England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 01
Right! Time for a quick (or not so quick) photo journal of our England/France trip, courtesy the wonderful Larkins across the pond.
We flew from Atlanta to London (Gatwick), and the next day flew from Gatwick to Marseilles in the south of France. Good flights, with only a little scariness during the descent into
Marseilles airport. It was mighty windy, and the pilot had a tough time keeping the wings straight on our way in. Mad props to him for setting the plane down so gently after some stomach churning
pitch and yaw action. That marks the first time a planeload of people applauded and I actually joined in.
Welcome to the driveway of Kit and Yvonne’s ultra-comfy pad in Provence, mere minutes from the airport. That’d be Scampy facing you, and Miel looking away. Folks take their dogs everywhere here, be it the market
or a bar. Awesome. Ernie would have a field day biting on the locals were he here.
Frog inna pool! Apparently he’d been enjoying his swims with Yvonne day after day but, knowing the chlorine would do him in, I fished him out. He didn’t seem happy about it. Sorry dude; you do know they eat your kind here, doncha?
The crib, as seen from the poolhouse. Jealous? Well you should be. Chris (Kit) has done wonders with this joint; it’s truly the bomb. Pool, tennis courts (with good ole ‘Merican basketbawl), putting green, table tennis and a fridge slap-packed fulla
tasty tiny bottles of French beer everywhere you turn.
The pool. Not a great pic, but you get the idea. Never fear; there are more shots of the crib to come!
Right! Lets take a quick drive and scope out some of the cool stuff we got a gander at on the way in. Ever wonder where sunflower oil comes from? Here ya go!
Pollinate, baby, pollinate!
The wind would kick up and all the flowers would sway in tandem, as if they were dancing. Kinda felt like I was in a Jellyfish video. Trippy! Hippy!
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 02
Demanda, amongst the flowers (and beezez).
Sunflowers ever’whar. Surreal, innit?
We stopped in some town, the name of which eludes me, to grab… guess what? Why, a beer, of course!
These bro’s are playing some game that involves throwing heavy metal (rawk!) spheres at a round target. The one who gets his ball closest
wins. They call the game… bawls. Or bauls. Or some such thing. Look, it sounds just like freakin’ ‘balls’. ahight?
Jason explains the subtle nuances of getting a bunch of friends together to play with your balls.
Right! On to Aix for a little nightlife and a lotta beer. I suppose the highlight of the night was stopping at a bar that was mostly empty, only to have it gradually fill with patrons… it seems gay bars in France don’t fly the rainbow flag. I guess the pirate motif should’ve been a hint, but we didn’t get it. No biggie. Fully 2/3 of the guys wandering around Aix look gay to me regardless. Fashun… I don’t git it. I wonder if International Male has a store here? I sure could use an ultra tight button down shirt to show off my nipplen (and love handlen). Anyway, here’s the mighty Jason Larkin and I, chillin’ outside enjoying a cold brew and some nice jazz. Observe Jason’s shirt; this represents one of the few times you’ll see him in one. Something about sweltering heat and its effects on the men-who-are-manly, apparently. I remain shirted, for manly I am not.
The band playing outside. We’d passed them once earlier in the night, just playing for loose change. Amazingly good stuff; kickin’ out Monk and Mingus and the like. The tall scrawny dreadlocked bass player had chops for days.
Jason seems to have a penchant for gurly lookin’ drinks, complete with froofy stir sticks. This is one scary picture, ain’t it?
You know, a number of people back here at home have commented about visiting that pernicious old country known as France at a time like this. Well
I tell you, people were nothing if not polite the entire time. In fact, I certainly didn’t see propaganda about the war anywhere near on par
with the bullshit I see in Atlanta. It’s as if Americans are obsessed with convincing themselves, and perhaps the world,
that what they’ve accepted and/or participated in is somehow right despite the avalanche of facts (that just keep on a’comin)
to the contrary.
Anyway, enough of my traitorous soap boxing. While in Aix, we were handed (politely, I might add), this flyer (which reads as pretty polite as well.
