We have avoided the cost of purchase, insurance, registration, vehicle inspections, and monthly parking. (There is less expensive street parking with a resident pass, but it requires hunting for a place.) Plus, we have avoided the bother and uncertainty of having to sell the car upon our departure.

It’s a congested city for cars. The placement of the Vieux-Port, the twisted and narrow old streets in the city center, the numerous hills within the city and the ring of formidable mountains without, plus the long Mediterranean coastline make patience a requirement for car travel. As if to underline the problem, at great trouble and expense the city has built and is building underground car tunnels to ameliorate the congestion. One, the Le Tunnel Prado Carénage, connects two auto routes, is 1.5 miles long, and requires a toll to be paid. However, it has not eased the problem of bottlenecks.

Without a car, you can get anywhere in the city of Marseille, a city of 93 square miles. You have a choice of 73 bus lines some with their own dedicated lanes; sleek new electric trams with two lines; a metro system with two lines that is currently expanding; and intercity buses and the SNCF train to towns and cities near and far.

For hikes in the mountains and the calanques, we have taken the city bus (called RTM) to low density residential areas on the outskirts of the city in order to start a hike. Convenient! We buy a 10-ride transit card for 12.60 euros that can be used interchangeably on the metro, buses, and trams. Each ride gives you one hour of travel within the system.

Public transportation is well used by all economic levels and it is well designed. As you leave the metro, signs direct you to the coordinated bus lines that await outside.

The intercity bus system is called Cartreize. Buses leave for Aix-en-Provence every 20 minutes and takes only 25 minutes, or you can take the train. There are buses to the nearby towns of Aubagne and La Ciotat, as well as many others.

When a car is needed to get somewhere unreachable by public transportation or at an off hour, we rent a car by the hour from AutoPartage Provence. AutoPartage Provence is similar to the Zip car system found in major cities in the United States. To become a user you must register, pay an initial deposit and a small monthly amount. Cars are parked all over the city (our closest is a five-minute walk from home) and reservations are made online in two minutes. When you take a car, you pay based on the time the car is out and the distance you drive. Insurance and gas is included—the car comes with a gas credit card. We have made reservations minutes in advance and have always found a car available. For longer, overnight trips, AutoPartage Provence will quote you a lower rate or you can choose from several close by car rental agencies.

The other day we rented a car for nine hours and drove to Arles and back, a total distance of 108 miles. The total cost was 78 euros.

Like many French cities, Marseille has a very inexpensive short-term bicycle rental system. Theirs is called “Le Vélo” and the first thirty minutes are free. You can pick up a bicycle here and leave it there, then pick up another for your return.

We have also used the trains quite a bit. Fortunately—or not—we are both over 60-years of age, so we qualify for a Carte Senior with the SNCF. Each of us paid 56 euros for an identification card good for one year that qualifies for a 50% discount on all French trains. For example, if it’s just us, we take the train to Arles, Aix, and Avignon, as well as to Paris and Montpellier. A roundtrip to Arles has been as low as 14 euros, to Avignon 23 euros, and to Paris on the TGV in 3¼ swift hours, 46 euros. With more people on the trip, however, it makes sense to rent a car. It’s easy: you reserve and pay for the train tickets online and then a machine prints them out at the station.

While most Americans would consider the transportation in Marseille a marvel, it seems that the French are more demanding. The March 25, 2010 edition of Le Point, a national magazine, has several articles on Marseille, one titled “Le Fiasco des Transports.” It says that 95% of trips within Marseille are by auto—too many—and that better coordination is needed between transportation modes in the larger jurisdiction, the Bouche-du-Rhone department. 

This might very well be true. I just know that I am able to conveniently get to where I want to go in Marseille—without owning the wheels.

Yes, election day is on Sunday. It’s always on the same Sunday everywhere in France—a day most people don’t work or have to go to school.

