Yves has grown a goatie, and looks like a tough rock-star. Sofia has a sporty coiffre and is happy and energetic (when isn’t she). We stand there on the island (refrigerator) and exchange hugs and small talk, and almost begin planning for the events, before someone (ehem...) notices that perhaps we can retire to a more convenient location.

There is a few quick bursts of spoken Swedish, most of which fall of my attention/retention net. I understand something about leaving luggage, Fredrick coming in an hour, and resting. Then, we begin walking through the parking lot across the street. Yves seems to be looking for something, so I assume it is the car, though it turns out not to be, which gives an interesting flavour to our conversation:

‘You have a car, huh?’

-oh yes, it’s nice, but small (looking at our luggage)

‘Ah we can fit in, no?’

-well, we rented a renault Espace…

‘Ah…now?’

-No tomorrow, I pick it up tomorrow

‘what color is YOUR car?(attempting to help him look for it)’

-how you say? Milky? (he answers, but is beginning to not enjoy this line of questioning)

‘So is it far?’

-No, just over that wall, but there are steps somewhere…

Now, we have slalomed some rows of cars, and come to the edge of the parking lot. We begin climbing the stairs. I think to myself that parking must be a big hassle here, and wonder where on earth they could have parked. Now we are on the main rondelle of Aix, and Sofia points at the café on the other side. This is our destination, and has been all along. There are no cars involved in this, and I feel a bit moronic for my questionaire of Yves.

The first thing to do in France of course is not to look for a car, but to sit and people-watch at a café. Like true troopers, we begin people watching duties, complete with our raincoats, suitcases, and garmentbags (If they are watching, better give them something to watch).

Time to order drinks from the young snapper quick talker waiter guy who is short of time all the time. I chicken out on trying my French, and just stick my (index) finger up and say Coca Cola. JoHakim and Yves get beers I think, and Sofia orders ‘Noisette bien blanche’

Noisette: (in this context) name for espresso with milk (the color of the drink being that of an almond’s inside),bien blanch: very white, meaning even more milk.

Now Analinda wants the same drink, so she too says ‘Noisette vin blanc’

Noisette (in this context, probably): Almond, vin-blanc: white wine. So instead of espresso with double milk, this tourist wants almond white-wine, which they don’t carry today. She constrains herself to the same drink as Sofia.

All else goes well, except a momentary attack of panic when I can’t get out of the 1x1 meter toilette tucked away from humanity on the 3rd flor of this café. I manage to free myself right when the oxygen supply is about to run out.

The apartment: Theirs is a quaint one-bedroom apartment on the 3rd floor, with a tucked away kitchen and a 3step down bedroom/bathroom area. The 4 of us travellers will be sharing this apartment, while the hosts will serve temporary exhile at Yves’ parents.

JoHakim and Anataly organized also the gift selection, purchase and transport over here, and kindly included me in every step of the way, NONE of which I was able to help with, but was included nontheless in the decision making process. Thus, I am as excited to see the actual gifts. Fredrick also has brought gifts; nice smelling liquids for Sofia and a (cursed) tie for Yves, the later subject of a mysterious staining and major blaming.

For dinner we have gnocchi, which is delicious, and my hungry eyes tell me that my portion would not be enough (though it actually will be).

We are drinking out of champagne glasses which in my opinion should be banned due to potential instability (too tall, center of gravity too high when filled with potentially staining liquids). Sofia comes with coasters for us all, and mentions:’Just make sure you are careful about the t.a.b.l.e.c..l..o...t...h.......’. It is in this period of slowdown of the universe, with her words still lingering in the air that my hand violently hurls towards my glass, toppling it, and spilling all the white wine on the table cloth over the coaster she has placed for me. This moment puts me on super-nervous alert about my flailing limbs.

This moments comes back to haunt us (ME) again, as after dinner, the newly braught tie now bears a large stain ring. It seems quite logical for Frederick to associate the stain on the tie with the spill on the table, since it makes temporal sense; ali spill, stain on table, an hour later stain on tie, stain on tie due to ali’s spill. It seems to be falling on deaf ears the FACT that the tie was not anywhere close to the sight of my demise of dexterity. In an amusing (to everyone but me) revision of history, I am the convicted culprit accused, tried and almost sentenced of the miraculous long distance staining of the tie. I almost believe my magical tele-kinetic powers myself, but my attempts att miraculous long distance silencing of Frederick and his verbal abuse yields no fruit, and for the rest of the trip, any stain or spillage, or otherwise clumsy act goes automatically on my record.