You know, I don’t feel like I fully gave Marseille its due.

This might have a little something to do with National Geographic. I just love NatGeo. What a great mag. I get so excited every month to read it and delve into the world. Imagine my surprise when I found Marseille staring back at me on the pages — definitely do go and check that link out.

It also might have something to do with Flo Rida’s Good Feeling video.

Yes, allow that pertinent information to sink in. See. Flo knows what’s up. It’s not just about the 305 for Flo … it’s some Paris and Marseille, too {okay – and Miami and L.A.}.

My heart felt a little pang, that longing and yearning to be back there … right now. While now might not be this red hot second, I do know Marseille will be another France visit.

I think I had mentioned that everyone we met and spoke to on our trip didn’t have the best things to say about Marseille. I was, however, not deterred. I had a feeling that I’d love it … I mean, there’s palm trees, water, sand and sun. What’s not to like?

Maman and I made the trek from Aix-en-Provence to Marseille as our final trip in TE — for those of you who are new, that’s the nickname I gave our rental car, which stands for Tellement Enorme {truly enormous}.

We were both a little sad to part with TE. I, for one, felt especially connected to that car. My first driving experience abroad — TE will forever be in my heart.

It was a short drive to Marseille … about one hour, and that was with the gas station pit stop for snacks and diesel.

We were due at Gare St. Charles to drop off the car to Avis around 1 p.m. It took about eleven times of going around the block for me to figure out where the rental car return was and about 111 times of Maman freaking out about it because now we were going to be late. Please, like 20 minutes matters to the French? I think not.

When I finally figured out the rental car return area, no one was around. And I do mean no one. It was rather eery. A big open parking garage with rental cars. Ummm … where was the person to check off the car … you know, go around, make sure it was filled with gas and no major dents or bangs.

I walked around and finally found an employee who was very amused by my: “we just leave the car here?” questions.

Oui, Mademoiselle.

Maman wasn’t having any of it. She insisted someone come out and look at the car and physically sign off on it. Of course, she wasn’t going to be the someone to go find that someone … that was on me.

First thing I had to do though, which requires a slight digression … before we left Aix and I was backing out of the driveway of our wonderful B&B … I hit? Backed into? Ran into? Slammed into? You get the idea … a huge pile of rocks.

Yes, you read that correctly — rocks.

WTF?

I still don’t understand it myself. I even had the window rolled down, because we had been waving and saying goodbye to our host and it wasn’t till the last minute that he starts wildly waving his arms and shouting. TE also failed me in that backup sound it’s supposed to do when you’re getting close to hitting an object.

Maman did a slight shriek, followed by a: OH MY GOD!

I was just praying, as I got out of the car to assess the damage, that there’d be no damage.

And there wasn’t … not really. Just a teeny tiny little dent from some of the rocks. The worst thing was that I had to pull all these tiny rocks from the bumper.

Which is what I had to continue doing in the Avis parking lot. That and taking tons of water and pouring it over the back end to get all that rocky dusty stuff off. Once I finished that, I realized there were only about 17 different cameras and I pictured the guy whose sole job it is to watch those cameras, laughing his ass off at me.

After waiting 23 minutes {I timed it} inside the Avis office, I got someone to come look at the car. I could tell Maman was holding her breath, hoping she’d not notice the little dent and lucky for us, the woman was in a big rush and quickly walked around it, signed her name, and was off.

So then we just kinda stood there, with all of our bags, wondering what we should do next. Well, it was more like I was preparing myself for the carting of the luggage that was soon to follow. Maman is 5’1 and 98 pounds. You can guess who carries and lugs most things between the two of us.

When we made our way out to the main entrance of the train station, I was struck by how few taxis there were. Something had to be going on. A friendly employee rattled off a few phrases that I totally didn’t catch, but I did catch and understand his pointing – ah ha. So that’s where the taxis are.

Off we go. Again. But no taxis. I suggested we just wait, and I had to catch my breath. You have no idea how heavy a suitcase can be with six bottles of wine in it.

Finally, a taxi pulls up. We get in. And this had to be one of the craziest chicks ever. First I never say “chick”, but this just seems to fit her.

She had some wildly spiked hair that was bleach blond. A chain smoker. Clad in a lot of leather … a lot. And had one of those super raspy smoker’s voices, as well as an accent I could hardly understand. She was gruff and in your face.

I immediately liked her. Maman, I could tell, was still trying to feel her out.