To vote, you don’t need to register in advance. If you are a French citizen, when you turn 18 years old you are automatically registered. Normally you receive a card in the mail that you take to your assigned bureau de vote that identifies you as a voter. However, if you don’t receive a card, you simply go armed with your ID card or passport and voilà, you can vote. Yes, it’s true that you need to show identification to vote but nobody here seems to find that objectionable just as no one minds that everyone is required to carry a national identification card.

Not sure where your bureau de vote is? According to a radio report, a voter can simply go where he or she last voted. If you’re not on their list, they will direct you to the correct polling place. By the way, there are many polling places—mostly in schools—and there is rarely a wait to vote.

Elections are all done with paper ballots. The voter simply inserts the preprinted slip of paper marked with his or her choice into an envelope. You can even submit a blank slip to register a vote for “none of the above”. As a result of this very simple, some might say low tech system, there are no computer glitches. These paper ballots are counted using a tightly controlled system in each polling place and the nation-wide results known about an hour after the polls close.

In France, each election is usually for one particular governmental entity, so you vote for one thing only. You don’t get to vote for judges and propositions. How much simpler is this than our typical ballot?

In today’s election, voters will select their regional government. Each voter votes for a particular party’s list, not for individuals. This is the first round. The run-off will be next Sunday. As France has a multi-party system, only those lists receiving 10% of the vote in the first round in a particular region will move on to the run-off. However, between the two rounds, parties can form coalitions to increase their chances of winning.

Campaigning begins a month before the election, not years before, and consists primarily of speeches, meetings in local communities, and posters put up in assigned locations. No yard signs, no bumper stickers. It’s positively low key. While people have strong political opinions and are happy to share them with friends, they feel that one’s political positions are private and not something to advertise to the public at large. Most important, there is no political advertising at all—on radio, on television, or in the newspapers.

Of course, all is not perfect here when it comes to elections. There is concern about a low turnout, expected to be 50% of all eligible voters—still higher than in the US. Young people and those of lower incomes are less likely to vote and appear to be questioning the value of voting. But it would seem that there is a lot the US could learn from this sensible approach. Imagine trying to make voting as easy as possible and having a campaign that is reasonable in duration and in cost!

Roucas Blanc, a hilly Marseille neighborhood that peers down at the Mediterranean, is a very desirable place to live. You find tall stone walls hiding private gardens, twisting narrow streets, steep public steps connecting dead ends. You see villas from the 19th century, a mixture of modest apartments and homes and contemporary residences designed to nab a sea-view from odd-shaped lots. During an exploratory walk in Roucas Blanc, we found Parc Valmer, a park of small terraces surrounded by trees with a blue water panorama on top. In a secluded nook a man sat on a park bench, his chest draped with a barber’s towel, and a woman cut his hair while he serenely read the newspaper.

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There’s a reason that laissez faire is a French expression. It was 7 PM and it was mostly an after-work crowd at the Monoprix supermarket on Rue du Rome. I waited my turn with my three items in a long line of ten or more. In France, everyone bags his own purchases, so the process takes a bit longer since each shopper must bag and then pay. I inched closer, passing the wine section —the most entertaining of all!—until I was third in line. A couple in their early 20s appeared and asked the customer in front of me if they could cut in since they only had a few things, in full view of a long line of customers many of whom also had only a few items. The answer was ça va—yes—and the couple cut in without one word from the line of shoppers.

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Even though the U.S. dollar is very weak at this time, there are certain items at the markets that cost noticeably less than at home. It’s an indicator of what people enjoy and purchase in greater quantity. Bargains in France? Try leeks, endives, arugula, beets, yoghurt, cheese, bread, wine, olive oil, and good quality chocolate bars.

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There are differences large and small between France and the United States. Here are some of the small ones:

• Boulevards change names without changing direction.
• More people smoke and wear black clothes.
• Cars are parked anywhere there is not a barrier, including sidewalks and cross walks, and don’t seem to get ticketed.
• Every pharmacy has a condom vending machines on the wall outside.
• Most cars are small (although there are more SUVs than before) and have manual transmissions.
• You see nudity on billboards and hear profanity on the radio.
• All kinds of people use public transportation.
• People sit in outdoor cafes when it’s very cold outside, in weather that a Californian—and possibly any American—would never, ever consider suitable for such an activity.
• Curiously, people we meet and talk to for awhile ask us if we are cooking at home and if so, what are we cooking?

