Marseille

Wednesday morning Andrew and I took a taxi to the Barcelona airport. We were both extremely lucky with out check-ins. First, we went to Spanair where I walked up to the counter and was checked in within 2 minutes. Then we went over to the Air France/KLM desk where Andrew had the same experience.

With some time to kill, we looked through the gift shops for something to bring back for Isaac. As my flight was before Andrew’s, I bid him farewell and headed off. The plane was empty! It was at 5-10% capacity which allowed for every passenger to have their own row with a few empty ones left over. It was a short hop over the Med that lasted less than 45 minutes and I were in Marseille. I took a bus to the central train station and walked two blocks to my hostel.

For the majority of this trip I decided to stay in guest houses and hotels, but for 4 nights (in Marseille and Cannes) I opted for hostels. This one wasn’t bad as I had stayed in much worse on previous trips.

I dropped my bags and left the hostel in a hurry; I had a promise I was eager to keep. With my map in hand I made my way down to the Vieux Port. On all three sides were buildings – mostly restaurants, hotels and apartments – while the shores were lined with docks for the many sailboats, luxury yachts and fishing vessels. At the mouth of the port (on both sides) stood old fortresses. I walked around the right side to the end, past the fort, until I was standing with the Mediterranean Sea laid out in front of me. A big smile crept over my face. In August 2007 I stood on the shore at Cadiz, Spain and promised I would return one day. Technically I fulfilled that promise at New Year’s 2008 as Nina and I spent it in Mallorca, but it was too cold to go into the water. That was like staring at Italian gelato without being able to eat it.

I was standing on the shore without my swimsuit and at the narrow mouth of the port there was a lot of boat traffic. This was far from ideal for swimming, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before I would be able to go in. As I walked back, I went through the oldest part of town. On the edge sat Marseille’s Cathedral which was a striking building which one immediately notices. Inside I was happy to seek out some cool air and after a quick walk around, I sat on a bench to rest. I glanced up at the 4 large domes which dominated the central ceiling of the building. Then I began to notice the intricate mosaics on the floor. The tiles were miniscule and covered almost the entire footprint of this mammoth cathedral. Thinking about the labour involved in laying these tiles only made me feel more tired.

I walked through the old town and came across the Vielle Charité which was built between 1671 and 1745 to house the poor. Now it is a wonderful old monument that has been painstakingly restored to its former glory. It attracts tourists and locals alike as its many rooms around the perimeter display travelling exhibits from museums around the world.

I met one of my roommates when I got back to the hostel; Chris from California. He was very friendly and, if anything, too comfortable talking to people. Within the two casual conversations I had with him I learned he had cheated on his girlfriend on this trip, recreationally partook in a myriad of drugs and freely used derogatory terms to describe Chinese people. Charming fellow.

I woke up fairly early the next morning and set out to see the sites. I walked down to la Place Castellane which is a traffic roundabout with a beautiful fountain and sculpture atop a large column. I don’t know what it symbolized, but it was attractive and marked the centre of an entertainment district within Marseille.

As I was making my way toward Notre Dame de la Garde, I stumbled into the Jewish quarter. All the shops had Hebrew names and many of the shopkeepers were standing outside smoking cigarettes and donning Kippahs.

I climbed the daunting hill which led me to the centrepiece of Marseille; Notre Dame de la Garde. This may not be the official cathedral of the city, but it was the one church all visitors made the trek to see. It cuts an impressive figure on the skyline of Marseille from atop its perch. However, the inside was as (if not more) impressive than the outside. I have seen many churches throughout my travels, and for the most part, it’s unusual to see one that still really impresses me. This one did. The gold leaf trim was a wonderful touch and as Marseille is a fishing village, there were hundreds of pictures donning the walls showing different ships which likely arrived on these shores over the years. As well, there were models of ships suspended from the ceiling and hanging throughout the building. Back in the day, fishermen used to have their boats blessed in this church although I highly doubt they lugged them up the hill to be blessed in person.

