Marseille

Yesterday I woke feeling generally disgruntled but I knew that my feelings particularly concerned France.   There had been a change this week in the atmosphere down in the south of France, and it was difficult to put one's finger on the problem exactly. 

Vehicles played a large part.   There were parking problems in the campsite, and  traffic on the road was horrendous.  It would appear that extra French people had suddenly appeared here in an attempt to have a last minute holiday.   And with them came vehicles.   The congestion on the roads plus facilities stretched to the limit plus hot weather did not bring the best out in people.  As most people in the Cote d'Azur  are French than one tends to blame them for the problem.   And I was certainly doing that when I woke yesterday morning. 

I know I have digressed a bit from my story about Marseille.  But it was important to set the scene for my temperment in the morning.  It was not good.   After attending to important camp jobs such as emptying the toilet and wastewater tanks, then having a cup of coffee to settle the nerves, we finally set off from the campsite at 10.30.  Too late. A mistake of course.

We were no sooner out on the road, when we hit the first traffic jam, and from there on it went downhill.  Our nerves were becoming rapidly frayed, not helped at one point by a French driver in a large flash car , towing a new trailer tent, who deliberately straddled the middle line of a two lane road, so that drivers in the passing lane were unable to pass. It was obvious he did not want to slow his lane down when the passing cars tried to merge into his lane later on.

After 1 1/2 hours of driving at a snail's pace we stopped to get more fuel at the Geant shopping centre and for Walter to visit the loo. He was not impressed when I told him to have a wee behind a bush, or better still, in front of a bush.  French men do this I informed him, saves time.  I also told him he would have to drive with one arm dangling down the side of the car, if he really wanted to fit in.  Negativity abounded.  

I was very tempted to suggest staying at Geant for lunch and doing a spot of retail therapy but decided we must persist with the plan to visit Marseille.

After Toulon, we managed to hold our own on the motorway, much faster there, until we came to the first tolls.  Where we found that our badge did not work, which meant we, and the people behind us, had to reverse out of the express lane.  Only one horn blasted us. That was an improvement. Embarrassing all the same. The problem I think was due to the battery fading  or maybe it was too much hot sun shining on the badge because I forgot to take it out of the car during the first ten days here.   This will mean having to go via an APRR stretch of motorway on the way home.  What a pain.

At last Marseille came into view.  The advantage of driving, rather than taking the train, was that one avoids all the run down buildings and graffitti.  A great advantage.  But we missed the beginning of the tunnel which runs under the city. 

Where to go to next?  Follow the signs to Centre Ville or Port Vieux, of course, even if it meant driving through clogged up streets.

We drove around this impressive monument twice, having lost the sign to Centre Ville.  We should have gone shopping at Geant.

But then we suddenly saw a sign and hey presto we were in the tunnel.  Hurray.

And very soon we exited at the port, and queued up with the traffic driving to the parking areas, which were plentiful, thank goodness.

We soon found a carpark, deep in the bowels of the earth, and climbed the many flights of stairs to find we were in a pedestrianised restaurant area.  We chose the first small restaurant, very quiet and shady, where we ate the most delicious salads, goats cheese for Walter and ham and melon for me.  What a relief.

Marseille has always fascinated me, due to it being a trifle shady and ethnically diverse. Any novels I have read always had the criminals escaping to Marseille.  Not to mention that Marseille, plus Toulon, which was a smaller version of Marseille, featured prominately in the story, Les Miserables.

During the past ten years there has been a huge injection of funds put into the city in order to make it attractive for tourists.  Buildings in the port have been renovated and painted, there are pedestrianised streets, the port has huge swathes of clean paving, there are renovated museums, art galleries, shopping areas, and efficient transport systems.  Even the railway station has been given a makeover.

But move away from the main areas, and old Marseille still exists, with its dilapidated buildings, beggars, drunks, addicts and crime.  Poverty abounds together with dog shit and the smell of urine.  Best to avoid those areas.  Very depressing.

But tourists are certainly making their way to the city. There were thousands of them around the port area. So we decided to visit the Musee d'Histoire, conveniently situated in an airconditioned shopping centre.

The musuem was full of artifacts, including very old wooden boats which had been preserved in the mud, that date back to about 600 BC. It was fascinating.  Marseille was originally settled by Greeks who lived here until the Romans took hold of it.  Marseille was an important trading port for the Mediterranean then, and when it was annexed to France during the Middle Ages it continued as an important port.

During Roman times the sea wall was further inland.  The swimming pool affair in the photograph below was built by the Romans to hold fresh water supplies for the ships to use.

The old port walls still remain.  One of the wooden ships was found buried in the silt in front of the old walls  This area is now part of the museum.

The next stop was in the shopping centre.  No, not for any retail therapy.  We were quite relaxed by this time.  Instead we sat in airconditioned comfort to drink our Perrier water.  Always refreshing.

We then walked slowly back via the end of the port, to our car.  There was a lovely cool breeze blowing in from the sea.

In front of us was the view of Notre Dame de la Garde, the beautiful basilica on top of the hill.   There are fantastic views of the city from up there.  A very impressive church, built in the Roman-Byzantine style.

The very wide pedestrianised area at the top end of the port.

Many, many small yachts moored here. Probably the very large ones were moored elsewhere.  I am sure they were there, somewhere.

Looking towards the renovated and very clean buildings.

At the end of the pedestrianised area was a large shelter, Ombriere, built of polished metal.  As well as providing shade it has an aesthetic function.  According to the brochure. I must admit the reflection in the ceiling of the people below was quite remarkable.  As long as it is kept polished.  I wonder who gets that job.

And so we set off home again, feeling a lot better about the world in general and France in particular.  And we were pleased that we did not stop in Geant for a spot of retail therapy. The traffic was heavy but managable.  And it was no longer hot.  All was well again in the world.  But I am going to remain in the camping ground, on our site, until the madness ends this weekend.  Just to make sure.