It was late July and the sun sat high, I wasn’t too concerned although it hurt to walk. Enduring the pain from the swelling bug bites, incurred from the adventure that was Naples. But the nightmare was over, the dream had began. Marseille, will always the real city of love to me.
Interested in venturing to Italy? Read; What One Night In Naples Taught Me About Travel.
We had crossed the Tyrrhenian Sea in what I deemed as the sardine tin of every European social class, across to Spain where we laid our bodies under the Spanish blue skies, sipping beers so cold they seemed to softly crack as they melted in the heat.
From bus to ship to train we skipped along the coast of Europe and life happily whistled my tune.
I drank up the world in all its glory, it felt like my thirst could never be quenched. I stepped onto the rocky paths of Marseille; the scent of ocean slowly crept with the breeze. It was cooling walking through the low hanging trees.
Up a small hill and to the right, down the decorative back alley of a corner store and you would see a green door that read in faded out black marker 223.
There, hidden amongst the dripping array of colours and eagerly sprayed opinions of the idealistic French youth, lay our refuge away from the world.
Our beautiful apartment from airbnb.com awaited.
Marseille, Marseille, Marseille!
It beats in your heart and pounds through your blood. The streets tell stories and it is your duty as a guest not to allow them to fall on deaf ears. It begs for strength and imagination, most importantly it summons a lustful taste of exploration.
The very foundation of Marseille, the oldest city in France, is based upon a legend of love.
As the leader of the Greeks, Protis quested upon the Mediterranean waters where he came to find Lacydon Creek. What we now known as Vieux Port, the tourist hub of Marsielle.
There the locals embraced them warmly as the foreign sailors gatecrashed your typical matchmaking wedding ceremony. Here Gyptis, the Kings daughter was to find herself a husband and it is here Gyptis met Protis. Disregarding all other suitors, Gyptis heart skipped for Protis and it was he who she chose.
Thus began the story of Marsielle.
No greater way of wandering could be done than to consume the offerings of the local hub.
Our love story begins with the greatest love of all, food.
Imagine; crisp Chef whites, stainless steal glistening under the bright kitchen lights, murmurs of French chitchat and a rumbustious Chef leading his team of ambitious youth in aw of his talents. In France, cooking is not just a skill but an art form highly developed from loyal dedication.
Every grain, every inch of a vegetable – root and all to every organ of an animal, hooves and eyes would not be excluded. Delving deeper into the watery depths lay the greatest offerings our plates deserve. Now, like art the French wickedly reign power over cuisine across the world.
When you consider food as your storyteller, the world explodes in a roaring epilogue of tales.
When it came to going to Marseille it was less of a destination to visit but more of a pilgrimage, for bouillabaisse – a dish that done properly is something so much more then simply eating a meal, more than just ‘fish soup’.
My dad gave this gift to me and he told me when I do it, you have to do it right.
You have to be by the sea”.
He said, eyes filled with a poetic love for food that only someone as passionate as he could harbour.
It has to be sunset.
You need to order a bottle of rosá.
But most importantly, you have to be with someone you love”.
And that’s what we did.