Marseille--Mon Amour

Iconic image of Marseille

I have always preferred working ports to gentrified, touristy, antiseptic ports.  I like Annapolis but prefer watching the work at the Port of Baltimore.  For that reason I expected to like Marseille and I was not disappointed.

Two floors up, on the left--one shutter closed, one open

View from the balcony onto the court below

Marseille is about an hour's train ride from Nimes. The day was sunny and beautiful; the wind had calmed somewhat from the bluster of the weekend.  I was able to watch some French countryside  that I had never seen before roll by and began to understand why those famous  painters loved the light here.  Bizet's L'Arlesienne Suite got stuck in my mind's ear as we entered Arles and left just as quickly.  I expected it to be bigger.  Van Gogh created a painting of a bridge there.  It's worth an overnight visit to poke around, I think.

Freshly caught

Catch unloaded for the day

I recognize  the sardines

Sorry, but I am NOT eating these

On to Marseille.  I had booked a hotel in the Old Port quarter.  I like to stay in the center of town, whenever possible.  I am sure there are newer and fancier starred hotels all along the water, but I like to be within walking distance of shops and whatever daily life is happening.  The train pulled into the Marseille station, which, while it is big, was not as massive as I expected.  After all, Marseille is the second largest city in France, and this was nothing compared to Gare du Nord or Montparnasse in Paris.  Marseille is quite a bit more manageable.  

I think this a flag of Malta in a forest of masts at the port

I knew my hotel was within a not-unreasonable walking distance of the station, but I had, like a moron, left my map at home.  So, I took a taxi--how much could it be?  After about a 7.50 Euro ride, made no doubta little more expensive by the severely clogged streets,  my taxi driver sort of "dumped" me out on the sidewalk with the words, "I can't get through.  It's around here somewhere--you'll find it."  So there I stood, in one of the liveliest Arab market neighborhoods I have seen outside of Paris.  There were so many sounds and smells and colors.  I loved it, but at the same time, I was eternally grateful that I was alone and didn't have, shall we say, particular, friends who are more particular than I am with me.  Because that many people in that small a space with that much activity generate trash and garbage and graffiti, which is sometimes off-putting to those used to a more genteel way of traveling.  But I was undaunted.  Lugging my suitcase behind me, I shouldered my way through the crowd.  I was in Square Saint Louis, the hotel is the Hotel Maison Saint Louis; it had to be around here somewhere.  And after about 100 paces I spotted the sign.  The hotel sits on the corner, right on the edge of the Arab quarter.  It is charming, but looks a little bigger in its promotional photos--they seem to crop out all the surrounding activity.

one of several forts along the port

I knew I was early for check-in, but I just wanted to leave my suitcase and come back after lunch. However, the reception desk did indeed have a room ready, no small feat.  The hotel has only three rooms that have more than one bed.  They put us --me--in a family suite---a huge king size bed and a sofa that converted to a double.  We had floor to ceiling windows and even a balcony that looked over the square below.  It would do quite nicely, indeed. I camped out on the very comfortable sofa bed, leaving the big bed untouched for Lorraine.

Once I deposited my belongings, off I set to find the Office of Tourism, which was only a block and a half away, and from there, some lunch at water's edge.  The day was spectacular, the water was calm and blue.  This point of Marseille is actually some distance from the Mediterranean proper--it's a long, narrow inlet that serves acres of sailboats and motor yachts.  The economies of some small countries wouldn't come close to the net worth floating in that port.  

Hokey, but actually pretty interesting

I recognize the device on the bottom left--they haven't changed much

Industrial soap cooker

Brings back memories

The Office of Tourism was most helpful, giving me information about the public transit, the Little White Trains and the hop on-hop off open air buses.  I had a great salad for lunch and then set about exploring the west side of the port, where the old town is located.  I ducked into the church and lit several candles for remembrance.  I wondered about the mish-mash of architectural styles and pondered why old town didn't look all that old.  Then I saw a plaque that addressed that very issue--much of the area was bombed during World War II by the Germans.  And |I also spent no small amount of time if Galleries Lafayette!