At least a hell of a lot moreso than the crap distributed in the states).
Back at at the crib, and I was assaulted by a rugged stud of a beetle damn near the size of my thumb. He ain’t small. No no no.
Jason, Mander and I went to the Fontaine Du Vaucluse to check it out. The Fontain Du Vacluse is the source of the River Saogues, one of the most powerful natural springs in the world. The river comes up through cave like thing that’s fed by rain water draining through the Vaucluse plateau. It’s been the subject of a number of explorations over the years. Cat daddy Jacques Cousteau even scoped it out.
For some odd reason I never broke out the digital camera during this trip. Thank goodness Demanda snapped some pics with her manual.
Welcome!
The River Saogues. It looks kinda green, but that’s all the algea and river weed in it. In actuality it’s startlingly clear. Were it not for the current I think it’d look like a sheet of glass. Very cool.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 03
And the source of the river. We needed a wide angle lens to catch all of it, so this pic is deceiving. This is a big ass cave that Jason and I scrambled around in for awhile. The water was mighty low while we were there. According to the net, in winter and spring the flow can rise to 160 cubic metres a second. Glad it didn’t while we were in there!
Part of the top of the cave. Again, a wide angle woulda been spiffy.
The happy couple. Lets go hikin!
Big castley ruins high above the source of the river. We hiked up there (followed for a bit by a tiny cat that nearly became an adopted Larkin), and Demanda got a big nasty series of cuts on her leg from a rusty old railing type thing that I assume was installed at some point years ago to keep folks from tumbling down the cliff side. We couldn’t find a way into the ruins themselves… gave up looking once Mander had fallen prey to the metal beast.
I wained to figure out a way over to those crazy caves behind us, but alas, it wasn’t to be.
The river running over what looks like a culvert of sorts. Nice pic!
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 04
The next day the Larkins packed up the family so’s we could head on out to the Iles Du Frioul, islands off the coast of Marseilles in the Mediterranean.
Quick history encapsulation:
- 49 B.C. : The flotilla of Julius Cesar laid anchor in the ocean near to the islands, this is the start of the Roman siege of Marseilles
- In the XIIIth century : the islands became a stopping-off point for boats leaving for the Crusades
- 1524 : Fran�ois 1er has a fortress castle built on “If” to protect Marseilles
- From the XVIIth century : A quarantaine system is installed by the city to protect itself against the manacing tide of epidemics. The Frioul islands become a principle piece in this system
- 1627 : The Pom�gue port becomes an inspection port for suspect ships
- 1720 : despite the security fence that is provided by the Frioul islands the plague gains the city of Marseilles by way of a boat from the East called the Le Grand Saint Antoine
- 1822 – 1826 : Construction of the sea dike between Pom�gue and Ratonneau for mooring of boats in quarantaine and the construction of a quarantine hospital (H�pital Caroline) which was only finally closed in 1948
- August 1944 : The German troops who had taken and occupied the old ancient fortresses are beaten back by American troops
- 1970 : The Marseilles City municipality buys the islands of Pom�gue and Ratonneau to build housing
Viewing the mainland, across that ole Mediterranean (which happened to be cold enough to send the testicles of even the burliest of men northward with ample velocity to cause throat damage).
There’s a buncha old fort-like ruins and whatnot on the Isle, so we decided to get our hike on rather than slip into the cryogenic deep freeze of the water.
Part of the mainland of Marsielles as seen from the island.
One of the many inlets (coves; whatever) where folks drop anchor and bake in the sun. Now, I gotta tell you… at one point I came a’crawlin’ over the rocks and looked down into one of the smaller coves to find a butt-ass nekkid girl sprawled out on the rocks below me. I’d just started getting used to the topless action on the beach (which, in actuality, ain’t that hard to do. Not all breasteses are created equal, you see, and neither are the folks they’re hung offa), so I’m sure I had a “now that ain’t somethin’ ya see ever’day” look on my face. The man accompanying her saw me (slackjawed and all, no doubt) and promptly chucked a towel over her lower naughty bits. Jason probably hit the nail on the head later when he said “Well what would you do if some scary tattooed longhair came scampering over the rocks and started ogling yer womans clam?”
