Guess What I Saw

Guess what I saw?
I can barely contain my excitement.
Let’s start with Rue des Héros because I have several tales to share.
It’s best to start out with the dirtiest street I’ve yet to meet: rue des héros. Remember this one?

The other day as I walked uphill to the yoga room, ready to open it for
my morning class, I could see from afar two people seated on the stoop. I could tell they were not yoga students, but most likely some drunks which is common enough and a problem I’ve dealt with before.

“Oh, great” I muttered to myself, “I’m going to have to say something diplomatic and hope they’ll leave.” I continued my walk upwards while inhaling fresh and stale urine smells rising off the pavement. Shit from every species that exists was smeared on the streets and sidewalks. I made my daily eye contact with the older prostitute who is always waiting on the left wearing normal clothes, as normal as a secretary waiting for the first client to walk in the door.

Finally I made it up to the blue stoop. What did I see? Two seated women, one inserting a needle into her arm.

“Hello,” I said, “I’m going to open the room now…soooo” I let my words trail off hoping it was enough to convey some kind of message that meant it was time to leave.

“Okay, okay, no problem,” said the women who didn’t have the needle in her arm. The woman shooting up sat smiling and didn’t say a word. I opened the room and got things ready and then peaked out the window to see if the two women were still there. Yep, they were still there.

Some of my students started to arrive. One walked in clutching her heart, “Did you see those women out there?” she gasped.

“Yeah, I know. I’m trying to get them to leave.” I opened the door again. “Okay”, I said in a somewhat loud voice, “You have to leave now. I have students coming.”

One of the ladies rose and tried to make her friend get up. It didn’t look like her friend could stand so it took a little coercion and the two were soon on their way, arm-in-arm.

My colleague Angelo arrived and heard the other students up in arms about the scene they had just witnessed. So, I said to him “People were shooting up on the stoop…It was disturbing…”

Angelo shrugged his shoulders, “To each his own vice”, he looked unaffected. “It’s not my problem,” he added. “Why should I care what they do?”

“Nice,” I thought to myself even though in reality, it’s true, those people shooting up don’t concern us. Of course, I’d prefer if they did their “vices” elsewhere.

Several weeks later, I was once again walking uphill, stench of pee and poo, hooker to the left, two druggies on the stoop. “Oh, great!” I mumbled expecting a needle or a can of beer. But this time, two women were seated on either side of a little piece of paper filled with white powder.

“Bonjour,” I said to them.

Without a care in the world, one of the women continued her snorting. The other one looked up at me. “Hello” she answered.

“I’m opening the room. You’re gonna have to leave now.” I said a little less diplomatically than I have said in the past.

“Yes, yes, of course. We’re just finishing up,” she said as if I were in-line waiting for the loo. Once again, I prepared the yoga room and went back to see if my little coke-heads were still there. What do you think? Yeah. They were still there. I opened the door and stared at them. “Time to go. This is NOT okay. Time to go,” I said trying to wave them away like flies at a picnic.

“I know, I know…”said the more sober of the two. “I’m trying to get my friend to leave,” she turned to her friend and started pulling on her arm, “Let’s go!”

Her friend hunched over, smiled, but didn’t say a word. Finally she managed to get her friend up and the two weaved their way down the street.

Last but not least is what I saw on this infamous street just last week while with my friend Jeeves. As we walked down, to the left AND to the right, two men were peeing in unison.

“Look at that!” exclaimed Jeeves, “Not one man peeing, but two…and at the same time! Unbelievable! They might as well claim this street a public urinal, we’ll hang a sign! I can’t believe this street is called Rue des Héros. It should be called Piss Alley!”

“It’s beautiful, Jeeves! I love it! The irony is just excellent, excellent! The street has to be called Rue des Héros, it’s perfect!”

“This is no Street for Heroes”, said Jeeves, “this is a fucking urinal!”

“I know, isn’t it great? I love it! This street couldn’t get better and its name is very important, no need to change it at all!”

