LIAM DEL CARME | BOK VOYAGE: Songs, seagulls and Saffers at RWC in France

A week into the tour and it’s clear most South Africans who packed for this seven-week odyssey did not fully appreciate the heatwave that has hit this country.

It is hot and humid yet suitcases bulge with jackets and coats more en vogue in Paris. The capital with its often leaden skies, may bring little respite, however.

Dimly-lit stairwells and animated pooches

By opting not to stay in hotels, travellers can make a significant saving, but they end up taking a leap into the unknown. Check-in procedures into privately owned apartments can be an adventure, while loose tiles and dimly lit, steep stairwells present their own challenge.

While the apartment I stayed in upon arriving in Toulon was filled with character, it overlooked a square where the noise was high and potential shut-eye short.

Every time I opened my door, the pooch one floor down alerted everybody within a 3km radius. Of course he would stop barking as I passed his door only to resume when I got to the bottom.

Choo-choo loo escapes

Travelling in France is usually a breeze. Summer brings its challenges as the world descends on the world’s most visited country, but the Rugby World Cup has kicked some of those notions into touch.

The opening weekend in Marseille saw England play Argentina, followed by South Africa against Scotland a day later. Accommodation in France’s second city was at a premium, forcing many fans to stay in Toulon, an hour away. It was also a lot cheaper.

Trains to Marseille on Saturday were jam-packed, to the point where the toilet became the least claustrophobic place on board. It became a refuge, though when someone arrived for its intended purpose it made for awkward exchanges.

The crush on the Metro trains to Stade Velodrome was even worse.

Bells and little uns

The return to Toulon held the promise of a more serene, “family-orientated” part of the port. Work could also be performed from a terrace with a church steeply protruding to the left and a small tree-shaded square below. With the original stop in Toulon and the hustle and bustle of Marseille in the rearview mirror it was time for some peace, and quiet.

The squawk of the odd seagull had nothing on what actually awaited.

On the other side of the square, barely 30m away, is a primary school — actually, more like a play school. When the bell sounds its frenzied attendees spring to life like gulls at the back door of a fish and chip shop.

Speaking of bells. The one at the nearby church chimes every half-hour, which you become more aware of as the night grows long.

Sonorous Saffers

South Africans tend to stand out in France, especially in the south. Saffa voices cut through the calm of the Cote d’Azur like a hot knife through foie gras. Whether you’re on a ferry or in a brasserie, South Africans, irrespective their hue, make their voices heard, usually drawing the locals’ disapproving scowl.

Callous crew

Speaking of drawing a scowl, though this time at the complete lack of etiquette and common decency for others’ workspace. A South African television crew breezed into the Stade Vélodrome media tribune (press box) a few moments before the Boks kicked off against Scotland on Sunday.

They were easily identifiable as South African by the prancing Springbok on their jerseys. As they got to their seats there was a series of spirited high fives as if their journey to the Mediterranean was undertaken on the original Kon Tiki.

During the game two kept excitably vacating their seats as if they were on the East Stand at Loftus obscuring the view of those working behind them.

Pub hub

While the media centre at Stade de France in Paris ran out of water on the opening evening, South African scribes who are based in the south did not have that problem as they were exposed to a far more authentic experience.

Less than a block away from Stade Felix Mayol, home ground of RC Toulon, locals in a corner pub were in full voice well before the kickoff of the opening match.

The visiting writers had little choice but to be swept up in the torrent of French fervour as the Tricolores brought the blues to the All Blacks.

It was raucous, yet reserved leading up to the decisive moments of the game. The locals delighted in singing the La Marseillaise but made sure their speakers boomed Nkosi Sikilel' iAfrica and Our Flower of Scotland.

It was a fitting way to kickoff the 10th Rugby World Cup. Merci bar “Le B des Cochons”.