Marseille is an ideal choice for people who want to experience France more profoundly. If you have had the opportunity to see the typical highlights of France–Paris, the Loire Valley, the Provence of Roussillon and Gordes, the Cote d’Azur, perhaps–and have more than a few days and want to try to play a tiny role in French life in a French city, Marseille is a very good option.

If you are an English speaker, you will stand out more than other places in France because there aren’t as many English-speaking foreign tourists here. (There are more Spanish and Italian.) When people hear you speaking English on a bus, you will be asked where you are from and they will respond with delight to learn that you are from the U.S. If you have a little more time to talk, they are amazed to hear that you have chosen Marseille from all other French cities as a place to hang your hat for awhile. And, when you explain your reasoning for choosing Marseille, they agree!

We talk to everyone in French and our experience here has clearly benefited from our ability to speak French. While it’s hard for us to know if it’s a requirement to feel involved with the life here, it’s very likely.

The French are known for and sometimes criticized for their social reserve. I have come to believe that it comes from the desire to protect their privacy and that of others, a learned cultural trait. This reserve is quickly overcome if you break the ice by saying something first.

My experience has been that the Marseillais, true to their reputation of being outgoing if not boisterous, will make contact more often and more easily. The result is more interaction, more fun, and more involvement. At a grocery store, I offered to help a woman who was reaching high for a bottle of wine, and Peggy and I ended up exchanging conversation and contact information with the woman who told us much of her life story! A young Parisian who is a recent arrival to Marseille said that while she is checking out at the supermarket, people look at her basket and make comments about how much they like the same food. She said this never happened in Paris.

Facetiously, this blog’s subtitle describes Marseille as “scary.” We knew that this was the city’s reputation; people who should know told us that it wasn’t true. I can now confirm that it is definitely not true or, more accurately, that it is no truer of Marseille than any other French city. While we have been told by locals that there are suburbs that would not be safe for any stranger at night, in town we have never sensed danger and we have walked many if not most of the city’s neighborhoods.

Of course, if you find a multi-ethnic atmosphere scary, than you might feel scared even while you are not in any danger of any kind.

Full disclosure: on a bus, Peggy was pick pocketed and her cosmetics bag was stolen. I don’t blame Marseille as this happens in every large city in every continent of the world.

Marseille is not as clean as idyllic central Paris or as in the centre ville of Montpellier and probably other places. While garbage is picked up every night, somehow it does not all end up in the bins found on every residential block. No doubt one reason is the robust Mistral wind that blows debris everywhere. Also, outside of the major pedestrian areas there do not appear to be as many street cleaners to pick up after inconsiderate dog owners.

In some residential areas, walking is made difficult because the sidewalks are narrow and inconsistently paved, with scooters and motorcycles and cars parked helter skelter on the sidewalk adding to the crowding.

Yes, there is lots of graffiti art. Marseille is famous for it! You may love it or hate it or come to ignore it.

There are other reasons recommending Marseille for a longer stay. Prices are definitely lower than in Paris and probably lower than in other French cities. The diverse population affords less pricey international restaurants and exotic grocery stores. As the second largest city in a country that is justly proud and supportive of the arts, the cultural life is rich and varied.

Marseille’s location is providential. You enjoy daily looks out to the sea and also out to the mountains that ring the city. If you are a beach person, you can hop on a bus and be at the beach in 15 minutes or less. You can hike in les calanques (see Swimming in the Fjords of Marseille.) You have easy access to Arles–a magical town on the Rhone–and to Aix-en- Provence as well as all of Provence, including the Luberon and the Var. The Cote d’Azur starts at Hyeres and is an easy drive, just beyond Toulon. For mountain lovers, the southern French Alps are surprising close-by.

