I took a highspeed train from Paris to get to my next destination in the South of France on the Mediterranean Sea. The French countryside was rolling and green in early October. Cows were grazing everywhere but I didn’t see any goats for the chevre. I thought that during almost any period this must have been difficult open land to defend from any invader. It was so unlike Italy with its many hilltop towns which would have been much easier to protect. We passed small towns with the required spired building dominating the center of the community. I noted grey nuclear towers with their telltale billowing smoke included with the new bright white windmill neighbors. Tall buildings were nowhere to be seen with most being just one story or two.
We must have been traveling more than two hundred kilometers per hour since the train was just streaking by the traffic going one hundred kilometers on the nearby toll road. When I looked it up, we covered six hundred kilometers in three hours! The modern train moved quickly for two hours on special tracks without going through any stations. I felt the train slow once on a sharp curve but otherwise we were at high speed. The rainy grey of Paris was left behind and about ninety minutes into the trip the clouds disappeared with the sun in full bloom warming all that it touched with its bounty and beneficence.
There were mountains to the far left but they weren’t very high. Half way through the journey the fields of grapevines and fruit trees with the required netting appeared while fields of solar panels fitted neatly into the unused spaces. Craggy outcroppings came into view while lovely rivers slid under the train trestles. Soon after Marseille with cruise ships in its port, we arrived in the station at Toulon.
I had arranged to meet the host at my Airbnb location by taking a local bus from the train depot. I easily located the correct bus and took the short ride to my new location which was very close to the sea. Andre was not at the entrance of the large red brick apartment building and I didn’t have phone or Internet service at the time so I went around the corner and located a small Best Western hotel where they kindly let me use their Internet from my laptop. Andre then met me at the entrance to the building and welcomed me to his Airbnb place. He was a tall handsome man in his middle fifties with a full head of short salt and pepper hair. He had a most welcoming smile and I could easily see why he chose this way to make money. We used an elevator to get to the top floor and he introduced me to the space. There were three bedrooms, a common living room and one shared bathroom. I was most fortunate to have the room with the view to the sea. I asked if there were other guests and he informed me that there were two other single gentlemen so it would be quiet. Andre provided keys and let me know that he would be back in the morning to make coffee. He spoke very good English which I valued since my French was only nominal.
I had chosen wisely with the Airbnb in Toulon. There was a shared bathroom, but I would only be in Toulon for four days so it would be fine. Conveniently, the toilette and the shower were located in separate rooms. I was in a seven story building on the top floor with an elevator and a market store just below. I had a balcony with two chairs and a small table where I could view the sea and sunsets. All of the things a person could want in the south of France. Like many Airbnb spaces, the bed occupied much of the room, but there were object d’art gracing the white shelving along with books on architecture and UNESCO sites.
The sea was only one hundred meters from my building, so I went for an afternoon stroll. It was in the mid 70’s but it felt like 80’s in the sun. I walked along the broad promenade adjacent to the sun dappled sea. A park area separated the cars from the promenade so that the sounds and sights were of the sea. Happy people were enjoying aperitifs at outdoor seaside restaurants. A few individuals were in the water which was remarkably clean and I put my feet in to feel the coolness. Some of the women at the beach were topless although most of the exposed breasts were of the senior women. There were a number of slender male runners worth a second view and some athletic males and females doing gymnastics in the park, including some very entertaining wire walkers honing their skills. When they weren’t successful in their balancing routine, they just got back on the wire and worked at it with more focus. I was fortunate that many of the male runners were shirtless, exposing their attractive well defined torsos.
I slept well and at daylight I heard Andre puttering around in the contiguous kitchen making coffee. That was sufficient to get me out of bed. “Ah, Bonjour!” he greeted me with a pleasant and open smile. “Café?” I affirmed and happily accepted the large mug of dark brew. I had taken a seat on the large sofa in the living room. Neither of the other men were there and Andre took a seat at the dining table opposite me. He was also enjoying the freshly made coffee.
I asked about the topless women at the nearby beach and he laughed before informing me that there were always women there, but none who got totally naked. He declared that the women in the South of France were very relaxed and easy to meet and talk to. He determined that they were more beautiful than the women of Paris who had tough attitudes towards men and weren’t so friendly. I replied that I always loved observing the women of Paris who had such fantastic shapes and wore very stylish clothes. I hadn’t tried to meet a Parisian woman, so I couldn’t disagree with his opinion about their attitudes.
I asked if he were married and Andre assured me that he was married in a French way. He had been legally married in his younger years and had two daughters from that relationship. He had become single about ten years ago and found a younger woman who had taken an interest in him. If the choice were his, he would be married again, but she didn’t want to take the risk. She had a sizeable bank account and didn’t want to share that if the relationship didn’t work out. They were together five years and she had retained the same opinion. That was why he was doing the Airbnb to provide for his own support. “You must have a job,” she had decreed. I could see by the way that Andre talked about her that he was quite in love and therefore willing to do what was necessary to be with her. It was clearly that French acceptance of fait accompli.
The next morning was a similar awakening to the sounds of Andre in the kitchen and the receipt of the dark brew when I arrived at my seat on the sofa. I asked about immigrants and his face displayed a sterner look as he declared that it was a problem all over Europe. There were not a lot of jobs or resources anymore after the financial crisis from 2008 and what was there ought to be for the French people. I had commented about seeing groups of young dark men on street corners in Paris which was a new sight for me. That got him going in the other direction that they should be working instead of being shiftless. He feared that the joy of France was diminished by this new wave of African and Middle Eastern people. “At least they learn French,” he granted them grudgingly. When he became excitable, his attractiveness increased significantly and I sensed that he would be a very entertaining lover in bed. I didn’t register anything but heterosexual in him so I made sure that I didn’t display what I was feeling. I certainly didn’t want to make my host uncomfortable.
Andre and I had a third morning that continued our coffee and chat pattern. I had now walked much of Toulon and asked Andre how long he had been there. “Since I was a small boy,” he declared before adding how wonderful a place it was to live. I asked if the water had changed since he was young. Was it cleaner or less so, or the same? He paused to consider the question and his memories before stating, “It is less clean now.” Part of that he blamed on the French navy since this was its main port on the Mediterranean. I had seen five gray ships in the harbor the other day. He had joked that the French navy had an aircraft carrier that would fit inside one by the US.
I talked about the rustic bakery that made such good crusty bread and how the olives were better here than in Paris. “We get everything from the nearby countryside and many people have lived here for generations, making their products the same way that their grandparents had. That’s why it’s so good to live here and eat with such pleasure.” He was correct that life was good in the south of France. I could understand why painters came here from Paris to cheer themselves while improving their health and appetites too no doubt.
I was so grateful for the time that Andre took to converse with me, when I was simply a guest at his Airbnb. We parted with a friendly, manly handshake since I knew I was leaving the next morning before he would arrive. Our coffee conversations had come to a close, but my memories of Toulon and handsome Andre would resonate. I didn’t mention to him that I had spent a day with a local gay man and I was unclear what he would have thought about that if I had revealed my activity. I still knew how to remain hidden when it seemed appropriate.