正文
多亏了GPS女士的指挥，从Saint-Tulle到马赛老港口（Vieux Port）100公里的冲刺很容易，也很顺利。天黑前我抵达了索菲特（Sofitel）酒店。一放下行李，我就去老港口兜风、探险。
在酒店附近，我发现了一个景点，Le Jardin Missak Manouchian（米撒克·马努尚公园），里面有两个大理石纪念碑。虽然我不知道马努尚这个名字，由于刚刚从两个星期的法语速成班出来，我立刻明白了他是第二次世界大战时期法国抵抗组织的领导人，纪念碑上另外22个人是他的战友。但是，马努尚是什么人？他们做了什么？直到最近重温五年前的行程时，我才了解了一点儿。马努尚是亚美尼亚裔法国诗人，致力于法国的解放。在诺曼底登陆不到四个月之前，被德国军队杀害。他也是共产国际的一员。在网上搜索时，我发现公园也发生了变化，新加了一个马努尚的雕塑。除此之外，法国还出了一部有关他及其战友的电影，L’armée de crime（罪恶部队）。甚至维基上现在也有一条关于他的条目。他给妻子的临终遗言（Dernière lettre de Missak Manouchian à sa femme），不仅感人至深，而且优美动人。
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Missak_Manouchian
港口的夜晚很好玩，游艇、古堡（The Fort Saint Nicholas）对我来说，算是跑马观花了。晚餐也非常不错。顺便说一句，你到马赛，一道必须要吃的菜肴是那个 Marseille bouillabaisse（马赛海鲜煲）。一切都很满意，我就回旅馆了，开始了在法国南部最后一个香甜的美梦。
第二天，我起了个大早。天还没亮，我给GPS设好目的地：马赛国际机场，还跟酒店打听了到机场的高速公路怎么走。很快，就证实了我的努力没有白费。刚一离开旅馆，我就发现GPS女士不说话。GPS显示：无卫星信号。天哪，怎么办？我只好赶紧给自己重新设置操作系统，把GPS时代之前的直觉调动出来，设法进入了高速公路。没过多久，GPS女士醒了，又开始用她威严的声音指挥我。大约在到机场一半的路上，我降低了GPS的音量，打开收音机，调到轻松的音乐，开始观赏海港城市清晨繁忙的交通。突然，GPS停止了窃窃私语，从挡风玻璃上跌落下去了！我很害怕，真的很害怕，因为前面会有一个岔路。怎么办？停车吗？我当时在中间的车道，不能停车，也没时间停车。我只好换到边上的车道，设法捡起GPS，唤醒GPS女士。一边开车、一边操作，不知道按了哪个键，她又活过来了。感谢上帝，我终于进入了直达马赛机场的高速公路。
虽然接下来的故事不那么壮观，我还是为登机前的失误而懊悔。也许是我没看见，机场周围没有找到加油站。所以，还车之前没把油箱灌满。到机场的时候，天还太早，租车场没人验收车，也没找到钥匙箱。我只好把钥匙留在车里，离开了陪伴我两个星期的小车。值得一提的是，那辆车的型号是法国车Citroën，用柴油，真比美国车省油省多了。你看，我开了两趟100公里的路程、半个月从旅馆开车去上班，甚至还跑了一趟国家公园，居然没加过一次油。当然，也可以说我还没学会怎么在法国加油站加油，不知道怎么区分柴油和汽油。
我相信，现在有了新式的导航系统，特别是智能手机，每个人都会比我顺利。你要担心的只有一件事，那就是Madame GPS-Satellites（卫星夫人）千万别打盹呀。
在巴黎戴高乐机场，进入国际离港之前，我发现了一个礼品店，有可爱的玩具和卡片。两个弹跳的小家伙，小老虎和他的螃蟹女朋友，在门口向我打招呼。现在，他们加入了我家动物朋友的行列。每次跟他们打招呼的时候，都让我想起了在普罗旺斯穿越法国乡村这个神奇、快乐的旅行。
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.
评论
Bluebonnets
2014-08-11 19:00:17
回复
悄悄话
回复 '沉鱼' 的评论 : 也许我还是没把公里英里换算对吧？：）
沉鱼
2014-08-11 11:32:24
回复
悄悄话
好吧，我承认我和我法国朋友都不开citroen的车子，因为太耗油。。。。。。大家都开toyota......
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