We have found that doing volunteer work is an excellent way to become involved and to meet people. The Centre France-Bénévolat de Marseille will match you with a non-profit suited to your preferences. Peggy is volunteering with l’Association Enfants d’Aujourd’hui Monde de Demain (see Children Today, Tomorrow the World!) and I am volunteering with ACLAP that helps senior citizens and the Association des Paralysés de France. Through volunteering and other activities, we have met some extremely friendly and interesting people who are curious about what a middle-aged American couple is doing–and learning–in “scary” Marseille.

Taking a right turn, I walk a few steps and take a left onto rue Paradis, a street full of fancy little clothing, furniture, and neighborhood service shops. The window displays are artistic, some of the prices breathtaking.

Careful! The sidewalk is narrow and there are people waiting at bus stops and walking dogs and stopping and starting so you have to watch where you’re going. Cars and scooters, if not parked willy nilly on the sidewalk, zip up rue Paradis in one direction, driving aggressively as if they have the right of way (and they do).

It’s a bourgeois neighborhood of shops and important institutions. After one block you find the stately Banque de France (equivalent to our Federal Reserve Bank) and across the way is an architecturally impressive bank building, La Caisse d’Epargne. In front of both is place Estrangin-Pastré, where you find a metro station, a once a week outdoor flower market, and parked scooters and public benches around a fountain. Confirming that the neighborhood has a serious purpose, nearby you will also find the Palais du Justice (the court house).

I turn right on rue Peytral and pass the permanently barricaded United States Consulate that sits in Place Varian Fry, named after an American who spent a year in Marseille during WWII and saved 1,500 people from the Germans mainly by falsifying transit papers.

We live in the 6th arrondisement (there are 16 in all) in a neighborhood named after the Prefecture building I am now passing. (There are many other neighborhoods in the 6th.) The Prefecture is a building usually found in the largest city in each department of France—Marseille’s department is Bouches-du-Rhone—that represents the national government at the local level. In front of the 19th century Prefecture there is an unpredictably large and noisy modern fountain that is dramatically illuminated in bright colors at night. As one of the important symbols of the city, the Prefecture itself is also proudly lit at night.

If I were to turn left towards the Vieux-Port I would be on rue Saint Ferreol, a pedestrian only street of about seven blocks that puts on show all the famous retailers. It’s always jammed but especially so this week as the bi-annual government-authorized soldes (sales) are on in a big, big way.

Instead, I retrace a few steps and turn onto rue Edmond Rostand behind the Prefecture. A sign hangs over the street: Quartier des Antiquaries. Rue Edmond Rostand is the place in Marseille for antique and bric-a-brac (brocante) dealers and art galleries. In fact it’s a narrow street that closes on one Sunday every few months allowing the stores to spread their collectibles onto the pavement, making a rich display of whatever.

I have taken you on a walk of one part of one arrondissement in Marseille. The 6th arrondissement has several other neighborhoods besides the Prefecture: Vauban that climbs up the hill to the iconic Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde, the roundabout Place Castellane (see Help Wanted at Place Castellane), the restaurants, bars, and cafés on part of the south bank of the Vieux-Port, l’Opéra Municipal de Marseille, and the Notre Dame du Mont neighborhood where you find La Plaine and the hip graffiti emblazoned Cours Julien with its inexpensive international restaurants, tiny theaters, bars, and music venues.

There’s so much more to see in Marseille. Where would you like to go next?

Just a ten-minute walk from our apartment, Place Castellane is a lively area and has everything you want. The place itself is a rond point, a roundabout, with a stream of circling cars. The baroque La Fontaine Cantini, built in 1908, sits in the middle and is topped by an obelisk, an architectural element that is dramatically illuminated at night so as to be easily seen from up and down the boulevards that flow into the place. On one side there is a metro stop that allows pedestrians to avoid the commotion of Renaults and Vespas and cross underground.

