Soccer mania

Aug 23 , 2005
I found myself inching towards the entrance of the Vélodrome Statium in Marseille, wading across a sea of blue-tshirts. ALL of them were fans of the local football team- Olympique de Marseille waiting to gain entry to the finals of the UEFA Intertito Cup to be played versus the Spaniards La Corogne- Deportivo.

I have never watched a cricket match or for that matter ANY match from a stadium in India. And here I was going to a soccer match in Marseille, to see 2 teams playing, either of which I did not know.

But my neutrality did not last long. Something in my appearance, made the security guy describe the security procedure in Spanish to me, instead of French. Anybody would guess, that it isnt a fantastic idea to look like a fan of the foreign team, sitting beside a horde of atleast 30000 supporters. I bought a official OM cap, which was to be a life-saver and souvenir at the same time...

The home team was 2 down in the first encounter with Deportivo, and had to score a lead of atleast 3 goals to win the cup. Thats already too much to ask to a pretty average team playing against a stronger team, and losing their strong defender to injury.

My main objective was to soak in the frenzied atmosphere, and witness the peoples emotions and crowd behaviour. The energy in the stands for so high and the sight of people jumping and singing in the stands was great. As always I forgot to bring my camera in the most crucial moment. Besides the stadium is like a university for learning the juiciest foul language that French has to offer, during missed goals, opponents fouls, referees mistakes and other unfavourable situations.

There is a critical difference in how they expressed their discouragement for the rival team, and for support for home team. Clapping hands, and crying "Allez Allez!" is counted as expressions of support, but whistling loud with the fingers in the mouth is to disapprove the opponents gains and goals- which is just the opposite in India- whistling aloud is the strongest (and eardrum piercing) way to express your approval. So I had to check myself not to whistle when the home team scored !

And there were lots of such emotional outbursts to follow: OM scored in the first 4 minutes, and conceded one before the celebration for the first goal were over ! This meant they had to score 3 more to win the match. Except a few missed goals and yellow cards, nothing seemed to happen till the last 15 minutes of the second half.

While I was losing hope, my friend Eric who is a passionate supporter of OM seemed to need some moral support for himself. So given the critical stage of the match, I offered that by saying, I too would support OM for 1 year if they lead by 1, 2 years if they lead by 2, and lifelong supporter if they won with 3 lead. I let out some long vocal chants of "Om!", to invoke some divine support from the heavens.

And OM won the match 5-1 !

I leave it to your imagination the sights and sounds of the stadium, after such a result by the home team, which stood no chances to win before the match began....

Petanque pretensions..

Right from the first week I landed in France, I was introduced to this hitherto unheard game called petanque. Now I wonder why did the French keep it to themselves, unlike the English who went about pitching 3 stumps and playing cricket in whichever corner of the world they went .

The best part of the game is that anybody with functioning semi-circular canals in their ears (balance organs), and a reasonable grasp of the simple notions of 3 dimensional space around them, relative velocity, law of conservation of linear momentum, the variation of accelaration due to gravity with respect to altitude, and the coefficient of friction of surfaces can pick up the game in no time. ( whew !!)

To describe the same in English, you need to throw boulles (balls) made of solid metal very close to a tiny plastic ball called cochonnet ( pig ball:)
--now it sounds like my kinda game !

Readers are not to confuse this with the ancient Indian strategy games of gilli and goli.

Then come the specific roles of pointers and shooters in the team roughly doing the jobs of arranging and deranging the boulles. But however careful and calculated you are in your launches, the little stones in the mud track, and the slope of the field, and grass if any can alter the best throws. This adds an element of uncertainty for good players, and a ray of hope for bad players!!

The game is to be played with gentlemanly spirit, and all conflicts related to deciding whose boulle is closer to the cochonnet are to be resolved with peaceful measuring devices like dried grass, strings drawn from your opponents t-shirt, or vernier callipers. The players are strongly discouraged from using the metal balls as ballistic objects during an argument or practicing shotput at the opponent teams best pointer.

One can easily imagine a setting where Asterix and Obelisk playing this game in ancient Gaul. So the French guys seem to have petanque in their blood. But people who spent their childhood playing underarm bowling while playing cricket in the extremely confined spaces (bedroom, corridor etc) have a good advantage to start with. Those who love bowling in alleys may not like the mud, dirt that accumulates in the special shoes they use.

To know more about the game, do not expect me to add some useful links, but please go ahead and search it out in google !

Le Moulin de Len - THE weekend

Reached David's mill, just about the time the gang returned from their trek. I was the only Indian in the party of about 30 people and while I struggled with my French, some others struggled with their Anglais to get ourselves introduced. I discovered quite a few people I had never met, but had one or more links to people I know in India or Singapore.

Very soon we got down to business - eating our dinner and dancing around the fire. Included in menu was a particular snack which looked exactly like a sweet brownie with almonds, but want infact turned out to be salted dish made very skillfully from pork blood ! The main dish was aligot -a speciality of Aveyron region (fortunately for a herbivore like me) made out of potatoes and cheese..

