Marseille, Cassis

Sunset at Pointe Rouge, Marseille

I caught a ride to the Metz train station with my French professor once again, and met up with Sohail. Also there were Phil and James, two GTL students heading to Nice to do some scuba diving. They both had couchettes - sleeping compartments - for the overnight ride, while Sohail and I had opted for the cheaper reclinable seat option. We even gloated a bit about how we were saving money and have just as good a sleep as they would, but we were soon eating our words. Like some houses have "house sounds", this train had "train sounds". Every time the train stopped, which was quite often, there was a screeching mechanical sound that seemed to come from directly below us. The sound would continue for the duration of the stop, some stops lasting up to half an hour.

We arrived in Marseille at 5:59 and after wandering the train station a few minutes, decided not to brave the dark and opted to nap in the train waiting room. I put my feet through a bag loop to keep my bag secure and got creative in my quest to find a good position on chairs designed to be unsleepable.

Around 8 we left to tour the city. It only took a few steps to learn to keep your eyes on the sidewalk, scanning for dog droppings that littered the streets. I mentioned to Sohail the "Friche de Belle Mai" which was supposed to be an arts center with incredible grafitti covering its surrounding walls. We made the quick walk to the arts center, which was a concrete maze of radio studios, and other art companies and studios. The grafitti was good, but not really worth the walk. We turned around and headed into the center of the city - le vieux (old) port.

The streets that lead down from the Gare to the vieux port were lined with department stores, while the port itself was filled with daysailer vessels, cruising sailboats, and powerboats of all types. While the boats were not all that impressive, their sheer number was, the masts obstructing views of the opposite side of the harbor. We found a good vantage point for some photos, then took a break in front of the fish vendors selling their fresh catch. A man sitting nearby us began to harrass us in French. At first I thought he accused me of trying to rob him. He was speaking quickly, so I told him I only spoke a little French, but didn't want to rob him. The man complained about how he hated all the foreigners in his precious city. I asked him what nationality he was. I thought I heard Moroccan in his response, and when I tried to clarify he threw a tantrum of spitting and cursing and "No Maroc, No Tunisie". Sohail was enjoying the show, but I dragged him away from the spitter.

Next we took a bus up to the Basilique de Notre Dame de La Garde, a church located on a steep rocky hilltop with unmatched views of the city, the sea, and the harbor islands - popular tourist destinations including the Chateau d'If.

Lack of sleep was taking its toll, so we checked into our hostel at 4PM and took 3-hour nap. My alarm woke us up and I asked our host, the man running the hostel and living there as well, where we could buy some groceries. He took us around the corner to a small nighttime grocery where found the essentials - spaghetti, sauce, and bread. He would later escort us to the ATM and told us a little about the city as well.

After dinner, we wandered the streets. There was a bar that had spilled its imbibers out into the street - all 30 of them mingling on the sidewalk. We stopped for a beer; its low price seemed to have attracted the masses. Our next stop was a popular bar called le Petit Nice with a huge outdoor seating area. Well-dressed mid-20's students enjoyed their drinks and cigarettes. At one point I looked around and saw virtually every live body had a pack of cigarettes in front of it. As the bar began to empty, we headed down to the Vieux Port, but at first glance, there didn't seem to be anything going on. We walked back to the hostel and went to bed.

Giraffe made of books

On Saturday morning, Sohail and I woke up late and took a midday train to Cassis, a decidedly more Riviera-esque town built into a hillside on the outskirts of the Calanques, the geologically impressive landform that we had come to see. We walked the 4 kilometers from the train station downhill to the edge of the city, with a beautiful view of the Mediterranean most of the way. Cassis had a picturesque little port and a small strip of beach. We ate a picnic lunch on the beach, took some pictures then headed back up the hill to the Calanques

Me and the beach at Cassis

Picturesque Port at Cassis

The Calanques are rugged white rock outcroppings that but up against the sea. The mediterranean carves lengthy inlets and the Calanques stretch into the water like fingers. Boats take tourists into the inlets, but we hiked up the streets and into the terrain along not-to-taxing paths. The schilthorn this was not, but we were careful on the uber-slick limestone underfoot. It began to get late, and not wanting a repeat of our close call with nightfall in Switzerland, we left the Calanques and headed back toward the train station in the dark, stopping briefly at the supermarket. "Why don't we kill some time here," I said to Sohail, but the cashier requested "Depechez-vous" or hurry please.

Une Calanque

60-foot sheer drop

Sunset painted the cliffs orange

Back in Marseille, we found a bunch of new people in our hostel - a group of American guys, a French-Canadian and a group of Spanish girls. Sohail and I claimed to know the city a bit, and we invited the guys to come with us. I extended the invitation to the girls, but they had a train to catch in the morning, or so they said. We took the group to the Le Petit Nice bar. At 2AM the bar closed some returned to the hostel, while Sohail and I and our new friends Heath and Brian went down past the vieux port and found an Irish Pub still open. Eventually, it too closed, and we followed the crowd down the street to a club called the Trolleybus, which has 4 rooms playing different types of music. The rooms appeared dug out from solid rock, like well-furnished caves. We had a good time at the club - our friends even met some French girls albeit who stood them up the next day. Our walk back was exhausting, however. Sohail and I got lost and spent nearly two hours trying to find our hostel. We would stop people and ask where the train station was. They would gasp, "Ohhh, c'est très compliqué" meaning we were really far away, and the directions they gave were to confusing to successfully follow. Eventually, we just returned to the vieux port and started our trek all over again, making it back to the hostel as the sun began to rise.