As you walk around the circle, most of the sidewalk is made up of outdoor seating for cafes, brasseries, and restaurants. Each has its respective (usually smaller) establishment inside, but outside is where you find the action. Unless it is raining, you find people. With the cooler temperatures, you will find see-through wind barriers and outdoor heaters, but you always find people. When the local professional football team — l’Olympique de Marseille, known as OM — plays, or any other football or rugby match is on, wide screens appear amid the outdoor seats. There are also snack food counters such as L’Authentique, a spot favored by students where you can find sandwiches such as the inexplicably named sandwich americain, where the French fries are stuffed into the sandwich. (And this sandwich is found all over France!)

A big feature of Place Castellane is the large outdoor market called the Marche du Prado named after the boulevard it stretches along going south from the place. Every day of the week from morning until mid-day except on Sunday there is every sort of food vendor as well as clothing and other non-perishable product vendor. On Saturdays you can cross the street and enjoy the sight and smell of numerous flower vendors. The vendors are often colorful and extremely polite and patient. Peggy is fast becoming loyal to a craggy bread seller who offers tastes and extreme discounts before closing time.

We headed for the Le Cesar cinema on the place to see a movie. The movie was scheduled to start at 10:15 PM. Since it was around 8 PM, we thought we had time even though we have learned that when you dine in France — whether for lunch or dinner, whether in a modest brasserie or nicer restaurant — you should never be in a hurry.

It turns out the next day on Sunday was a big event, the Marseille-Cassis Classique Internationale semi-marathon run and 10K walk in the mountains south of Marseille that attracts thousands from all over France. (We had previously tried to register for the walk but were too late.) So the restaurants were busier than normal.

We chose a pizzeria just off the plaza because the weather was quite warm for mid-October and there were a few outdoor tables empty among the diners. The order went predictably, but after a while we noticed that the group of five next to us who had been there before us had no plates of food. More time passed and no action. An interesting couple sat on the other side of us: a not quite passable transvestite with a rough looking man, both drinking wine and smoking heavily, with no food before them. Continuing a theme, we noticed a lesbian couple nearby, but they were enjoying a pizza. A man wearing a kepah came in and sat down with friends. Meanwhile, large groups of people entered the indoor restaurant.

After more time, our young waiter appeared with two pizzas (in France, often each person orders a plate-sized pizza rather than one to share) looked at our paper ticket tucked into a corner of our table and walked away and began a tour of the entire outdoor eating area looking for the pizzas’ proper home. Unsuccessful, he set down the pizzas on an open table and crossed the street between the outdoor seating to return to the restaurant. A bit later he returned and picked up the pizzas and walked to our table, looked at our ticket again, and delivered the pizzas to us.

We noticed that some of the group of five had been served food, but not all. They continued to talk and laugh good naturedly.

Suddenly, an ambulance with lights flashing pulled up in front of the restaurant and we saw a man being helped from the restaurant into the ambulance. We started talking to the group of five and learned that they were participating in the semi-marathon the next day and that they were mostly amused by the goings on.

Four women walked into the outdoor area hoping to be seated, but the now harried waiter pointedly ignored them. They looked at each other and walked out.

Suddenly, the transvestite leaped up from her table, grabbed a carafe of water, crossed the street, and entered the restaurant, leaving her drinking and smoking companion alone.

By now we had missed the movie but since we were enjoying the reality show – and the pizzas were excellent – we didn’t care.

I went into the restaurant to pay knowing that waiting for a check was foolhardy. I found chaos inside. There were numerous diners on the first floor and the second floor. Next to the cashier, there was the transvestite, sweating as she madly washed dishes! The cashier stand was a mess of papers.

We again spoke to the group of five runners and learned that the injured person taken away in the ambulance was a server who had cut his hand on a wine glass and that the restaurant owner herself had fallen in the kitchen and was out of commission! Heartlessly, we all laughed together.

On this night at a pizzeria on the Place Castellane, Marseille earned its reputation for craziness, diversity, and a resigned acceptance of the vagaries of life.