I spent the next two days exploring--the old town and then the east side of the port shore.  There I glimpsed the staircases that negotiate Marseille's steep hillsides.  I walked all the way down to the fort.  I stood in line to get tickets for the Little White Train which would take us (once Lorraine arrived) all the way up to the top of the hill on which the famous cathedral, Notre-Dame-de-la-Gard keeps vigil over the city.  The edifice is topped with a gold statue of the Madonna and Child, or as the recorded tour guide put it in English, "The Virgin Mary and the Kid."  Maybe someone would like some help with translating into English?

Virgin Mary and the Kid

Marseille is known for bouillabaisse--its famous fish stew.  And for pastis--the absolutely delicious, addictive anise flavored liquor that one mixes with water.  I love that stuff, especially in the heat of the summer.  I somehow have gotten the impression that it's a man's drink, and "nice" women don't drink it, so I guess we all know what that makes me!  The city is also known for its striped blue and white fishermen's shirts, and all things lavender.  I didn't really consider it a part of Provence, but I guess in reality it is quite Provencal.  And lest I forget, Savon de Marseille--it's famous for its soap. I actually went into the Museum of Soap and found it quite interesting. 

 I loved the fishermen coming right in to the head of the port, every morning bringing the freshest fish I have ever seen to sell directly to the public.  It made me wish I lived here, and that I liked fish!  I recognized only two species--the sardines and the mackerel.  Three were some ugly eels awaiting the cook pot, as well.

May 8 is a national holiday in France--Liberation Day.  The French celebrate their liberation from Germany, and it's a rather festive day.  May 8, 1945, which made this the 44th anniversary.  Marseille set up a pavilion of sorts at the port.  It included a covered dance floor, plenty of seating, a stage for the band, several rows of tents dispensing free--yes, free--food and drink.  The event was a bal patriotique--a patriotic dance.  Along the sides of the canvas pavilion were greatly enlarged black and white photos of the exact spot on the very day when liberation was annuo9nced.  I asked someone who was inside the barricade what was going on, thinking that it was in invitation-only gala.  I was told about the dance, and that it was open to all.  "Meme une vieille dame americaine?" (Even an old American lady?) I asked.  To all was the reply.  The French, or at least the Marseillais are still grateful and remember what the Americans and the British did to help rid them of the German occupiers.  

Getting ready for a party

Like the one on May 8, 1945--Liberation Day

Soon enough, it was time to enter.  The band had already started playing swing music from the 1940's and the dance floor was full.  One really cool thing about this pavilion was that the top covering had a mirrored ceiling.  So I could watch the dancers, even if they were upside down.  We were presented with three miniature flags--one US, one French, one UK when we entered.  

The actual scene reflected on the mirrored ceiling

Turned upside down--see the guy in the sailor suit?

I quietly found a seat and sat tapping my toes in time to the music.  I have never understood why throughout my whole life, nobody has ever asked me to dance.  Some old geezer came over and asked if the seat next to me was free.  I indicated that it was.  You know that three-day growth of dark beard is so compelling on a 35 year-old Frenchman?  Well, it's not so much on a 70+ year old Frenchman.  Anyhow he indicated, after a short introductory conversation that he'd "Come here just to find you," (meaning me.)  I snorted and waved him away, but I can say that I had an invitation to walk, because I don't think he could dance.  Too funny, even at the time.

French men posing as American G I's

Such a guy stance

Don't forget the WAC's

Atop a US tank

I made my way down to the display of American military vehicles that had been in a parade down the main street earlier, to start of the festivities.  American G I's were wearing olive drab fatigues and helmets and bore the insignia of the Third Army.  All was good until I went to speak to them...they were French!  I just couldn't get my head around that--Frenchmen dressed up as American G I's..it was like French men dressed up like my dad!  I get it in my head that who else would it be but Frenchmen, but hearing French come out of a US soldier's mouth just was a little too hard for me process.  I am still smiling about it.  

A 3-star General? 

