Railway station

The day of the protests against the government raising the age for retirement. The city was momentarily held captive to thousands of revelers carrying banners, balloons, flags, loud sound systems and generally having what appeared to be a very good time in the streets of Marseille. I am told that the right to strike and to protest is deeply embedded in the hearts of the french psyche, today certainly felt like that as we approached the city flanked by protesters and police barricades.

These guys had the added effect of smoke thanks to a fireman in their midst carrying distress flares. A street like this one (Avenue de la Republique) is normally a battleground of cars and trucks, so the march was as much a reclaiming of the pedestrian city and a reminder that the machines that facilitate us also control and restrict us.

Finally arriving up on the hill of the railway station then, was a beautiful unrestricted view given a surreal edge by the absence of striking workers. The giant steps overlooking the city, nestled into this big dry valley, were largely my own, shared only with a few tourists and a small possie of local young guys ready to exchange illicit substances for cash.

The areas surrounding railway stations have a special kind of energy, highly charged and uncertain of ownership. It's not only that there are so many people pass through these spaces (since you could say the same of a commercial mall or street) it's the way they connect with the rest of the city. A railway station connects like a major artery to other transient spaces, so it becomes defined by passing through it rather than the place itself. How many alleyways or closed alcoves have I visited recently that carry the pungent aroma of urine? They are marked by the people who pass through them as belonging to nobody, assuring that they are never a destination but rather a place to get through as fast as you can.

The Marseille central station has a peculiarity though in that it has this beautiful view, in any other situation it would mark a place to sit and reflect, or to locate a significant monument. In fact there are two large statues either side of these steps that I am told (retrospectively) represent the colonies of France and their productive abundance (interesting I guess that this is where you can go to buy drugs from jumpy looking guys with flashy tracksuits).

You can just see one of the statues here on the right.

The first time I came to europe as a 20year old in the late 1980s, almost every railway station felt very intimidating. Perhaps it was accentuated by being a bit naive, but I would always rush through a railway station, pack on my back, as fast as I could. They have almost all changed now through the encroachment of commerce, it's hard to find a railway station anymore without a Macdonalds or several bookstores and a mobile phone shop. They have brought with them a sense of purpose and certainty of action. But they have also brought security guards, cleaners and and a sharp definition between what is private and public space.

The late afternoon sun brought with it some office workers on their way home or at least on their way to being on their way home. Here's someone I had a great chat to, we shared conversation and perspectives on the places around us, she'd spent all day staring at a computer screen so there was a sudden shift of focus to be lying on the ground. So many of us (me included of course) spend so much of our time transmitting information to or from the computer screen, it's a welcome change to be altered by scale for a moment, to put your hand, your face or your eyes through the screen and discover what is on the other side.

And this is Lena, she rolled around, she drew pictures, she chatted, she showed off her dance moves. I enjoyed her company. This picture was taken just before she threw her chin onto the hard ground and was rewarded with a sore-looking red graze.

A day of overviews. The tree lined boulevards of Marseille at my doorstep. The fine things are right here.

Aubagne

Aubagne (about 30km from Marseille) is surrounded by heaving rock faces. The streets of the old town are like mountain tracks walled by houses and shops, there is a familiarity to the place, perhaps like something out of a cartoon version of a medieval city. Somewhere in the centre of town, it flattens out again and there is a square (more like a triangle) cluttered with cafe tables, awnings, advertising signs and plant boxes. In amongst there somewhere is me, in a small house, catching the attention of passers by.

The weekend was wet and the wind whipping autumn leaves around like confetti so I consider my Aubagne visitors to be the most hard core in town.

The weather seemed to induce an arts and craft vibe as it turned out and more than a few pictures came my way. Pictured below are two sisters who made sure I wouldn't forget Aubagne, they are just two of four sisters and a brother who all stopped by and it was really interesting how each of them had a different view on the town they lived in. It made me realise how as kids we are so close with our siblings even when fundamentally we may be very different people. As adults we are more selective about spending time with friends who are more aligned with our own values. Later this same evening I went into Marseille to see a performance at a place called Montevideo, a really great venue but especially good because I felt a comfort in finding a scene that was close to my own values. As a kid you're not able to jump in a car and find your own cultural group.

These two wore the same clothes and spent a lot of time together but in other ways they are miles apart, yet they were so good with one another in the way they listened and challenged one another.

There are all sorts of ways of seeing, you just have to alter your perspective a little.

And finally here are some of the best pictures of the day, only one from Romeo who proliferated a true deluge of images on every scientific and poetic subject possible (pictured below is a butterfly) but especially good at writing his name in CAPITALS. I would not be at all surprised if he will develop a special talent for large scale painting on public walls and fences.

Martigues - local knowledge

For the story on this space, you might have to get through to the end today's blog, somehow it represents the day in a single shot better than most though, so it deserves to be at the top.

What a great surprise Martigues was, nestled in a small town square I sat for an afternoon and was greeted by locals from neighboring shops and restaurants, kids who lived nearby, people walking by on their way home and the odd person who heard there was a little house somewhere in town and came to check it out.