Sunday we had planned to go sailing and windsurfing. I had been following wind forecasts for the past week, as I love to do at home, in hopes of the famous Mistral winds that are common in October. With high hopes, we made our way by bus to Pointe Rouge, a popular area with the windsurfing crowd. On the bus two teenagers next to us discussed the wind conditions, so I butted in to say I was going windsurfing too. They explained that the wind was inconsistent, and the water was dirty today, so I would have to wear a wetsuit. Sohail and I followed them to their club - an area near the beach where they kept their windsurfing gear. The man running the club rented us all the gear we needed, including wetsuits that looked like they'd had run-ins with sharks. I gave Sohail, a newbie, a quick lesson on uphauling, then did my own thing. It felt great to be out on the water again, especially having had very few chances to windsurf this summer. There were around 25 windsurfers out, most very near the beach, as well as a few kitesurfers. Pointe Rouge had only about 150 yards of beach to sail along before the beach became rock, then abruptly ended altogether. I was turning around frequently, with a special eye toward avoiding being washed up on the rocks. Eventually, Sohail and I got tired and took our time derigging and showering. Meanwhile the wind built another 7 knots, and those left on the water were tearing it up. Kiters were lofting huge jumps, while one windsurfer was jibing back in forth every 30 seconds, covering the entire beach. Sohail took some great photos of the action and the sunset.

After the wind picked up

We were thankful to be clean, well-fed, and in no rush to get to our train. The walk back from the vieux port was leisurely. Every scooter that passed bore a Tunisian flag and serenaded the streets with horn blasts. A crowd had built along one section of the main strip. We saw more Tunisian flags and two TV's facing the street from inside a store, showed a soccer game. The crowd of about 100 was vocal, but disorganized and certainly not destructive. Nevertheless, Sohail and I watched to plainclothes police officers leave the center of the group as a police car arrived followed by no less than 8 police motorcyles. We had moved up the street a safe distance by now. As Sohail said "This might be photo-worthy" and reached for the camera, a group of children standing on a platform armed with Tunisian flags began chanting at the police. Then a few objects were hurled. Suddenly the people burst from the crowd, sprinting in all directions. Some came out with eyes teary. One woman was screaming in pain. The police had tear-gassed the group and never have I seen so many people run so fast all at once. Sohail and I were standing right there, out of range of the tear gas, but frozen in place. It would definitely have been photo-worthy.

At the train station we had an hour to kill, so we sat down near the McDonald's and logged onto the company's free wireless to bide our time. The battery on my ipod was running low so I borrowed Sohail's charger and found a secluded area with an open outlet to plug into. I sat on the floor with my bag next to me, reading about the U.S. soccer team's game in Honduras, when a teenager stopped to ask me something. I focused on his lips to hear his French. He repeated himself "Est-ce vous avez un euro pour aller au vieux port?" - "Do you have a euro so I can go to the port?" or something to that effect. I immediately shook his head, avoided his eyes by looking down at my ipod. He mumbled as he left and I watched him exit the train station. It was odd to me - he seemed reasonably well-dressed - not the begging type - and the port was 10 minutes away by foot, a walk I had made 5 or 6 times this weekend alone. Why would anyone give him money to go there? I read my ipod for a few more minutes, than glanced around, first at Sohail on a bench 20 feet away, then at where my bag had been. WHERE MY BAG HAD BEEN? I panicked. It was just to my left, within arms reach minutes ago. "You gotta help me find my bag, I told Sohail" and we checked the area, but sure enough it was gone. At first, I thought I must have left it somewhere, but soon enough I pieced together what had happened - the French teenager had distracted me while an accomplice had grabbed my bag - pretty smooth.

The SNCF French train staff gave a half-chuckle at my story, and just looked on as I explained that I was now missing my passport and eurail pass and had a train to catch in 20 minutes. They referred me to the police, who told me that I could file a police report in Metz, but there was nothing they could do to help me. I explained to the conductor that my train pass had been stolen and he didn't seem to think it was a big deal. Luckily no one ever checked our car of the train, so I didn't have to pay the full fare, which would likely have been around 100 euros.

In the week or so since returning from Marseille sans backpack, I have filed a police report, visited the U.S. embassy in Luxembourg to start the passport process, and begun to replace some of the stuff I lost. Thankfully my wallet, ipod, and cell phone were all in my pocket during the theft. Many thanks to my parents for helping with the insurance claim - which paid for the railpass, far and away my biggest loss, and also for making the order for the new railpass.

I will go to Luxembourg tomorrow (Thursday) to pick up the passport and should have just about everything I need for my weeklong vacation starting Friday. Everything has worked pretty well all things considered.

...And I was planning to tell everyone how nice and crime-free Marseille was - Oh well.

Gare Saint Charles - a beautiful building, but I wouldn't hang out there