So, there you have my vignette of Rue des Héroes stories, but there’s more! Yes, there are other great neighborhoods. Take for example the area near La Conception, a hospital. We were all in the car, my husband and I in the front, our girls in the back. While we were stopped at a red light, I looked out the window. We were stopped just in front of the hospital. “What is this hospital known for?” I asked my husband who is in the medical industry.

“I think it’s a mental institute…” he said.

“Really?” I asked.

Just then, as if on cue, an older man in scrubs and white slippers slunk his way down the sidewalk. He was holding his ass, the seat of his pants was ripped open. We watched him in unison.

“Scary,” said my husband.

I burst out laughing. “Do you think he is coming or going?” I asked.

“I don’t want to know,” he said, “that’s just scary.”

Feeling excited, I replied, “I love it! Look at him! It’s perfect. He’s holding his ass and walking past the mental institute in slippers…”

Do I sound demented with all my disturbing excitement at these scenes? I figure, if you can’t appreciate this type of thing, you have no place in a big city, especially Marseille which is definitely the strangest place I’ve ever known.

How about a story linked to nature? A park, for example? Sure, coming right up. Marseille has a very nice park named Parc Borély. We love to take the girls there with their bikes. It’s safe: no cars, no dogs. However, there are tons of bikes even some funky ones made for 4 that remind me of the old buggies from a black and white movie. Often you see parents pedaling in the front, children in the back. These things are so heavy you often hear squeals coming from the parents, typically the mother, who loses control of the steering(women drivers!).

Well, we love to go there when it’s nice and sunny. They have a big pond with a café next to it. There is even a churros stand complete with little cups of Nutella for dipping. (Only in France!) Their cotton candy is bigger than two adult heads side-by-side. (Barbe à Papa which translates as “Daddy’s beard”) They also have nice open grassy areas for playing soccer or laying out a nice picnic. There is even a rose garden and a little corner with a small pond and a rock wall.

A couple Sundays ago, our girls were happily riding their bikes. A crowd had formed around the little pond so we all stopped to see what was happening. Some ducks? Some fish? We peered down into the still water. “Look,” pointed my husband. A small animal was treading back in forth. It was a rat!

My girls stared in fascination as did I. A little boy kept throwing bread but no fish or ducks dared to come in the vicinity. Soon, a tiny splash came from the rock wall. Another rat joined his playmate.

“Look, look!” pointed Claire.

“Oh, they’re so cute”, said Eva.

I watched them, their little legs paddling around, long pink tails trailing behind them. They’d dash back into the rocks only to peek out and jump back into the pond instants later. At one point there were at least four little rats swimming in the pond.

Claire leaned dangerously close over the rocks down below. “Claire!” my husband’s voice boomed. “Get her away from the water,” he said to me.

“Do they bite?” asked Eva.

“They could bite and they are very dirty animals so you could get a serious infection. Never try and touch a rat.” I said.

“Let’s go!” said my husband turning and ready to continue our stroll. Enough rat action for him.

“No!” they pleaded, “we want to see!”

“Let’s stay a little longer,” I told my husband.

The girls watched in awe. Some rats literally swam under the water for seconds at a time.

“Wow, they can hold their breath and swim super well. I totally understand why they like sewers. They are made for sewers!” I said.

My husband looked disgusted. We stood in silence watching. “Only in Marseille...” I said.

My husband laughed and shook is head.

“Only in Marseille do you come to a park to watch rats swim in a pond,” I added.

It was another great demented vision for me to savor. However, that night, little Claire had a nightmare. In the morning she said, ”Mommy, I had a bad dweem.”

“You had a bad dream?” I asked her. “What did you dream about?”

“I dweem that I fell in da watuh (water) and a wat (rat) bite my head!” she told me. (Poor Claire!!)

“Nice.” said my husband.

“Well, I guess we won’t have to worry about her getting too close to ponds and falling in.” I said.

And there you have it, folks: Druggies shooting up, coke heads snorting, men peeing in unison, a mental health patient holding his ass, and a band of rats swimming in a pond. This is what I saw.