Marseilles, Marseilles.

This entry comes from the Mediterranean city of Marseilles, a city the size of Adelaide and very different to anything we’ve visited thus far. In fact, the moment we left Saint Charles station, we could see the difference in the buildings’ architecture and the people themselves. Although politically part of France, Marseilles is geographically North African/Mediterranean. We are closer at Marseilles to either Barcelona or Italy than we are Paris, and this is what gives Marseilles its distinctive character. 

Fort Saint-Jean; you can see it looks very Moroccan.

 

Although French is still spoken here, you are just as likely to also hear Spanish or Italian. The buildings have a distinctly Moroccan look to them, yet retain some French influence as well. Marseilles is a reminder of France’s historically close link to Africa.

A very narrow street in the old town (Le Paniere). Th buildings here look very North African.

Our rail trip from Paris took only a little over three hours, which seems implausible when you consider the distance involved, but these TGV trains are very fast. At one stage I looked out the window and saw a four-seater light aircraft, flying very low and so close I could almost touch it. We were not only keeping pace with it, we were actually gaining ground, until it banked and turned away.

Bocci is very big with the locals here, and even the women play it. I offered some tips, but nobody took any notice (why should here be any different)

We spent yesterday sight seeing the coast from both directions of the city on bus (for the pittance price of 5 Euros), and then caught a boat back to the harbour. Although only a 45-minute trip, it was right out into the open waters of the Mediterranean, and we really felt like we were on a cruise (for one moment, I imagined it was a Contiki-type love cruise, and I started chatting up all the young ladies, until Alison reminded me I am 59 this year and would most likely succumb to a coronary – thanks Al).

Our ferry trip left from this lovely little harbour.

At one stage on our ‘cruise’, the boat came to an abrupt halt for no apparent reason (after I had quickly discounted running out of fuel, a hole in the hull, or pirate attack – I couldn’t see a parrot anywhere). Everybody began pointing at the horizon and talking very quickly in French (why don’t they supply a quick guide to these things in French when you need one). It appears we had spotted a very large fish, possibly a swordfish, although we couldn’t find anyone who knew enough English to explain what was happening. Whatever it was (at one stage I cried out 'Moby Dick', and received a whole bunch of typically dismissive looks from the French – I’ve seen these looks many times before since we arrived in France), it failed to reappear, so after ten minutes or so, we restarted the engine and headed back to shore. Probably just as well, I mean there’s only so much excitement I can take for one day.

Cathedrale de La Major as taken from the boat.

 

Notre-Dame de La Garde from the boat.

Today we took the Number 21 bus to Calanque Sugiton, followed by a pretty strenuous 60 minute walk up, followed by another 60 minute walk down, some very rugged coastal limestone cliffs to reveal a surreal view of the Mediterranean Sea. Although the day has been overcast, and the wind blowing a gale (at one point it almost blew the scowls of the faces of the locals), it was a spectacular vista from the top, and well worth the exertion.

Calanque Sugiton

At one point on the walk, Alison and I conservatively calculated that we think we’ve walked at least 250 kilometres since leaving home, or Melbourne to Wangaratta. It certainly wouldn’t have been less, but it may well be as much as double this amount.

This photo's for Imogen - a French assortment of cheeses and chaucatrie.

Tomorrow we leave France and enter our final county, Italy. With this comes the realisation that we are entering the final two weeks of our trip. There is still much to see and do, and many more memories to cherish.

Vieux Port (no, that's not Alison, and no, that's not our private yacht).

 

The blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea.