Bowls, Bulls, and Bouillabaisse

Since I have time now and probably won't for the next week or so, I'll fill in some of the details that I had to leave out of my last post. I'll start with something that I have only mentioned a couple times, which is a travesty as it is what my life largely revolves around right now: food. As I can't remember if I've said on here before, food is a top contender for being the best part of traveling, and a great thing about biking around is I have a fantastic excuse to eat a lot. So having extensively sampled the local cuisine all the way down from Norway (although said sample is biased towards supermarket snacks, kebab huts, and other budget meal options), it's seemed that with the exception of the top-notch Danish danishes, the food has just gotten better and better along the way. I expected Italy's cuisine to top the list, and it certainly delivered right from the start. Our first meal after Keegan and I entered the birthplace of pasta was just another kebab place, but it had the heretofore unwitnessed option of a vegetarian rice plate whose geschmack (flavor) was only equalled by its low price of 5 euros. That meal held our coveted ranking of best deal until my first night in Rome (actually Zagarolo, the city about 30 km away from Rome where my hostel was), when I found a hole-in-the-wall pizzeria that sold various kinds of pizza by the kilo. After mistakenly being given twice as much pizza as I wanted by the monolingual lady behind the counter, I found myself with 10 pieces of 'za for the lovely price of 4 euros 50. I was worried that, in leaving Italy, I would never again find its culinary equal, and I may have cried a little bit as I ate my last gelato before crossing into France.

 But now, I find the title of International Culinary Champion is being challenged once again, this time by quite possibly the best institution the world has ever known: French bakeries. I was already a fan of bakeries back in the States, but avoided going to them when I was hungry on account of the small portions and unwieldy price tags. But bakeries here are a whole 'nother thang. Today (I'm in Marseille now, by the way), my dinner consisted of a Subway footlong-sized sandwich, a decently-sized lettuce-tuna-egg-tomato-cheese salad, and a truly decadent triple-decker cream-caramel-something, all for only 8 euros. I know, I know, not quite the deal that Italy boasted, but more variety and man-oh-man that cream-thing. Although so far the overall title has to go to Nice. The Vieux Nice (Old Nice) section of town is a rambling tangle of pedestrian-only alleys that is nothing short of food heaven. The local specialty is pan bagnat, a sandwich made with all the same ingredients of my aforementioned salad, and then mildly flooded with olive oil. I gobbled one of these masterpieces, and then, feeling perfectly satisfied and not in want of anything more, turned around to find the largest selection of ice cream I have ever seen assembled in one place beckoning alluringly like some coy mistress. I buckled and bought some. Good life choice.

Another awesome and ever-present topic that I have been neglecting is Vespas. They're everywhere. More so in Italy, but they're almost as common in France. And no small wonder, because it's easily the best way to get around the narrow, trafficky city streets (other than bikes, that is). Vespas and their daredevil riders are constantly buzzing in between, around, and over cars. Well, maybe not over. But wouldn't that be sweet?
When a line of cars is stopped at a light, all the Vespas weave to the front and congregate in a large thrumming group, revving their engines in taut readiness for the green light. Then they're off in a great hectic rush that occasionally rivals a start at the Mammoth motocross in chaos and noise, although this one sounds like it's comprised at least partly of kazoos.
Say, that reminds me of a couple things I need to add to my "New Experiences" list:
- saw 2 men smoking while riding a Vespa
- caught a gecko
- saw 3 new types of toilets

So yeah, toilets. They were normal western ones all the way from Norway through Austria. Then when Keegan and I got to our second campsite in Italy, we found squat toilets. This was nothing new for us after 3 months in China. But further along in the trip, the boundaries of toilet design were expanded. First came one that I saw on a train that had a perfectly round seat that would rotate when flushed. There was a brush or something on the back part of the seat that was supposed to wash the seat as it moved, but all it really did was spread the urine around. Next spotted were several different varieties of the seatless toilet. Instead of having a seat and lid to lift and lower, the bowl was just shaped so as to be sit-able and the war of the sexes was avoided simply by leaving out a couple pieces of hardware.

The next species spotted was the strangest so far. Habitat: fully automated Porta-Potty by the beach in the south of France. Habitat reachable by: inserting 10 cents. Defining characteristics: No lid, no seat, no hole in the bottom. Just a modern-looking curved chrome bowl with a little blue water in the bottom. After some examination, I determined that after the toilet is used and the door closed after the user exits, the toilet flips backwards to empty its contents, then is filled with a little blue water on its way back to horizontal. Amazing stuff, but enough toilet talk; back to the narrative.
I neglected to mention that between the Italian-French border and Nice, I passed through sovereign Monaco and its super-rich Quartier of Monte Carlo. After tramping it across 6 countries over the last month, camping most of the way, using my shirt as a towel whenever I shower, and thus far managing to spend about $2,500, I felt quite out of place in this city with hotels behind me where one could spend that amount in a couple nights. After a brief and (miraculously) successful search for cheap eats, I left the crowded wharf of Monte Carlo behind as quickly as possible.
Ok, now I think we're all caught up. I was forced to find a hotel room in Marseilles, as all the hostels were full and there are no campgrounds in the city. So that is where I sit right now, feeling a bit wallet-sore but otherwise comfortable. In a couple hours I will take a train to Bayonne. I wanted to take one straight to Pamplona, but apparently trains in Spain don't do bikes (at least that's what the very helpful but non-English-speaking guy behind the ticket window communicated to me with gestures and Frenglish). So I will get into Bayonne late tonight (so late that I am just going to spend the night in the train station), and tomorrow bike to Pamplona. I should be able to do it in one day, which means that in less than 48 hours I could be running with the bulls. Still not entirely decided on whether I'm going to do it or not. I think it will ultimately depend on what I think after watching the first day, and on whether I can find someone to take pictures of me if I do.