People from this area pronounce Cassis without the final S. But if you want to sound like a local, it's not enough, you need to speak with this so called singing accent. A good exercice is to drink one or two "pastagas" with some fishermen it should ease things out. Maybe, even try four or five pastagas.
Or Six.
This bar, near the roman arena in Arles is in the sunlight and in the shade, Sol y Sombra.
Stormy january light on Sanary's harbour. Its gloomy feeling might have inspired Aldous Huxley who wrote "Brave new world" there.
Where the land meets the Mediterranean sea.
These clifs are made of puddingstones, which french climbers call "Poudingue", with or without the southern accent.
From afar, If it weren't for the roofs, one wouldn't distinguish between the village and the mountain.
A glass of Pastis with ice cubes, for the sound. A saucer full of these small olives de Nyons or grilled sardines with thyme and rosemary. Off course, the bar has to be opened.
Stormy clouds above our heads and a bright orange sun sinking in the sea. Not a bit of wind. The cicadas stopped singing. We were all waiting for something. The distant thunder of a storm. But then nothing happened.
One of the question was, how did they build the village. The streets weren't wide enough to let a car through. Actually there were no streets, just stone staircases.
If you want to know what people see through these windows, you'll have to go to Sault, on the Lavender Routes. Honey, lavender, nougat...
We are in the Gros Du Roi's harbor. It's empty because all the fishermen are out. On the opposite wharf, under the lighthouse, a man sat in the shade, then another joined him and talked to him. More came, it looked like they all knew each other, laughing and chatting for hours.