One new sight was the Odysseum, the just-opened futuristic shopping center on the outskirts of town. The center was designed to resemble a cruise ship with several floors, all open to the outdoors in a curving shape reminiscent of waves. Even the parking garage is airy and open, with a similar wave-like design. In order to encourage people to use public transit rather than drive into Montpellier, there is a P+ tramway formule that includes parking and round trip tramway tickets for up to five people for 3 Euros! Unfortunately, you can’t park your car there indefinitely for the 3 Euros but it is still an amazing deal.

Montpellier has outlawed large trucks within the ever-growing pedestrian center. Now, for deliveries, only small silent electric trucks are allowed. I am struck by how much Montpellier seems like the city of the future – great public transport, daring modern architecture (sometimes controversial), pedestrian-only streets, colorful tramways (two lines with a third under construction), cafes everywhere you look. Formerly traffic-clogged streets are being reworked to prohibit or limit vehicle access and to add large public spaces, trees, outdoor markets and, of course, restaurants and cafes. All this and the extensive old city as well – winding streets of off-white buildings and hotels particuliers (private mansions), many dating back to the 18th century. It seems to be the perfect marriage of respect for the old and the embracing of the new.

On Sunday, after a leisurely morning, we decided to drive to Sommières, a small town we had been introduced to 10 years ago by our German friend, Boris, when he took us there for a very folksy local medieval festival. It has been the site of several serious floods when the Vidourle River breeched its banks and brought sheets of mud into the old village. Since then the route nationale has been moved across the river and the road bordering the river in the old town is quiet and lined with trees, cafes, and modest restaurants. The servers dash across the road to serve customers on the riverside terraces.

Having learned from experience that to be served lunch you must be à table before 2 PM, we didn’t tarry but chose one of the little riverside restaurants. It may not have been 2 PM yet, but it was close enough that there was nothing available but la pièce du boucher, whatever cut of meat the butcher was offering that day. It turned out to be a delicious piece of beef. As we were eating, the chef came across the street to ask if our food was OK and to apologize for having run out of the other menu choices.

Our lunch consumed, we strolled around the village, reading the plaques posted on buildings to describe their architectural features and history. One friend had told us that friends of hers ran a great little hotel in Sommières and we looked for it as we wandered. We happened upon a hotel in the old train station that we thought might be it. Just next to the hotel was a large sign for la Voie Verte (green path), the old train tracks now converted to a biking and walking path. The after-lunch walk is part of the French Sunday tradition so we joined the others – families with kids on bikes or in strollers, older couples, cyclists and rollerbladers – on the path. It is possible to follow the train track turned path some 19 kilometers but there wasn’t time for that. We managed to walk a loop that took us through woods, along old stone walls, by an olive grove and vineyards turning red and yellow and past an elaborate European-style campground complete with cabins and restaurant. We walked back into Sommières along a road of lovely flower bedecked villas and finished up at the chateau.

It turned that we hadn’t found the correct hotel. It was actually the Hotel de l’Orange — but no matter. Our Sunday in Languedoc on a crisp, bright fall day was perfect.

I rang the big door, was buzzed in and entered a cobble-stone courtyard and saw a woman standing outside an open door. This was Valerie, an Italian nun who wears street clothes and has a no-nonsense demeanor. She founded the EAMD some 25 years ago, arriving in Marseille from Italy via Germany, speaking not a word of French. She is part of an order of nuns whose mission is to help immigrants settle and integrate themselves into their new communities. Converting the primarily Muslim children and mothers to Catholicism does not appear to be part of the agenda. The local Catholic diocese contributes no money to the association that supports itself primarily through its thrift store and some money from the departement (French equivalent of a county). I wondered why there was an Italian Catholic mission in Marseille. Another volunteer explained to me that when the mission was established, the immigrants living in La Belle de Mai were Italian. Now they are primarily North African, Turkish, and African.

Valerie’s office is modest and small, just a desk and a few chairs. Prominently displayed behind her desk is a poster of Martin Luther King with a long quote, in French, from his “I Have a Dream” speech. She explained that the EAMD provides le soutien scolaire (after-school tutoring) to children from the primary grades through high school in French, Math and English. French kids start studying English in the equivalent of 6^th grade. As there is no school on Wednesdays (but classes are held on Saturdays), the EAMD has a full schedule of programs on Wednesday: tutoring, writing and reading workshops and a club whose theme this year is “You are not like me….So?” The EAMD also offers classes in alphabetization (literacy) for mothers of the children in the program.

