Blown away in Marseille

One last morning of yogurt and granola in the campervan. The Mistral wind hasn't slowed, but we are still standing, so I count that as a win. The sunrise is more warm and inviting, and the flamingos seem pinker in it. We do a final once-over of the van, making sure everything is clean or packed up. Then we head back over the river delta on the ferry for the last time, and back towards Châteauneuf-les-Martigues.

Check-in at Indie Campers is a breeze, and not only that, they even offer to drop us off at the bus stop, so we don't have to do any off-road trekking with all our luggage! Bonus! Sadly, we don't have the same luck with early check-in at the hotel, so instead we check our bags and head back out, taking the train into Marseille for the day.

Our arrival at the Marseille-Saint-Charles station reveals the city everyone we talked to told us to not bother visiting. The sanitation worker have been on strike since March - before the Olympics, even - and so there are overflowing trash cans and garbage scattered everywhere in the train station. There is an accumulation of detritus in every corner, tucked into every stair, plastic bags swirling in the breeze of the Mistral that is blowing. Everything just feels grimey.

We exit, and the streets are no better - graffiti and shady characters are present in every direction we walk. Things have a look of brokenness and decay. We wonder if the scrappy attitude of the people of France's second largest city - one that had always been a port , open and welcoming to people from all over the world - translates into one of rebellion and meaningless destruction, just to prove their position and worth in the population. A cry of "I'm here", shouted loud, and with a fist pumped in the air. It's certainly not inviting, and so we make our way to a neighbourhood called Le Panier, in the Old town, and where all the tourists are.

Just next to a large set of stairs running down to the port, we get drawn to a small restaurant in a small square next to a small church. Not quite in the heart of the tourist area yet, this place still feels authentic, with its tables set up in the sun all full of people. The ardoise(chalkboard) holds the promise of fried squash blossoms, which we have been seeking out, but also a selection of more late-summer specialties that entice us to sit down. Paired with a glass of a deliciously grapey local red, it is a wonderful interlude to the day. We sit in the quiet square next to the church for a couple of hours, sipping our wine, and mopping up every last bite of our meals with pieces of baguette.

We wander the streets of Le Panier neighbourhood, peeking into shops, picking up the scent of lavender - the aroma of Provence - everywhere we go. We admire the sheer volume of graffiti-borderline-street art here, covering every accessible surface. The Mistral winds push us around, up and down streets and around corners, and eventually, we are seeking out shelter inside the walls of the Chapelle de la Vieille Charité. Its chapel and galeries are now the home of museum exhibits and art installations, which are all free to visit. We peruse one exhibit on the multitude of cultures that have converged on Marseille over the centuries, a collection of painting and posters and pieces from around the world, seemingly chaotic, but tied together with the thin thread that Marseille has always been one of the major crossroads of all the cultures in the history of the world. We disturb the poor pigeons trying, like us, to find warmth and shelter in the sunny corridors surrounding the central chapel. We eventually brave the Mistral again and head down to the port.

Spotting the Basilica over the Marseille Marina	The exit of the Marina, between two forts

We walk all the way around the Marseille Marina until we reach the Abbey of Saint-Victor, one of those places where the newest church was built on the foundations of an old church, who's catacombs were dug out to reveal an even older church built on top of a 1st-century temple? Yes, one of those "lasagna" churches. We descend into the crypt to see how the oldest temple was carved straight out of the rock, gorgeous spiraling columns, ornate alter and everything. Apparently, one of the abbots of this church became Pope - Urban V - in the 1300s. Finally, tired of the relentless pounding of the wind(yes, we can even hear it in the Abbey!), we decide that it's time to surrender and head back to the hotel.

 

Showered, refreshed, and bags repacked for the flight - since we did a pretty quick and dirty job of packing them in the cramped quarters of the campervan - we decide to brave the wind one last time, to have a nice, relaxed dinner at a nearby pizzeria. We seemed to fit in just right, as the clients are a mix of travellers staying in one of the various airport hotels, and locals having a drink at the end of a long and windy day. The woodfire oven pizza is crispy and delicious, and the burrata-tomato-pesto creamy and a great accompaniment to the meal. We are happy to be enjoying a fantastic last meal out before returning home.

Not to say that the bed was flat and uncomfortable in the campervan, but we slept like babies on our king-sized pillowtop mattress with lofty duvet at the hotel. Just sayin'.