Ok, so maybe he didn’t say it exactly like that. You get the picture though.
Down there’s the ‘beach’ where the rest of the Larkinsens are cold chillin’. If a cove filled with rocks, trash, glass and trucked in sand qualifies as a beach, that is. That’s a beach in Mississippi, ain’t it?
From way down at the waterline I thought these things were a shit-ton of crosses, but in actuality they’re the remains of a structure I’m guessin’ them damn Nazi’s threw up atop the original ruins. My first clue? I don’t think them true old schoolers circa: 1820’s utilized quite so much rebar.
The magical Isle of If, part of the archipelago. Jinkies!
Back on the beach and who do we see but Zibbety Zeb! He and his little sister, Holly, are Kit and Yvonne’s grandkiddies. They’re here, along with Zeb’s partner in crime James, on vacation from Ireland. Zeb’s cool. He’s a vegetarian. He digs gameboy. He’s willing to deliver cold beers poolside. In this particular picture Zeb is asking Jason where his nipples have gone, and Jason is patiently explaining that it seems they froze solid and fell straight off in the icy, icy sea.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 05
Right! Back at the crib, and Jason’s having fun launching kids face first into pool toys. Observe the look of intense concentration on Zebs face.
James, on the other hand, goes for the oh-so-swell sensation of having a snorkeling mask embedded into his eye sockets.
Scampi’s all excited, ’cause he didn’t know that Magnum P.I. had been invited to the party. Me? I miss good ole T.C.
Holly’s turn. Looks like Jason mighta caught a foot in the face that time. Zeb, meanwhile, seems to be getting jiggy with it.
Jason waters Holly, who floats along on her noo�duh. Ok, it’s a noodle, but that’s how she pronounces it, and I prefer it.
Jason, Mander and I headed off towards Cassis, an old Provencal fishing port on the coast, to scope out the action. It’s surrounded by craggy cliffs including Europe’s highest cliff, Cape Canaille. Much of that haze in the distance is the byproduct of forest fires, which are a big problem this time of year. It’s damn hot, and damn dry.
Jason and I wonder if we can make it down to them caves. There’s a burned out overturned car far beneath us; a healthy warning to wimmen applying lipstick and talking on their celly (excuse me, mobile) whilst driving through these twisty roads. Twisty? Hell yeah. During the latter half of the trip I was relegated to the back seat during journeys, and my stomach did not appreciate the experience.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 06
Up up up. The plants here are tough customers. Thorny, prickly things. Even some cacti-lookin’ stuff.
Its big fun to follow trails that seem to just disappear. Lets run! You go first!
Mander and Jason keep heading upwards. Demanda stops to contemplate, likely wondering why a person who suffers from vertigo would subject themself to this.
Welcome to Cape Canaille. See that lil white spec? That’d be a boat. A little research on the net says we aught to be about 1,352 feet (405 m.) off the water at this point. Thassa long way down. Mander is not pleased that I’ve decided to sit down on the edge. I’m not pleased that I’ve decided to sit down in the path of some big hairy-assed ants. They bite. It hurts. Jason’s off to my left laying flat on his chest, shirtless (of course) taking pictures. Have fun with the ants, Jason!
At least I’ve found a big ole boulder to lean against. Sweaty.
See? There’s nakedboy hangin’ over the edge now, getting his film on. Stop looking up his shorts, girls! Email me if you want his digits.
From the other side you can eyeball a copious amount of terrain.
I’m scared! O so scared!
On to Cassis. Why? ‘Cause it’s half past beer time, fool! Chillin’ at a cafe on the Promenade des Lombards along the waterfront. Supposedly one crazy-rich homie owns that enormous compound atop the cliff behind me. Jason says that they’re famous, but he can’t remember who they are. I suspect it isn’t Ashton Kucher. That’s all I can tell ya. Dude! Sweet!
