By Erik Skye

13 Jul 2011

Mots du jour (Francais): de rien (you’re welcome; literally “of nothing”), s’il vous plait (please; literally “if you like”), merci (thank you)

We got turned-around, making our way along back roads from Lloret de mar, looking for the freeway to France. Dalia stopped to ask direction using Italian and getting Spanish in reply. Apparently it works. There was a woman in a bikini with plastic lawn chair standing beside the road. Dalia turned and waved excitedly as we went by. I then learned it was a ‘woman of the day’ and began noticing one at almost every driveway. I’m so naive sometimes. I just thought they were out sunbathing. I then began snapping photos; often getting ‘the bird’ in return (I think that’s short for ‘howdy’ down in these parts).

There was a confusing interchange on the highway and Dalia missed an exit. In trying to figure out what to do next, she entered the on-coming lane. Yacine chastised her from the back seat, exclaiming “GTA” (i.e. accusing her of driving like in the Play Station game Grand Theft Auto).

We made a stop in the Spanish town of Figueres to see the Salvador Dali museum but didn’t want to wait in line for two hours. So instead, we walked along the narrow cobble stone streets, goofing off, taking photos, window shopping, eating. It was my first fairly authentic (albeit still touristy) Spanish town; much more appealing than Lloret de mar.

The air was cleaner, the sun brighter, and the temperature cooler on the five-hour return to Marseille. At one point, Yacine pointed to a flat, dry, sage brush-looking area along-side the freeway and declared ‘looks like Arizona’. ‘Have you been’ I asked. ‘No’ he replied. ‘Well you’re right’ I followed. There are many similarities between southwest USA and southern France.

We made a late evening trip to the Vieux Port. “Vieux” means “old” and “port” is “port” like in English. Vieux Port is the heart of Marseille, over 2,500 years old, and was once the center of French commerce. We had dinner at a small shop serving French and Algerian cuisine.

People were extremely friendly:

I.e. an Egyptian man named George was working at the restaurant and began proudly speaking in English when he learned I was American. As we were waiting for our food, I asked Dalia and Yacine to turn around for a photo in the mirror. George declared that they were disappointed to not be included (I think he meant it.) So I took the picture again. Later, George came and sat down with us as we ate. He asked which sauce I liked best, and I exclaimed ‘the Algerian one’! He playfully teased me for my choice, but then admitted it was his favorite too. Apparently the Algerians and Egyptians have a rivalry, which was not lost on Yacine and George as we interacted.

I.e. I began spinning the camera from the tripod as we walked. This triggered a young woman in a group of three to ask why I was taking her picture, to which Dalia replied that I was a journalist (joking). The young woman began asking questions about me with Dalia happily answering and offering more. Before long, I was totally overwhelmed by attention. Dalia and Yacine thought this was very funny and kept feeding the fire. “She’s in love” Dalia exclaimed with laughter. I was asked to speak French phrases over and over (apparently I have a cute accent), compared to George Clooney (apparently our dimples match), and told I would have a new companion for my trip back to Alaska (apparently the young woman was ready for marriage). This at first charming scene soon left me completely flabbergasted, and later close to a break-down. I’m not used to or fond of attention, especially of that magnitude. When we finally departed, Yacine told me that if I go to Algeria, there will be a hundred like her. I replied that if there was only double what I had just gone through, I would die.

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