I had spoken to a few Aussies the previous night who has pointed out that one small section of wall was usual as it had a series of pictures depicting accidents such as plane crashes, bombings, train derailments and even one odd picture of a man falling off a cliff. In all these pictures there was a small angel in one of the corners looking down. It was a little peculiar so I took a picture of this wall of oddities and you can see them for yourselves.

The views from Notre Dame were spectacular. There was a promenade that allowed for a 360 degree view of the surrounding area. The church itself was well worth the sweat-inducing jaunt, but the views added an extra appeal.

I walked back down toward the left shore of the port. At the point where the port met the open Med there stood a park with more wonderful vistas. I sat down for a break and took in the view and atmosphere. This is what I had come for.

From the port there is a road that travels east along the coast called la Corniche. There are countless places to see the islands off Marseille and the mountains in the distance. In between these view spots are many restaurants all with decks hovering above the sea and sporting great local seafood dishes. I had timed my visit well as it was the early afternoon and a perfect time for lunch.

Marseille’s beaches sit a few kilometres east of the city and so I was utterly surprised to walk past a small sandy beach along la Corniche. I wished I had brought my swimsuit with me as a sign advertised temperatures of 32 degrees. With the breeze off the sea it didn’t feel too hot, but once in a while it would wane and the heat would become noticeable. I wanted to go in the water so badly, but I had walked too far from the hostel to rush back and grab my swim shorts. I kept going in search of a good restaurant for lunch.

A couple hundred metres away I passed a large deck suspended just above the water full of empty deck chairs. It was attached to a bar and had a staircase that went into the water. A few happy people were sunning themselves and it was too much for me. I became aware of the fact I wasn’t actually all that hungry and I wanted nothing more than to jump into the sea. I turned around and (as if it was a sign from above) saw a taxi driving toward me. I flagged it down and had him drive me back to the hostel.

I took a bus back to the beach and was considering the pros and cons of my two choices. On the one hand, the beach was free, but it was sandy which would mean I would end up with sand between my wet toes and it get into my clothing. As well, there wasn’t anywhere secure to leave my things.

The other choice would surely cost something, but it afforded an almost empty deck with a shower and dressing room and a waitress who would bring me drinks and food with the wave of my arm. It really wasn’t a difficult decision.

I happily paid €12 for my own private piece of paradise for the day. I set myself up on a deck chair which afforded a view of the coast with the blue water shimmering in the sunlight. I dug my book (Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods) out from my bag. I had been saving this book for this trip and today seemed like a perfect time and place to crack it open.

A Walk in the Woods is Bryson’s personal account of his trek along the Appalachian Trail; traversing 2200 miles of mountains and forest. As odd as it may seem, there was something quite satisfying about reading this book while lounging in the hedonistic paradise of the French Riviera.

After a half hour of reading in the sun, I was sufficiently hot and ready to take a dip in the water. I walked down the stairs that led to the water and, as expected, it was quite chilly at first. After 5 minutes the water became quite warm and pleasant and I lay there, floating on my back while gazing at the scenery around me feeling perfectly content. This was the life!

In the late afternoon I pealed myself from the deck chair and took a bus back into the centre of town. I went back to the hostel to clean up and seek some advice from the staff. I had viewed some of the restaurant menus along the harbour, but they seemed to cater exclusively to the tourists and I was looking for something a little more “French”. I was sent to a street just off the harbour which was full of restaurants. Within a small square with a fountain in the middle I found an atmosphere that suited me well. The perimeter was surrounded by patios and on one a trio was playing soft music which filled the air. I settled on a small French restaurant where the patrons were all gabbing away in French with no English to be heard.

I had a lovely meal that started with salmon carpaccio accompanied by fresh French bread. For my main meal I had a whole dorade (white fish) whith grilled eggplant. And, for desert chocolate mousse. It was a wonderful experience and I was particularly pleased with myself because I didn’t speak English once and even joked with the waiter.