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 07
Another day, another trip! Pack up the crew; we’re headed to Gorges Du Verdon! The Verdon Gorges are sorta France’s version of the Grand Canyon. The Verdon River winds its way through them. This place is eye-poppingly awesome, even with all the damn people everywhere. You can rent a canoe, a pedlo (a pedalboat) or, for the truly fat and lazy, a silly looking little motorboat powered by what suspiciously resembles a trolling motor. The Larkin clan opted for the pedlo’s, what with having the kids and dogs with ’em. Manda and I grabbed a canoe.
Busy day. I’m jealous of the canoers with the double bladed paddles. We obviously rented from the wrong damn vendor. Don’t adjust your monitor; that really is the color of the water. And, unlike the damn sea, it’s comfy warm.
Can ya see Jason on his way down? People jump into the river from crazy heights. Jason did this once. Then we went to the concession and got a spoon to dislodge his testicles from his armpits.
By the time we were making our way back up the river Amanda had abandoned the canoe for greener pastures and stuck Jason with the sad duty of helping her spouse paddle upriver. He and I yanked our canoe up under them trees there and climbed up into those caves. It was weird. Very cool inside, and clean. By clean I mean no creepy crawlies. I’m used to finding bugs and reptiles and whatnot in caves. All the ones we went in here were devoid of any such thing. Only swallows and moss to be found (other than patches of fireburn on the ceiling). By the time I got to the upper cave I realized that I’d left the damn camera in the boat below. I also realized that we were pretty damn high up, and climbing down in a pair of sandals was something I was interested in attempting exactly once. So sorry, no pics from up there; just memories.
Holly, Jason, Gemma and Ollie gettin’ their pedal on. Thank goodness the pedlo comes with a slide, else I’d be bored.Not.
American White Trash in France. Don’t get no better’n that, y’all!
Jason and company head on while Ollie videos the path ahead.
Jason and I attempting to climb a little waterfall. As opposed to the river, the water flowing down this thing is pretty damn cold. He’s lumpy! He’s translucent! His shorts are too big! He’s American!
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 08
Powerpuff Girls bucket… Atari tee… must be another American! Our Verdon day was great fun, and I was sorry when it was over. I coulda spent days playing about in the water and on the cliffs. If you ever get to the South of France do yourself a favor; check this place out.
looks like a postcard, don’t it?
From still further back.
On the way back we swung by some of the lavender fields so’s Demanda could get her photo-op on.
And get it on she did!
I love this shot.
Thatsa lotta damn lavender. Supposedly this is mere weeks away from the harvest.
Ok! Off to Marseilles for din-din to mark Jason’s last night in France. He’s headed to Wales for a photo job. Chris and Yvonne got babysitters for the kidlets and we went down to the seafront to grab some grub.
The sun is setting on Marseilles.
I can’t remember what this arch represented. Cool pic tho. Ain’t the skies awesome?
Gemma and Chris, getting their order on.
Jason’s feeling frisky. Have another beer, bro!
Our table overlooks a port. See? I told you the skies were awesome.
Time for your closeup Ollie! Hey… what’s the finger for?
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 09
How… umm diverse. Ok, left to right:
Jason, Forehead, Gemma, Chris, Yvonne, Demanda, Ollie!
Jase had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn the next day to make his flight back. He did it. Barely.We like him lots, but not enough to get up and see him off so, after a lazy start, Gemma, Demanda and I stole Yvonne’s car to head out to the Calanques. Here’s a cheesy definition of them that I stole from a site I googled:
The calanques are deep narrow inlets, sort of Provencal fiords, in the rocky cliffs along the coast between Cassis and Marseilles. The calanques were formed by rivers flowing into the sea, submerged aeons ago by the rising level of the Mediterranean. The long narrow inlets in the high white rocks are truly impressive, some with tiny harbors or beaches at the ends, and rock climbers scaling the walls along the sides.
Gemma. Driving. She’s a woman ready to hike. How can you tell? Why, the visor, of course.
