正文
多虧了GPS女士的指揮，從Saint-Tulle到馬賽老港口（Vieux Port）100公裏的衝刺很容易，也很順利。天黑前我抵達了索菲特（Sofitel）酒店。一放下行李，我就去老港口兜風、探險。
在酒店附近，我發現了一個景點，Le Jardin Missak Manouchian（米撒克·馬努尚公園），裏麵有兩個大理石紀念碑。雖然我不知道馬努尚這個名字，由於剛剛從兩個星期的法語速成班出來，我立刻明白了他是第二次世界大戰時期法國抵抗組織的領導人，紀念碑上另外22個人是他的戰友。但是，馬努尚是什麽人？他們做了什麽？直到最近重溫五年前的行程時，我才了解了一點兒。馬努尚是亞美尼亞裔法國詩人，致力於法國的解放。在諾曼底登陸不到四個月之前，被德國軍隊殺害。他也是共產國際的一員。在網上搜索時，我發現公園也發生了變化，新加了一個馬努尚的雕塑。除此之外，法國還出了一部有關他及其戰友的電影，L’armée de crime（罪惡部隊）。甚至維基上現在也有一條關於他的條目。他給妻子的臨終遺言（Dernière lettre de Missak Manouchian à sa femme），不僅感人至深，而且優美動人。
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Missak_Manouchian
港口的夜晚很好玩，遊艇、古堡（The Fort Saint Nicholas）對我來說，算是跑馬觀花了。晚餐也非常不錯。順便說一句，你到馬賽，一道必須要吃的菜肴是那個 Marseille bouillabaisse（馬賽海鮮煲）。一切都很滿意，我就回旅館了，開始了在法國南部最後一個香甜的美夢。
第二天，我起了個大早。天還沒亮，我給GPS設好目的地：馬賽國際機場，還跟酒店打聽了到機場的高速公路怎麽走。很快，就證實了我的努力沒有白費。剛一離開旅館，我就發現GPS女士不說話。GPS顯示：無衛星信號。天哪，怎麽辦？我隻好趕緊給自己重新設置操作係統，把GPS時代之前的直覺調動出來，設法進入了高速公路。沒過多久，GPS女士醒了，又開始用她威嚴的聲音指揮我。大約在到機場一半的路上，我降低了GPS的音量，打開收音機，調到輕鬆的音樂，開始觀賞海港城市清晨繁忙的交通。突然，GPS停止了竊竊私語，從擋風玻璃上跌落下去了！我很害怕，真的很害怕，因為前麵會有一個岔路。怎麽辦？停車嗎？我當時在中間的車道，不能停車，也沒時間停車。我隻好換到邊上的車道，設法撿起GPS，喚醒GPS女士。一邊開車、一邊操作，不知道按了哪個鍵，她又活過來了。感謝上帝，我終於進入了直達馬賽機場的高速公路。
雖然接下來的故事不那麽壯觀，我還是為登機前的失誤而懊悔。也許是我沒看見，機場周圍沒有找到加油站。所以，還車之前沒把油箱灌滿。到機場的時候，天還太早，租車場沒人驗收車，也沒找到鑰匙箱。我隻好把鑰匙留在車裏，離開了陪伴我兩個星期的小車。值得一提的是，那輛車的型號是法國車Citroën，用柴油，真比美國車省油省多了。你看，我開了兩趟100公裏的路程、半個月從旅館開車去上班，甚至還跑了一趟國家公園，居然沒加過一次油。當然，也可以說我還沒學會怎麽在法國加油站加油，不知道怎麽區分柴油和汽油。
我相信，現在有了新式的導航係統，特別是智能手機，每個人都會比我順利。你要擔心的隻有一件事，那就是Madame GPS-Satellites（衛星夫人）千萬別打盹呀。
在巴黎戴高樂機場，進入國際離港之前，我發現了一個禮品店，有可愛的玩具和卡片。兩個彈跳的小家夥，小老虎和他的螃蟹女朋友，在門口向我打招呼。現在，他們加入了我家動物朋友的行列。每次跟他們打招呼的時候，都讓我想起了在普羅旺斯穿越法國鄉村這個神奇、快樂的旅行。
Driving in South France with GPS (3)
- Marseille: Vieux Port and the last panic -
My 100-km dash from Saint-Tulle to the old port of Marseille, Vieux Port, was very easy thanks to the command of the GPS lady. I arrived at hotel Sofitel before dark and set out to explore the old port.
A small park near the hotel was my first attraction, Le Jardin du Missak Manouchian, where I saw two marble monuments. Although I did not recognize the name, with my improved French after two weeks of intensive training, immediately I understood he was the leader of French resistance during the World War II. But, who was he? Who were the other 22 people on the monument? What did they do? In fact, I only learned recently when re-visiting my five-year-old trip. Manouchian was a French-Armenian poet and devoted his life to the liberation of his adopted country France. He was executed by the German army just four months before D-Day. And he was also a member of the International Communist Party. While searching online, I found the park changed, too, as a bust of Manouchian was added. Moreover, a French movie was made after him, L’armée de crime, and even wiki has an entry dedicated to him now. His last letter to his wife, Dernière lettre de Missak Manouchian à sa femme, was particularly touching and poetic.
The evening by the port was quite pleasant. The yachts and the old castle, The Fort Saint Nicholas, were quite impressive for a brief visit. By the way, the food was delicious, too. If you are there, the Marseille Bouillabaisse is a must-have. All was satisfied, and I went back to the hotel falling to my last sweet dream in the French South.
The next morning I got up before dawn and set up the GPS route to the Marseille international airport. I also asked the hotel for directions to get on the express way leading to the airport, even though trusted the GPS. Soon enough, it verified that my try was not wasted. I got on the road but found the GPS lady was not talking. No signals. My God, what do I do? After a few tries, I summoned my instincts before the GPS era and made it to the express way. Before long, the GPS lady woke up with her commanding voice. About half way to the airport, I tuned the GPS volume down and eased myself into the music while enjoying early morning traffic in the port city. Suddenly the lady stopped whispering, and the GPS fell from the dash board! I was in a panic, very scared, because there would be a turn ahead. Should I stop? As I was in the middle lane and could not stop, I managed to pick up the GPS and try to resurrect the lady. Not sure which button I pushed, she was alive again. Thank God, finally I made it to the airport.
Although the rest of the story was not spectacular, I still felt regret for making a few more mistakes before boarding. There were no gas stations around the airport, or I missed them all, so I placed the car back to the airport without filling up the tank. Sadly, nobody showed up at the rental car lot to greet me. I dropped the key in the car and left. It was worth noticing that the French car (Citroën) had a much better mileage than most of the American or Japanese cars. I had the car for a round trip of 200 km, two weeks of commute between my hotel and office, and even an expedition to the national park. All was less than a tank. Or, more precisely, I was afraid of the French gas station, particularly, telling diesel from gas.
I am sure that everyone nowadays will do better than me, thanks to fancier navigation systems and smart phones. All you have to wish is Madame GPS-Satellites will never quit working.
At Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, before being constrained to the international departure area, I spotted a shop that had cute toys and cards. Two little friends, a tiger and his crab girl-friend, were bouncing around and greeting me in the front. Since then they joined my flock of zoo friends at home. Every time when I say Hi to them, they remind me of this amazing trip to the French countryside in Provence.
A small park near the hotel was my first attraction, Le Jardin du Missak Manouchian, where I saw two marble monuments. Although I did not recognize the name, with my improved French after two weeks of intensive training, immediately I understood he was the leader of French resistance during the World War II. But, who was he? Who were the other 22 people on the monument? What did they do? In fact, I only learned recently when re-visiting my five-year-old trip. Manouchian was a French-Armenian poet and devoted his life to the liberation of his adopted country France. He was executed by the German army just four months before D-Day. And he was also a member of the International Communist Party. While searching online, I found the park changed, too, as a bust of Manouchian was added. Moreover, a French movie was made after him, L’armée de crime, and even wiki has an entry dedicated to him now. His last letter to his wife, Dernière lettre de Missak Manouchian à sa femme, was particularly touching and poetic.
The evening by the port was quite pleasant. The yachts and the old castle, The Fort Saint Nicholas, were quite impressive for a brief visit. By the way, the food was delicious, too. If you are there, the Marseille Bouillabaisse is a must-have. All was satisfied, and I went back to the hotel falling to my last sweet dream in the French South.
The next morning I got up before dawn and set up the GPS route to the Marseille international airport. I also asked the hotel for directions to get on the express way leading to the airport, even though trusted the GPS. Soon enough, it verified that my try was not wasted. I got on the road but found the GPS lady was not talking. No signals. My God, what do I do? After a few tries, I summoned my instincts before the GPS era and made it to the express way. Before long, the GPS lady woke up with her commanding voice. About half way to the airport, I tuned the GPS volume down and eased myself into the music while enjoying early morning traffic in the port city. Suddenly the lady stopped whispering, and the GPS fell from the dash board! I was in a panic, very scared, because there would be a turn ahead. Should I stop? As I was in the middle lane and could not stop, I managed to pick up the GPS and try to resurrect the lady. Not sure which button I pushed, she was alive again. Thank God, finally I made it to the airport.
Although the rest of the story was not spectacular, I still felt regret for making a few more mistakes before boarding. There were no gas stations around the airport, or I missed them all, so I placed the car back to the airport without filling up the tank. Sadly, nobody showed up at the rental car lot to greet me. I dropped the key in the car and left. It was worth noticing that the French car (Citroën) had a much better mileage than most of the American or Japanese cars. I had the car for a round trip of 200 km, two weeks of commute between my hotel and office, and even an expedition to the national park. All was less than a tank. Or, more precisely, I was afraid of the French gas station, particularly, telling diesel from gas.
I am sure that everyone nowadays will do better than me, thanks to fancier navigation systems and smart phones. All you have to wish is Madame GPS-Satellites will never quit working.
At Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, before being constrained to the international departure area, I spotted a shop that had cute toys and cards. Two little friends, a tiger and his crab girl-friend, were bouncing around and greeting me in the front. Since then they joined my flock of zoo friends at home. Every time when I say Hi to them, they remind me of this amazing trip to the French countryside in Provence.
評論
Bluebonnets
2014-08-11 19:00:17
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悄悄話
回複 '沉魚' 的評論 : 也許我還是沒把公裏英裏換算對吧？：）
沉魚
2014-08-11 11:32:24
回複
悄悄話
好吧，我承認我和我法國朋友都不開citroen的車子，因為太耗油。。。。。。大家都開toyota......
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