Bormes-les-Mimosas to Marseille

Thursday December 9, 2010

How could I resist camping on such lush grass? My campsite for the night in Bormes-les-Mimosasm, France.

My campsite for the night in Bormes-les-Mimosasm, France.

My camp site had a good vibe, and I slept well, and got woken up when the sun got too bright and the temperature inside the tent got too warm. When I unzipped my tent and crawled out, a kind old woman in a purple dressing gown asked if I'd like a freshly brewed coffee as well as a piece of peach slice to get me going. I don't drink coffee, I never have, but how could I refuse such a kind offer? She couldn't speak English very well, but I accepted her offer and thanked her kindly in English, hoping that I conveyed my gratitude effectively.

Hot coffee and peach slice, courtesy of the kind old lady in the adjacent flat.

After that I packed up and headed off. The riding was good to start with, sunny although a little windy, and on a bike path for the first leg.

On the bike path near La Verrerie, France.

French countryside near La Verrerie, France.

I got to the coast and kept riding along until I found a good spot to stop for breakfast, after 22 kilometres, and ate the usual large amount of cereal. The wind was getting so strong that it was blowing the cereal out of my tupperware container!

Breakfast by the beach.

At about 2 pm, I noticed the tyre was going flat - the seemingly inevitable daily puncture! So I stopped at the "intermache" (supermarket) to repair it.

Repairing another puncture at a supermarket.

I bought a tube of sweetened condense milk to suck on, as well as some cheese for sandwiches for lunch. And speaking of lunch, it was about 4 pm when I stopped at a McDonald's for lunch, although I didn't eat McDonalds for lunch, I ate my own sandwiches with tomato, salami and cheese, but I took advantage of the free Wi-Fi there.

The wind was getting brisk as I continued on and rode into the sunset. 

The sun setting in Les Lecques, France.

But that's not the end of the story; the days adventure was just about to start getting interesting.

I was aiming to get to Marseilles for the night, and as usual, had little idea of the terrain ahead, but I soon discovered it was quite hilly! The first significant hill started in a town called Bandol and climbed to an elevation of 168 metres before an exciting quick descent to a town called Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer. It wasn't long before the road turned up hill again for the second ascent to 208 metres, followed by an even faster descent, but the third ascent immediately following that was the killer. By this point there was minimal light left in the day, and as I climbed, so did the wind speed, while the temperature and darkness fell. There were sections of up to 10% gradient, and the wind was so strong I was struggling to keep the bike upright and hold my line on the edge of the narrow road to avoid getting blown into the steady stream of traffic. The climb plateaued out but the wind didn't, I don't think I've ever been blown around so much by the wind. The road kept climbing before finally peaking at about 333 metres. I had no idea there was such a big climb before Marseille, but at least it was downhill for the rest of the ride into the city.

It didn't take too long to find a hostel. Quite exhausted, I checked into the Hello Marseille Hostel for €17.40. I was only going to be there one night so I had plenty organise and do before I went to bed. But I got stuck in the dormitory chatting to a peculiar bloke called Timothy McGeeva. I can't remember too much about him, but I remember he was like a machine gun firing questions at me. He just wouldn't shut-up, he was rather lacking in social awareness and I was too polite to cut him off when I needed to do other things. He was 18 years old, from England and a Christian, and he talked about his faith for a while. He also mentioned he'd been to Sydney before, and his questions jumped around to unrelated topics, from circumcision to football. I wouldn't even have finished answering his previous question before he interrupted with a new question. He questioned me extensively on the Australian Football League and how the rules worked. I'm not too interested in AFL, I watch about one game each year (the Grand Final), but I do have some idea on the rules since I've played it before. Anyway, I somehow eventually escaped his relentless questioning, and moved out into the common area, where I snacked on choc-chip biscuits and repaired a puncture in my spare tube. The folks in the common area were much more interesting to talk to, they were wiser and more perceptive. 

(L-R): American girl, Belgian girl and Scottish guy

There was a young Scottish bloke, who coincidentally had met a friend of mine from my home town of Daylesford, a young man by the name of David Rowbotham who was doing his own trip through Europe and Canada, and who had coincidentally stayed in that very hostel the previous night, and for a bit trivia, David's Mum, Mrs Rowbotham, actually taught me how to touch type at school when I was in year 7.

There was also a Belgian girl and a well-traveled American girl who was actually the one running the hostel. Unfortunately it wasn't long before the English bloke who was talking to me earlier, Timothy McGeeva, joined the rest of us out in the common area too. We were having interesting and intellectual conversations, when Timothy McGeeva would barge into the conversation with an annoying question, and would then proceed to monopolise the conversation. It was obvious the others didn't like him either, and we found it difficult not to be rude and ignore him, but he made it difficult for the rest of us to converse. It seemed Timothy McGeeva wasn't comfortable in a conversation unless he was dominating it, he had to be the one steering it and he would just monopolise it, I haven't met anyone quite like him before.

I fetched my sewing gear from the dorm and returned to the common room, sitting at a table to sew the button back onto my pants. A couple of British guys were sitting opposite, a father and son from London, steadily sipping away at their scotch and coke. 

Two British Chelsea supporters, father and son.

They were both Chelsea supporters, and had made the trip to Marseille to see their team play. They were pretty avid supporters, and spoke a lot about the soccer, and the other games they'd been to see in various cities around Europe. I'm not too interested in the English Premier League, but we chatted for what seemed like hours. The father also talked about the current weather situation in London, with all the snow, and about the traveling he'd done in Australia when he was just a young lad in his twenties. His son said very little except when he was asked a question directly. Meanwhile I also surfed the internet on my iPhone and downloaded maps and podcasts in preparation for the upcoming days on the road. Eventually I was the last one still up and it wasn't until 5 am that I finally got to sleep!

The days ride, from Bormes-les-Mimosas to Marseille

Overview of the riding since Rome.

Ride stats:
Distance: 110.34 km
Average: 17.3 km/h
Maximum: 54.1 km/h
Time: 6:22:36
Total ascent: 969 m
Total descent: 971 m