This is Pierre-Louis Lefevre, a hitchhiker we picked up along the way. He told me that his father is a very important man in Marseilles, but his breath stank of 33 Export, so I consider his claims to be dubious at best.
Wait. Maybe that was my breath. Dammit!
Cliggledy-Calanques! They asked me to deliver a message back to Atlanta’s Stone ‘Mountain’: “nice try”.
Ok, let’s go hiking. See, I told you Gemma came prepared; she’s got her Hiking Skirt on and everything!
Up. Way up. That’s a little port down there in the distance.
Can you see Demanda and Gemma there on the edge of the road? I think some of these pics lose their impact when shrunk to webbable size.
Gemma, wishing we had a boat.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 10
See all those little cylinders? Each one holds a young tree planted to replace those wiped out by a fire. Fire; a big problem all around here. There’s nothing quite like seeing smoke coming from the general area of your abode whilst driving on the motorway and having to seriously think “Hm. Hope that’s not my place.”
Here. I hiked around the corner and got a better shot of that port. Damn if we couldn’t figure out how to get to the road leading to it once we made it back to the car.
See that road? All the roads in this area are similar. Fun if you’re driving, white knuckly if you’re on the passenger side, and nauseating if you’re in the back. People here honk like friggin’ mad every time they approach one of the gajillion hairpins, hoping to let those coming from the opposite direction know that they’re on their way. One flaw I find with this approach is this; if both cars coming from opposite directions are honking like freaks simultaneously, aren’t they going to have a hard time hearing one another?
On the way back we ran across a dirty hippy teaching kids how to climb. Pretty impressive; them chillun is small.
Right! Back at the crib. Lets take a little tour. Here’s what I would classify as the living room. Notice the french doors both leading out of the room and to the outside. It’s great being able to literally open the whole bloody house up to the outside world.
The solarium out back. This is where breakfast happens. The canopy just beyond it is where dinner happens. In France, food happens.
Here’s a better view. I took this while standing on the putting green. Didja get that? Putting green. Ain’t this place the bomb?
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 11
The solarium as seen from the kitchen. Cozy.
And out the front door. To your extreme left there is a little bit of the pizza oven that’s built into the side of the house. Ollie rocked some pizzas in there one night… awesome.
See? There’s the oven; straight ahead. Here’s a nice sitting area outside, adjacent to the living room in the previous pic. Nice place to sup brews and avoid the sun.
The front drive, the dogs, my shadow.
This here’s the only lizard pic I got. I caught one of them down by the pool, and he was the bitingest poopingest thing I’ve had ahold of in a long time. I let him go, ’cause that’s what you do. Kinda like holding a baby, ‘cept these won’t grow up to raid your liquor cabinet and steal your car. And you wonder why I like lizards…
Actually, my one big regret is missing out on taking a pic of another bit of local wildlife. One night, late, Jason and I were hangin by the pool when I heard a noise in the bushes. I ran over and found a hedgehog trundling through the grass. He immediately balled up and grabbed fast to some sprigs of grass as to avoid being easily scooped up. Let me tell you… pointy. I thought Jason was going to wet himself laughing as he listened to me try my damnedest to pick that thing up. “Ow, Shit. Ow. Ow. Ow. Shit! Oh ow. Owtch. Hey. Come back here. Ow. Shit. Ow. Ow! Hey. Come back here…”
After Jason made no move to find me some gloves I decided the best bet would be to slip my hand underneath it rather than grabbing it outright. Note to self; hedgehogs have teeth.In the end he went on his merry way unperturbed, and I went on mine, nursing some fresh pokes underneath my fingernails. The camera was, at the time, in the bedroom along with my sleeping wife, so Sonic went unphotographed. The next day the Larkins must’ve put me into a new category of ‘weird’; “You chased a hedgehog around the yard last night?”
Gemma, James, Zeb and Mander. Uno: crackrock for the bored.
I decided Holly was worth some harrassment, so I played paparazzi with her. I tried to get her to sock me in the mush a-la Sean Penn, but she’s too refined for such behavior.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 12
This little girl is going to be Trouble in a couple of years. Note the capital T. Little boys beware!
Scampy, livin’ a dogs life.
Gemma, who thinks that her glasses make her look absolutely fly.
James doesn’t feel it.
Mander’s gotten some sun on her face. Holly uses the protective power of magical bangs to shade herself.
Ollie, Mander, Gemma and Holly. Suff’rin, ain’t they?
Chris, dizzy and overwhelmed by the power of estrogen.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 13
Holly’s got Ollie in the sleeper hold. It’s only a matter of time now.
Don’t give up! You had ‘im!
Right. So Chris kindly gave us a lift to the airport in Marseilles (along with seeing us off and hooking us up with
a pass to the groovy exec room; thanks Chris!) and we sadly left France behind to head back to London. The flight was full, but uneventful.
BA gave us two free nights in a hotel downtown, ’cause they appreciate me giving them the opportunity to take massive amounts of my money. The hotel we stayed at was under major renovation… right on our floor. Now I understand what a ‘free’ hotel night really means. Still, it wasn’t bad, at least for the price.
Rabid skaters loose in the underground! Obnoxious skatepunks seem to cross all boundaries. These kids were irritating. That’d be my arm in the upper right.
Welcome back to London.
We spent lots of time riding the tube. Look out for the train!
Busy night. These things could use some air conditioning (and summa these peeps could use some roll-on).
London; home of things blurry.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 14
Got some folks meditatin’… gettin’ they protest on. Seems like there’s always a protest going on in London.
Guess what? More tube ridin’!
I come to London to look at ads for Californian wine.
This is an accurate visual representation of how I feel most mornings. Especially when I’ve listened to indians in the room across from mine chant all. damn. night.
Look! Itsa bathroom! Ain’t that exciting! Right. Our last night in downtown London we took Jasons advice and headed to a killer vegetarian indian joint for dinner. Upon getting back to the underground station we discovered that the train we’d heard leaving was the last one for the night. We then got some directions from a guy working in the station and set off on foot… only to discover that he’d sent us in the opposite direction of our hotel. I guess he’s got a beef with dirty Americans. We eventually got back to our hotel after hopping double deckers with scads of drunken Londoners.The next day Unca Richard (and Max) came and picked us up from the hotel and took us off to their crib.
Cousin George and Aunt Patsy, cold chillin’ in the backyard. Cellphone! Yogurt! What?
Max pretends to listen intently as she ponders the inevitable outcome of “Pimm’s o’clock”. Everyone loves some Pimm’s No 1!!
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 15
It’s sunny today in London. George enjoys the rays.
Patsy, bored with her innane American houseguests, begins to crank call Tony Blair repeatedly, asking if he’s found any Weapons of Mass Destruction yet.
Max and Richard, wondering why Tony keeps answering his phone.
Hey! The neighbor has a bona-fried race car! Kool! Having an entire rear quarter panel held together by tape can’t be a good thing.
The newest addition… it’s Sam!
Sam and his momma.
Sam and not his momma.
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England – France :: July 01-14 2003 Part 16
Sam, Auntie Max and Richard (grandpa? Owtch!).
Jason showed up to take us back to Crowbrough for the night. Left to right:
Jason, Mander, Patsy, Max, Richard and… ummm… some neighbors whose names I’ve forgotten. Whups!
Back in Crowbrough for our last night in Europe, and it’s time to drink (more… still… again) and check out some tunes. I am one greazy bastard!
A shot of the fireplace, ’cause it’s damn cool.
And that TV is damn cool too. It’s on a lazy-susan type contraption, and actually turns to face you as you wander about the room.
Moon over Crowbrough (and Gemma’s ride).
Last minute pic opportunity the next day. Hurry hurry! We gotta get to the airport pronto!
To wait. And wait. And wait. We were delayed for hours. This is what a hungover man, angry for being forced to sit in an airport all day, looks like.
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And that’s it, folks. Once again, I just stopped.
josefek – 2015