I told Valerie that I would be happy to tutor English or help with the “alpha” as they call it. I hoped the students wouldn’t mind my accent. She said they don’t seem bothered by hers. She needed someone to take over the Thursday afternoon “alpha” class as previous volunteer had quit.

I agreed to step in and that is how I found myself, the following Thursday, standing in front of six head scarf-wearing Kurdish women from Turkey. They had their notebooks and pens ready as I attempted to teach them the basics of French. It’s hard to tell how old the women are but most have small children, some with them in class, so I imagine they are in their 20’s or early 30’s. Several tell me they have four children. One woman has never been to school and struggles to form letters in her notebook as would a three- or four- year old child. They all speak very little French and don’t read or write it at all. I told them I am an American and that I, too, learned French. They are impressed that I can pronounce the letter “h” (two of their names begin with h), as the French cannot. One woman told me that my writing is American as it is not in the typical cursive that all French students learn. I replied by saying that my writing is like what they see in books (sort of, anyway).

We are starting from zero – “My name is…”, “I have three children, one boy and two girls”, etc. They diligently wrote words and expressions in their notebooks but I am struck by how many silent letters there are in French. I told them, using a lot of pantomime, that speaking and understanding are more important than writing. They are lovely women, cheerful, receptive and very anxious to learn. I hope they understand what I am saying and pantomiming to them. We managed to laugh a lot and have fun together, in spite of the language barrier. We discovered that chocolate, piano and panda are the same in French, English and Turkish (or is it Kurdish they speak?)

The women, dressed in head scarves and modest coat-like dresses, left after two hours to go pick up their older children at school. I was happy to have found a weekly two hour place amidst the patchwork of Marseille ethnicities.

This enormous exposition – more than 1,400 inside and outside exhibitors and over 400,000 attendees over a seven day period – is an unlikely mix of entertainment, commercial and retail vendors, international booths, government and non-profit exhibits, and endless food and beverage offerings – all of it impossible to digest together.

I passed by kitchen vendors displaying aggressively contemporary home improvements and stopped to marvel at the sight. (At the same time as the French go to great lengths to preserve the past, they seem to enjoy designing and living in very modern spaces.) The salesman asked me about my interest and when I told him my kitchen was in California, he snubbed me in the best suede shoe tradition.

In the middle of a block-long series of booths selling everything from chocolate to collapsible lightweight bicycles, we came across a fashion show (according to a brochure, une Rue de la Mode) and models making do on a tiny runway.

Each year different countries are featured and huge halls are filled with small vendors selling goods and souvenirs. This year: Russia, Morocco, Viet Nam, and Italy were extremely well represented, among others. Most of the merchandise, while incredibly varied and abundant, was standard tourist offerings. A vast army of Russian nesting dolls! The Italian food booths stood out visually and aromatically: I wanted to guzzle prosciutto, gnocchi, Chianti, and garlic, all at the same time. And the Moroccan furniture exuded romance and exoticism.

We stood and enjoyed a cappuccino at an Italian booth. To start a conversation, I asked the man next to me if he had purchased a new kitchen this year at the fair. He replied no, but he had bought new cars for both him and his wife!

A girl in a Russian peasant dress called out to passers-by, inviting us to lunch in a makeshift Russian restaurant with rental dining tables and chairs inside a tent. We peeked in and saw a small group of traditionally dressed musicians playing traditional music to a few early diners. How charmingly corny!

We entered a large glass exhibit from the city of Marseille, highlighting Marseille as the European Capital of Culture in 2013. There were large models of city neighborhoods undergoing change. We picked up some impressive brochures as the booth representatives ignored us and talked among themselves.