She didn’t really speak any English, but that’s okay, because she said I had beautiful, wonderful French {not really but I’ll take it} — and we all know there’s nothing like a nice compliment to boost one’s foreign language confidence.

We didn’t have far to go to our hotel, but she was all worked up. It took me a while to figure out what she was so worked up about but I finally did.

The Gay Parade.

Yes. Maman and I picked the Gay Parade Day to come to Marseille. This happens to be a very big deal there and they shut down all the streets for it. Which made trying to get to our hotel a logistical nightmare.

We had more people honk, cuss us out, throw their arms up at us and even the police try to stop us than I have in my entire driving career — this within a span of 20 minutes.

I was loving every second of it. Poor Maman was gripping the door handle and had put her seat belt on. I think she also might have mouthed the words “wine” a few times. I’ll have to ask her about that.

Anyway. Come to find out that Ms.Taxi Driver is gay, but she was pissed at all the other gays for this “stupide stuipde STUPIDE” parade, which she said she had a total right to say because she is gay. I had to agree. I mean, it’s not like I could have said it. I also found out she had recently broken up with her girlfriend, so I tried to find some French words of wisdom.

We finally did make it to our fabulous hotel, Hotel Carre Vieux Port.

What an awesome hotel this is. If you’re going to Marseille, I can’t recommend it enough! The location is unbeatable and the rooms and people there were so fantastic. Good vibes.

The first thing I did upon our arrival was take a moment to stretch out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But that only lasted about ten minutes, because Maman and I were both pumped to see Marseille. So, off we went. You literally walk out the hotel, turn left and are in the main center and action area of the Old Port of Marseille.

Since this was the Gay Parade Day, that meant, parade was in full swing. What else could have happened but for Maman and I to find ourselves in the parade?

Yes. We were part of the parade. It all happened so quickly. One moment we’re together, the next, we’re walking next to a guy on stilts whose half clothed and has rainbows painted over his hairy chest. He was real friendly.

It was all straight out of a movie. I even chanted and sang along with them. I really came in handy during the Madonna songs. Let me tell you — I felt so much better busting out with some Madonna, like I suddenly could really sing and carry a tune with those Frenchies. It was great. I wasn’t nearly as shy as I would have been here. I suddenly was channeling someone else. Gay Parade someone else.

I knew it was time to duck out of the parade when Maman was getting hit on. She looked a little too uncomfortable, so we bowed out and I’ll be damned if there wasn’t another parade going on that we almost got mixed up in!

But this one was for the Kurds (Marseille is quite the melting pot of Nationalities) and it was all men. I’m pretty sure women weren’t allowed, especially non covered up ones like us.

This was a lot of excitement for Maman, and she suggested we stop at a port side cafe for some vino. Agreed!

We admired the gorgeous boats and views:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And decided, post vino, to take a boat ride. What’s not to also love about a boat ride? Totally goes hand in hand with the sun, sand, and palm trees theme. It was great. I even mostly understood the pre-recorded tape tour over the loud speakers.

After that, we headed back to the hotel to figure out dinner plans and have more vino. I understand at this point we might sound like lushes, but we’re really not. Maman had me go get some ice, because who wants to drink a warm French Rose, and that’s when I met Mr. Petanque.

He was heavily under the influence … heavily. Sauntered over to me and asked me about petanque. I gave a few “non, non et nons” which gave me away. He delighted to find out that I was American.

Turns out he and his fellow Petanque teammates were playing in the Petanque Championship game the next day. He insisted Maman and I be his guests at the match.

I didn’t want to be rude. Petanque is a really big deal in France … really big. This was the equivalent to their Super Bowl or World Series. But you know how when something isn’t a big deal to you, it doesn’t matter? And since probably 2% of Americans even know what Petanque is, let alone have played in or watched a match {myself included}, his offer just wasn’t a big deal to me.

Maman was horrified, probably because she was hoping he’d be some hottie she could hit on {he wasn’t} but it also wasn’t in the cards — we had a train to Paris the next day.

However, we were invited to their Petanque training village in Switzerland. Anytime. Free stay. Brother thinks we should take him up on this offer. Maman, too. Sooner, rather than later.

Our dinner that night was incredible. Sitting there water-side. Sun setting. Heat lamps on. Savoring wine and fish. Enjoying the energy of Marseille … this acceptance and openness that is there. For all people to live together peacefully.

When we left the next morning, I was sad to go, but excited at this prospects of a return … I love thinking of all the other characters and personalities waiting for me … those random people and chance encounters that happen …

The magic of travel.