Tuesday the 8th of March was my first full day in Marseille. The breakfast at the hostel was a very social affair in total contrast to the hostel in Milan. I was very sluggish after the previous evening and nursed down some coffee and muesli but found that laughing does cure hangovers. We exchanged some horror hostel stories and the clear winner was a young Irish lady who was sharing a dorm with an older woman and her daughter in Nice. The woman had a portable hikers stove and every morning regardless of whether or not others were sleeping she would cook eggs, breaking them by banging them against a window. There was howling agreement that Vertigo was the best hostel we were likely to find which meant that from my point of view it was all downhill from here.
I started around the port and made my way to a little cafe and bar for a strong espresso followed by an aimless but purposeful walk around the city armed with my new digital camera. A tip for people, date and time stamps on photos look stupid and if you are going to use them make sure that the date and time is correct.
Marseille is characterised by narrow lanes which double as busy thoroughfares and bus routes, positively charming urban decay, dog poo but not to the same levels as Milan, and bollards. I think that the bollards are the only defence mechanism against people parking where they shouldn't. Wherever there was not a bollard to stop cars mounting the sidewalk, there was a car parked there, anything went, if your car would fit then it was a legitimate parking place.. Whoever manufactured bollards in in Marseille is probably enjoying a very comfortable retirement.
I spent the day walking around the town aimlessly but with a purpose. Around one narrow lane a couple of young guys were involved in a fight over a mobile phone, as I got around the corner they stopped and sheepishly explained what they were doing. Apart from the mobile phone bit I had no what they were saying so I replied with a "no parli francais, Australian," to which one of them took up the human kangaroo pose and said "kangaroo," oui was my reply; all of a sudden they were all smiles and chatting among themselves making stupid kangaroo motions as they walked off. With great power comes great responsibility and on this occassion I can say that I used my exoticness for niceness and not evil. It also dawned upon me that kangaroo sounds very nice when the letter R is softly rolled and the stress is on the last syllable.
Melbourne may have China town but Marseille has Africa Town, rows upon rows of shops selling African food, clothes, furniture and trinkets. Without being disparraging the area had the feel and look of a shanty town with a chaotic mish mash of different stores in run down narrow streets. It was fascinating and I would advise anyone to go there if they visit Marsaille; not that I could give you directions because I did not have a clue where I was in relation to the Hostel.
I found that the most useful question I could ask anyone was "parle vous Anglaise" to which the most useless and most common answer was "No." That said I I always managed to get by, it just took patience. Reading the local signage and pronouncing the words out loud was a great way to learn some basic vocabulary and clear my throat at the same time.
Finally I made my way up to the grand cathedral at the top of a cliff and overlooking the world. God really knows the three Ls of real estate. It was most certainly a grand building and whoever did the fitout should come and help me renovate my bathroom. Far and away the most impressive feature however was the comanding 360 degree views over the water and land. Not far out was the Island that was one of the locations used by Alexander Dumas in his novel the Count of Monty Cristo. The trip up to the cathedral produced some great photo opportunities along the narrow streets with their buildings accesses that I would describe as quaint at the risk of offending people, but unfortunately I can't think of a more appropriate word, anyway quaint is good. I b ecame a victim of dog poo on the way back from the cathedral. Yes Marseille has the same problem as Milan but on a smaller scale, possibly because their dogs are smaller. I did manage to prevent myself from putting my full weight down on the squishy mash but I did leave my tread pattern in it. Oh well, all that time walking around doggy poo streets and only falling victim once was probably not a bad outcome.
Getting back to the Hostel was a relatively simple affair; if you want to find water then walk downhill and keep doing so until your feet get wet. Which of course means that if you continually walk uphill you will get more tired more quickly. It was time to empty my camera and start the process all over again. I do need to carry a watch though because I had been walking for eight and a half hours. Job done and a refreshing (warm) shower I had a chat with Flossy who wanted to go to the bar and watch Barcelona V Arsenal in the Eurpoean Champions League. We got a new guest in our room, Camille was from New Caledonia, spoke French and English and was in Marseille for an entrance interview to study Osteopathy very exotic.
The bar was full and a few of our fellow hostel guests were also there. Unfortunately for Flossy his beloved Arsenal were on the receiving end of a flogging and a few bad refereeing decisions. The day was over, my legs were tired, Flossy was not happy bed beckoned. Unfortunately the Spanish guests in the room next door thought that a party until 3 am was more attractive to them than sleep, perhaps they had an afternoon siesta and so were not feeling as tired as the poor suffering souls in Room 8. The following morning at breakfast was a hate session for the people in room 9 and the unanimous decision was to take them into the middle of the harbour and use them as crab bait if they did it again. Fortunately for us and them they left that morning and were never heard from again.
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