Lunchtime was an impossible challenge and opportunity. A maze of dozens — or maybe hundreds — of stands hawking delectables interspersed with tables full of people enjoying themselves. The cuisine and drink of every region of France (Lyonnais, Alsacienne, Breton, etc.) plus every current territory and former colony (Corsica, the Reunion Islands, Lebanon, Martinique, etc.) was on display, in all of its color and smell. Vendors were happy to explain their offerings as they stirred immense paella dishes.

We chose sandwiches from a Corsican stand and found a table for the price of a beverage. Tasty!

After watching dancers perform Capoera — an Afro-Brazilian art form that combines elements of martial arts, music, and dance — we walked out to the Metro station. Peggy was wearing the colorful necklace she bought from an African booth and I had my brochures. I noticed numerous departing people – many of them men –carrying plastic bags holding a round yellow mop that I had seen earlier being sold by a salesman with a microphone in a hall of home improvement vendors and I wondered about the particular benefits of this particular mop and what it said about French domestic life.

The calanques are very small fjords, tiny coves set amid white limestone cliffs and mountains and occasionally dramatic facades of stone. They sit aside 12 miles of coastline and are about 2.5 miles in width. The calanques are managed by various local governments with plans in process for them to be better protected as a national park sometime after 2010. They are a haven for hikers, rock climbers, sailors, bathers, fisherman, tourists on excursion boats from le vieux port in Marseille (who don’t disembark), and the lucky owners of tiny cabanons marseillais, family owned vacation cabins. Located within the municipality of Marseille, some calanques are a twenty-minute bus ride from the city center.

Joined by friends from the U.S who also enjoy hiking, we took the metro to Rond Point du Prado and then boarded a waiting bus #23. The bus was full as we headed south; we started talking with an older couple who were curious about four people talking English on their bus. The husband was Egyptian and the wife was Turkish and they wished us a good sojourn in Marseille as they got off the bus before us.

At our stop, we found ourselves at La Cayolle at the outskirts of the city and next to the white chalky mountains that are visible from most anywhere in the city. We hiked a trail and looked back at Marseille and then down a valley to the Calanque de Sormiou. It looked like a miniature port village and we followed a trail down that ranged alongside mostly one lane paved road. It was a Saturday, so locals in cars were taking advantage. The distance on foot from the bus stop to the calanques was perhaps only 2 miles.

At the bottom of the valley we walked through a lane of cabanons. These started off as cabins for fisherman and sheepherders and over generations within families have been enlarged to still microscopic (to an American’s eyes) vacation cabins, modest but cozy. We then found pleasure boats in a tiny harbor and beached ashore, one restaurant overlooking a rocky beach full of bathers, and more dwellings on both sides of the cove.

The color of the water was intensely clear and azure. Yes this is – or near – the cote d’azur! We followed the European custom of a discrete change to swimming attire in full view of everyone’s averted eyes. (This is accomplished using a towel either standing or sitting.) Then, we plunged! The water temperature was refreshingly warm and the clarity of the water proven by a number of snorkelers. A hike and a swim: what pleasure!

Departing, we followed a path going south past idyllic, larger cabins each with its required outdoor dining table with a view of the calanque. We started to climb steep switchbacks to a height of 755 feet and looked down to Sormiou and the sea, sky, and small islands towards Marseille. We then followed a path down and across to the Calanque de Morgiou. The rocky path was well-marked and maintained.

Morgiou is more difficult to reach and probably less visited, but similar in ingredients to Sormiou: day trippers arriving by car over a one lane paved road, hikers arriving from several directions, cute cabanons, a rocky beach and rockier coves, small pleasure boats, and one busy restaurant with coveted open air seating. After a picnic and another delightful swim, we headed out of the valley on an easy trail to the stop for bus #22 and civilization. The total distance hiked was perhaps six miles.

Back in Marseille, feeling sandy and contented from the exercise, sea water, and fresh air, we stopped for a drink in an outdoor café. Marseille has a seemingly endless number of busy cafes and appears to be bucking the trend of a declining number of cafes in France.

On this warm Saturday in early October in Marseille, with the cold Rhone River valley wind soon to arrive, urban life and nature mixed easily.