Let’s see, what else can I say about Marseille? I guess that depends in part on what I said about it before, huh? It’s been a few days. Maybe I should go back and check. Wait here.
Okay, I checked. Since the weather was beautiful for the first two of the three days I was in Marseille, I walked a lot. As I assume is predictable, the most beautiful part of the city that I saw was the Mediterranean. I didn’t make it to many beaches, and I doubt many people did while I was there since we never got any warmer than 60, but I did make it to the shore and got to touch the sea. There were sailboats and yachts in the water and people looking longingly at the tiny waves, longing for summer, or at least spring.
Down by the water, there were old men playing boule. At least that’s what we called it in French class back in the day (when I was 1982-83 French Club boule champion, but I digress). There also were two lighthouses. One looked old, and the other looked really, really old. The old one is the more modern one, but still looks a century old or so. The really, really old one looks several hundred years old and has not withstood the ravages of time very well, but then neither have I and it’s seen much better days than I have, so who am I to judge?
On the last night in Marseille, I decided to get yet another pre-Italy pizza. I stopped by this little pizzeria and ordered a Pizza Provençal. I had no idea what that meant, but seeing as everything I kept seeing said I was in Provence, I figured that it was probably something local, so I tried it. To make sure I knew what it was before I ate it, I watched them make it. The first thing applied to the crust was cheese, there was no sauce. Then, a stew of tomatoes and onions was applied very generously to the shell. Then, more mozzarella and a handful of black olives were used to top the pizza. And it was a huge pizza. (Sorry, but for some reason, I didn’t take a picture of it. I’ll find some picture from Marseille to post in its place, though.)
I have to say that the pizza was meh. I like sauce, even if its not tomato sauce. It didn’t have anything that actually took its place other than the loads of tomatoes, which I’m less fond of. I love me some onions, and these were good onions, but there were a lot of them and I paid for it later. It wasn’t a bad pizza; it just wasn’t a really good one. Oh, well, I guess that’s what Italy is for.
After the pizza, I went on a one-man bar crawl. (Not sure if I have any pictures to join this either, but maybe.) I hit a few Irish pubs, named O’Malley’s and Sullivan’s. I’d like to say that what they lacked in originality, they made up for in ambiance, but they didn’t really. Unfortunately, there was no good football going on when I was in Marseille for me to enjoy watching with the locals. That will change in Milan over the weekend.
Not to get Forrest Gump on you, but that’s abut all I have to say about Marseille. It was a surprisingly beautiful city. I’ll go ahead and say something that I anticipate saying a lot on this trip – I think it probably would have been a lot more beautiful if I had come during the summer, but the weather was good for the most part, so I can’t complain too much about that. I’d certainly recommend it.
Okay; now through the Alps and into Italy!!!
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