France Part 2

So Marseillan is a pretty little town. Like any respectable European town, it has lots of little food markets, bakeries, fruit and veggie stands, butchers, fish markets, all the usual suspects. There's a town center that is basically the shopping area with little tourist shops, hair salons, cafes, and banks. So I got up and went to the grocery store with my sister Tara to stock up on cheese, wine, coffee, and whatever. We made some guesses as to the best cheap wines and were not disappointed. My method of picking bottles with cool labels seems to hold true. Suzy, however, made the best discovery in this department; It turns out that the region claims to have invented the Champagne method before Dom Perignon, who they also assert took/stole the idea back to Champagne to perfect it. So consequently you can get a bottle of bubbly there for about $3, that tastes more like a bottle of bubbly that cost $30 because they aren't in the Champagne region. Needless to say I came home with a dozen corks from these bottles to stick in the handlebars of various bicycles.

The first day, I pretty much just wandered around town for a bit and watched the Tour on tv, since I was waiting for my bike to show up from the airline. Being extremely jetlagged, this was just fine by me. I ended up getting my bike in the afternoon of the next day. The delivery guy only spoke French so if it were not for Tara, I would still not have my bike. He wouldn't bring it to the apartment, so he was trying to tell me I had to meet him at the town center. When he handed me the bag, it was apparent that it had been completely torn apart and repacked. The frame had a bunch of spots from getting ground around in transit, it looked like it was already an experienced world traveler. Nothing was damaged other than cosmetics, I had it back together and ready to ride in about 5 minutes. Took a quick spin around the block and everything was cool with the bike. Even in the short time pedaling around the block, I felt oddly safe on the street. Drivers there just know how to safely drive near bikes.

France Part 1

I am probably going to have to break this up into a few chunks as I think about my trip so here's part one. I'll start with packing the bike. My original plan had been to cut down a cardboard box to fit the smallest possible size I could cram it all into. I folded up the bike and took off the wheels. I just a rough measurement to see if it would go into a box that wouldn't be oversize according to the airline. It had to be LxHxW < 63 inches linear. I fit it into a box that totaled up to 62.5", sweet. However, the box itself was clunky as hell and I had definite visions of me not enjoying toting it around cars, buses, trains, and airports; all of which my trip would include. This limitation almost caused the Dahon to remain in the States. -Enter Shelagh's bag: She lent it to me upon hearing about my struggles with the box. It was a huge rectangular duffel bag. It fit right around the bike and contoured in to fit it into a much smaller overall size. Also it actually had straps and handles for carrying. I packed in clothes tied up in plastic bags for padding and put shoes over anything that was sticking out, like the hinge mechanism for the main hinge of the frame. The padding situation was enough to protect it from the usual handling, but would not stand up to a serious drop or crunch.

The flight over was pretty good. I got stuck in a window seat next to a pretty german college student and her yowling cat. When I say "yowling" I mean a yowl like wild animal in heat. Punctuated about every 45 minutes by it completely flipping out and causing it's bag to hop around on the floor and triggering another round of apologies from her. I didn't mind, if I were a cat, I'd raise hell too.

Upon arrival in Marseille, I learned that my bike was still in Paris. Yay. They took my address and said they would deliver it to me as soon as possible, and "Here is your free toilet kit." Off to the train.

Not understanding French made for some good traveling antics, first the bus lady yelled at me about my credit card, then I couldn't read my train ticket so I didn't know where to sit and people kept telling me to move cause I was in their seat. Arriving in Agde (2 1/2 hour train ride away), my sister Suzy and my Mom met me at the train station to drive back to Marseillan, which is where we were to be based. Food, wine, bed.