your eyes and imagination wondering and my thoughts were drawn to the hills behind. Very soon I was on a walk/jog/exploration that found me at the top of the hill looking down at the beautiful scenery beyond. Aside from the physical isolation, which heightens the senses and emotions, my constant companion was the sound of music wafting across the valley; the 'soundcheck'. Surreal.

Robert plays with an assortment of bands, but on this occasion it was ith the Hofmann Family Blues. A mixture of there own music and some standards, my favourite of which was Eric Claptons - Let it Grow. Proper hair standing up on the back of your neck stuff. They played in a small courtyard fronting a small line of restaurants and cafes. I wondered around the town, the music penetrating every corner of this otherwise quiet French village. At times it was dreamy.

Didan was my other companion of the week, my brothers cat. I'm not a fan of a cat, sneezing, wheezing and all that, but boy, they like me! It wasn't constant attention, only from about 3.00am after a night on the town would Didan then come and jump on my feet and nuzzle in for the remainder of the night, followed up with a little headbutting session at about 7.00am if it was evident I wasn't getting up to feed him. To be honest, a little affection grew, but we had an understanding. It was his house, his bed and I was in his space. Couldn't really argue with that.

A good week and some new experiences, with a little running around thrown in for good measure.