One other thing that astounded me was the way the crowd reacted to the free food.  There were plenty of tents handing out little Dixie Cup sized portions of coffee, soda, water, as well as bite-sized pastries--muffins, little chocolate croissants and such.  And there was no crush.  There was no gluttony.  People took one helping and then moved on about their business.  Nobody was filling a purse because it was free or standing there hogging as much as they could stuff in their mouths.  It made me so proud to be in France.

Two of the three flags we were given

When I went to leave, as it was a bit chilly and getting late, and I had to take a nap so I could make a run to the train station later--10:30--that evening to collect my friend Lorraine, I went to the organizers to thank them. When they learned that |I was American, they presented me with a rosette of red, white and blue ribbon.  I got quite choked up, thinking about the honor and the sacrifice that Americans demonstrated at that period in history and how far we seem to have drifted from those values.  (And that's as political as this post will get).  I actually left the event in tears, but feeling very lucky to have been a part of it.

My rosette

I collected Lorraine at the appointed time.  The train station was eerily silent--the only shop open was a 24 hour McDonald's--of course.  But I felt zero fear.  While I was waiting, I had a delightful conversation with a young man of Bosnian descent.  His parents were refugees, I think, some 25 years ago when Czechoslovakia fell apart.  He now earns his living as a singer of Spanish songs in local night clubs.  He warned me to watch myself in the metro, to beware of pick pockets.  We talked of politics, of foods, of the places in the world he has lived and our shared love of Amsterdam.  I get discouraged sometimes by the snail's pace at which my language acquisition is proceeding, but our conversation was easy and fluid, so I guess I am making some progress. He was waiting for his uncle to arrive from Italy, on the same train as Lorraine.

Protesters gather

Dont' lower our wages

Don't privatize our jobs

All passengers collected, we took the metro home.  Without incident.  The next day, as we were setting off for the port, we encountered a pretty large and noisy, but very peaceful demonstration.  The white collar workers were marching to protest the reduction in both their numbers and in the amount of their pay.  There are always demonstrations going on here in France and all the ones I have witnessed have been peaceful, but determined.  Once at the port, we hopped on the Little White Train that took us up to the Cathedral, which gave us the panoramic view of the area and an idea of just how big the city is.  On the way, we drove along the Mediterranean coast, getting to view the islands right off the shoreline, one of which holds the Chateau d'If--the location that inspired the novel The Count of Monte Cristo.  It looks even more forbidding than Alcatraz.  But oh, the color of the water.  I know that Pacific is beautiful, as are probably the other great bodies of water in the world, but the blue of the Med seems unique to me.  I can see how it would inspire poets.  That ride was the worst--the bumpiest I have ever endured and taking photos was next to impossible.  I am glad I took the little white train, because it did get me to the top of that very high hill, but don't think I will be taking any more any time soon.  As Lorraine put it, "You are, after all, just riding in a cart."

Hilly Marseille reminds me of Montmartre in Paris

Chateau d'If on the island to the right...ah the color

That day we had lunch al fresco at the port--after browsing at the open air market of mostly locally handcrafted goods.  Dinner that night was also at the port, and we were able to watch the sun set.  We ordered sangria, which was unlike any sangria I ever had in Spain.  We then walked down to an Irish pub where a concert had been promised.  There was a concert, but it was more rock and roll, so we didn't stay long.  I did manage to get engaged in a conversation with another very tall woman who lived just a few blocks away...she was very friendly and wondered about the rosette on my jacket.  She told me that she'd not been feeling well on the day of the dance and missed it.  i think she was just glad to have another tall woman to talk to.  As we had a relatively early train the next morning, we decided to head back to the hotel and finish packing. 

From high atop the city

some of the city sprawl

All in all, I liked Marseille and do plan to return, but probably not until late fall or in the early months of next year.  I think summer would prove to be too hot.  It's really not far, only 3 hours by train, nor are the tickets very expensive.  I would stay in the same hotel, as I loved the location.  I feel like I merely scratched the surface of what there is to do and see...and taste and smell.  There are some foods in the Arab quarter that I would like to have explained to me as I try them.  And I had some falafel that was to die for in Toulouse recently--I will bet I can get exceptional falafel in Marseille.  Glad to have been introduced to this little corner of France.