Friday morning I got up, packed my bag and set off for the scooter rental shop. Before leaving on this trip I had researched scooter rentals and found one close by. Their prices were reasonable and it would afford me a decent way to drive along the coast to Cassis for the day. I was not totally surprised when I arrived at the rental and they were closed. I was a little disappointed as I liked the idea of getting out of Marseille for the day, but it was out of my hands now and I didn’t feel like traipsing around town looking for another one.

I went back to the hostel and spoke to the girl at the counter about my options. I told her I wanted to be along the water where I could swim and surrounded by unbelievable beauty. She made two suggestions; take a bus to Cassis or to a small town in the hills where I would have to hike for a bit to get to the water. The latter would also be quieter with less tourists. Sold!

I boarded a bus for Luminy in the hills between Marseille and Cassis. It took a good hour and I found myself surrounded by mountains and hills on all sides. I was told there was a path which led from the parking lot where the bus stopped and it would take me along an unpaved trail for 30 minutes. I walked down to the bottom of the lot and found the trail head. I started to walk and within 15 minutes I came to a junction with no idea which way to go. I made my choice and kept hiking. Around the 30 minute point I could still not see the water and knew I was not where I was supposed to be. I kept going. I started to notice that the trail I was on was circling the town while snaking up and over a ridge. I was losing faith when I started to hear voices in the distance. I came across some people who didn’t speak English, but through my Pidgin French I was able to gather I was on the right path and was looking at another half hour. I hiked for another 15 minutes and finally saw the water, but it was way off in the distance with another mountain in between. I lost faith and realized today was only going to end up being a hiking day; no swimming. The trail I was on looked like it ended at a point up ahead with a vista over the area, so I kept going and decided that would be where I would turn back. As I arrived I looked down and realized the place I had been in search of was laid out at my feet below! However, it was one hell of a long way down. I didn’t care; at this point I had been hiking for almost an hour and a half in the heat and was determined to get myself into the sea.

I was able to find a path that led directly down, but it was steep and treacherous like the Grouse Grind in reverse. I carefully made my way and watched big-eyed as the water came closer into view. The water was azure blue which got me thinking about how this region is called the Côte d'Azur (which directly translates to blue coast). However, I was later surprised to discover the azure blue is actually referencing the sky and not the water. Anyhow, the Med was so inviting and I stopped caring about how far I had come. I also tried not to think about the insane hike I would have to face on the way back up.

I suddenly found myself a couple dozen feet above the pebble beach. The bay was protected, a little inner harbour with a handful of like-minded bathers who had also made the trek. I had been so content the previous day on the deck along the Marseille coast. Now, the stark comparison was incredible. I found a slab of rock on the right side of the bay to call my own. I dropped my bag and headed into the water with my swimming goggles. I bobbed along, face down, following small schools of fish as they nibbled the vegetation from the boulders that dotted the bottom of the harbour. Without realizing it at the time, this is what I had been envisioning when I planned this trip. I didn’t know it would be this particular location, but the feeling I had and the splendour of the surroundings are what I was dreaming of and seeking out.

While sitting on my rock letting the warmth of the air dry me off, I cracked open my book to read more about Bryson’s clumsy hike along the Appalachian. This time, while reading, I was a tad more sympathetic.

I hiked back up the looming path that resembled the Grouse Grind more on the way up than it had on the way down. The only real difference was that this was a semi-arid location with the temperatures in the high 20s. When I got back to the top I had been hiking for 25 minutes and was exhausted and drenched in sweat again. Mentally, I turned around and headed back to the water. Physically, I trudged on. This time I took the path of least resistance and found it took a fraction of the time. I also paid particular attention to where it let out. I emerged at the top of the parking lot and I had left from the bottom. Although I spent almost an hour longer than required to get there; the payoff made it worthwhile.

I cleaned myself up at the hostel and returned to the port for one last supper. I woke up early Saturday morning, packed my bags and headed off to the train station.

Next stop: Cannes!