So what is local knowledge? We tend to think of local knowledge as the best place to buy sausages or the secret swimming location, but perhaps it's closer to home than that. Perhaps it's knowing people like Jenny (below on the right) who walks to school everyday to the town next door, plays in the street or the square here and has friends from all over.

Or perhaps it's knowing people like Ada who is a self-realised mathematical talent. She managed to do this cube puzzle in about 2 minutes (which is approximately 6 minutes and two coffees less than most adults can do).

A painter called Felix Ziem came to Martigues a hundred years ago and decided to never leave, despite his love of Italian painting. It's up to this woman (I'm sorry I have forgotten her name) to keep the collection in order and run the museum than houses his paintings.

Aside from historic art, she is also responsible for a smaller designer whom is yet to make his most important work. Below is a diagram by Theodore who, with the aid of his his mother I assume, has labelled each of drawings with a short confirmation of what the picture represents. Most interesting of all is the way the elements come together like some kind of graphic novel.

Is this local knowledge?

Some people have very exotic stories that cross seas, borders, languages and even lifetimes. Alexandra here is someone who casts her eye further than most, exploring the many dimensions of the human soul in it's ever changing form. We had one of those conversations that travelled miles and miles then arrived somewhere back here and now with no effort at all.

Some anonymous notes from the letter box...

And finally the kind of local knowledge that people mention with a kind of simplicity that makes you feel there is still a whole lot more to discover. This is behind the church that Bernard (who also came to visit and is the local pastor) looks after. What made it such a beautiful find was that this is the place I was offered to construct my house out of it's freight box (which I carry in the back of a car). To enter an absolutely breath-taking space like this as a functional space with walls and a roof and a door like any other, brings new understanding to the way we must use the things, places, histories that we are given and get on with life like normal. Today was a day of stopping to look around me and see the amazing things we are constantly passed on.

Nisha working on construction under a gilded sky.

Deux jours en Marseille

It's October. The rest of Europe is rushing between closed doorways with a woolen hat and a scarf, wincing slightly from the wind. Not Marseille. Welcome to autumn Mediterranean styles.

The buildings on the old harbour crowd in like a football stadium, the vast collection of pleasure boats hugging one side or the other like two teams ready for the whistle, then through the narrow entrance toward the sea streams this golden light. It's as if the whole thing was designed by Christopher Doyle (the cinematographer for The Mood for Love) turning everyone into some kind of glamorous spectator. Perhaps this time of day has been especially chosen for me.

I parked here along the harbour front (assuming this is the best real-estate in town) not long after the fish market had disappeared, leaving an aromatic presence and a wide open gap facing the busy shopping street on one side and the harbour just behind me out the back door.

It's a mildly strange thing to be in a completely new city yet surrounded by my own familiar things, to be welcoming people to my tiny space when I'm surrounded by people and places that have passed by here for years and years without me.

Yesterday I met a man who immigrated here many years ago from Tahiti (in fact I met very many people who had moved to Marseille from distant places) and he sat a while speaking with me about what I thought I was doing here. In fact the answer to that question doesn't get any easier since there is always a new reason to be in a new place... anyhow, he reminded me of how the house is a spiritual place, it is the home we give to ourselves, intended to complete us. The house, in so many cultures, is a physical trace of ourselves. It may be run-down or pristine, big or small but it always remains a necessary part of who we are.

Small is Beautiful (the festival who invited me here) is, as it's name suggests, small but well formed. This means I was inundated with good conversation, people who wanted to know why or how or at least hear what I had to say. To be honest I don't think I do have much to say, the point is more to hear the questions and to be here listening and asking back. Every now and then I meet someone (like the businessman who was making his way back to his car after being at an Expo of some sort) who asks me questions and expects that because I have put myself here that I should have some kind of statement or message. And for everything that I have collected, spoken about, discussed and seen, I still remain at a loss to answer him. He tells me the expo was not so good this year (partly caused by the economic down-turn). Perhaps next year will be better. Perhaps two years ago will be the best year in his memory of the Marseille expo.

Evidence that the harbour with evening sun must have been designed by a sophisticated lighting designer. In actually fact, this guy is aged 35 under florescent lighting.

This is looking back up the main shopping street, here are some folk that were hanging out on the front lawn for some time during the afternoon. Of course, my view of this is totally different, I have Nisha to thank for the photos... my view is still all knees and shoes... scroll down for more on that...

Things to do on a rainy day

Poke out your tongue till it hurts.

go shopping to buy adult clothing in children's sizes

keep warm, drink tea, draw a picture

welcome the arrival of autumn by counting falling leaves

get down on your hands and knees and bark like a dog

photograph the world around you (from a distance)

play a game with a stranger

make friends with animals

twirl a batton

camouflage yourself and terrorise people

eat an ice-cream (with all the toppings)

wear your favourite shoes (with all the toppings)

be weary of small enclosures

watch the rain fall on your porch

see what kind of behaviour you can get away with

transform your gumboots into your favourite insect