I had brought along some packets of instant South Indian dish- Upma, the only ones I had brought from S'pore that remained with me. I had David's wife Marylene as my brand ambassador, who gracefully introduced the dish in French to the guests and made them taste it. The responses varied from -- "C èst bon !" with a thankful hug- from those who loved spicy food, but missed it in France -----to a muted scream and scramble to the nearest source of ice water/ cold beer by those who are not used to being "spiced up".

Some of them exacted revenge by offering me to taste a lil bit of nice home-made wine, asking me to appreciate the fruity taste of the wine. I gulped down the the colourless stuff like water, and burst out with a cough just like those who have their first puff of cigarette- the wine was revealed to be 5 years older than me (1976) and had an alcohol content of 40-45% !! I heard some chuckles in a whizzing and twirling background....

The music began with some songs from the 70's and 80's to which the children below 6 and above 60 began to dance, and were showing us some nice simple steps, and everybody joined in too. As the pace quickened and the kids tired out, the 20 or 30 somethings stepped up the tempo.

Then I was given an opportunity add some Indian twist to the dance.. Thanks to ARRahman's Boys album and my classmate Ashwin's impatient dance coaching -- managed to evoke a decent response from the crowd for the kind of dance that they see in Bollywood movies. The party went on till 5am, and the folks retired after the long workout.

The next day, the main activity was fishing in a pond near the mill, with some trout in it. I discovered the art and science of being an angler. I was taught how to make a fishing rod from a long slender tree branch, carving a notch, adding the string, the plumbs, the hook, and finally the sport of catching some grasshoppers for the bait ! Though I knew I would never eat the only fish I managed to catch, I wanted to learn the skill after watching Tom Hanks struggle to learn it in the movie "Cast Away".. Hope I never end up as a Robinson Crusoe to test those skills....

In the evening there was some time for petanque, a different ball game native to France, which the French never bothered to spread it to their colonies, unlike the British who sowed the seeds of cricket craze in their colonies. I shall devote a separate blog for the joys of playing petanque.

This night was relatively peaceful, with some simple food, friendly chat and some pleasant music, and none of the head banging excitement of the previous night. But it wasnt to be a tame end : we played a game called werewolves and the villagers, was supposed a game of strategy and logical reasoning, but with my limited understanding of French and the game rules, I found it funny and chaotic. I was smiling too much, aroused the suspicion of al players, and was exterminated in quick time.

The next morning was to undo all the party destruction we had caused, and pack up all the preparations. And then we proceeded to Roquefort caves, and Coivourturage..

I realised this was the only weekend I did not feel like being away from home, with all the human company and friends to talk and share.

The way to Saint Affrique..

" Enjoy the paths and pleasures of the journey, as much as the final destination"

The destination was a mill near the countryside in a village called Saint Affrique, near the town Millau, in the Aveyron region somewhere in south central part of France. I would be surprised if you can find this place in Google Earth..

One of my friends working in Singapore, David had returned to France to spend his vacations, and for the third year he was organising a party for his friends in here. The concept is pretty simple: eat, drink, dance and loaf around in the rural settings, without the distractions of TV, internet etc..

I managed to cling onto other friends' car (Stephane and Albanne), for the ride to Len, and we passed thru some beautiful and varied landscape -

starting from dry sunny burnt out Provence which endured some recent forest fires,

delta plains of the Grand Rhone river- Camargue with wild horses and bulls as permanent residents,

steep mountains on the way to Millau offering scenic views,

a plateau with blonde grass and green shrubs for miles without a single tree in sight,

rustic agrarian villages by the hillside....

I would not have reached the destination if I wanted to stop to take pictures at every interesting place..

Since we could not join our hosts in time for a trek, we went around the town Millau (pronounced something like Meeyouw). We walked along the narrow streets, and climbing a 12th century tower. I guess people who lived then did not mind climbing spiralling stairs, with the width just enough for one person, and without much ventilation or windows to improve the claustrophobic confines of the tower.

But atop the tower we could clearly see the pride of Millau - a newly built, massively tall bridge carrying the highway. It is positioned between 2 mountains to take the aeriel route avoiding the valley in which Millau rests. To get an idea of the height of the thing, few of the pillars supporting the pont (bridge in French) are said to be taller than the Eiffel tower ! Later we passed under the bridge and marvelled at the engineering effort needed to construct it.

On the way to our final destination, Stephane suddenly exclaimed " Ah !! the wonderful smell of country", and rolled down the car windows.. While I was expecting the fragrance of some orchids typical to that region or some smell from the fields of some crop.. I was hit by the earthy odour of fresh fuming bovine excreta (commonly referred to as bull shit). I need not have come all the way from Mambalam, Chennai with all the slow moving cows-on-the-street to experience this sample of gobar-gas!!

We reached the Moulin(mill) by evening and the fun was yet to begin...