Provence and Occitanie: Day 2, Part 2

Marseille

Vallon des Auffes at night.

Four des Navettes.

After our visit to the time machine that is the Abbaye Saint-Victor, we walked nary a block to another old Marseille institution. Billed as the oldest bakery in Marseille, Four des Navettes sells, well, navettes. Navettes are long, cookie-biscuit thingies that supposedly look like boats. They have a split in the top and when they bake they open up, not dissimilar to a long loaf of bread splitting, and thus the boat appearance. They are lightly sweetened, originally spiced with orange blossom, but nowadays you can get them with many flavors. I bought a large bag of navettes and another large bag of biscuits. You might be saying, “But wait a minute bucko! You just said navettes ARE biscuits. Get it straight!” So, navettes are the long cookies that look like bread sticks, and biscuits are the oval-shaped things. Whatever. They were all great. I got almond, anis, lemon, and orange biscuits, and said bag of navettes. We ate them throughout the vacation with coffee and on their own. They lasted the whole two weeks and were quite delicious and memorable.

Marseille Opera House.

On we went, with still plenty of time in the day for a lot of walking. But how about some relaxing? I wanted to take a gander at the Marseille Opera House, as Josephine Baker performed there during Vichy times and surreptitiously funneled the funds raised from the performance to the anti-fascist resistance. I am sure there have been other performances there, but Jo Baker’s is the one I cared about and the reason I wanted to see the building.

Across the way from the Opera House is the Place aux Huiles, or Oil Plaza, or Place of Oils. Or some translated formulation thereof. Place aux Huiles stretches south from Vieux Port to the Cours Honore-d’Estienne-d’Orves to form two large plazas that shape an “L” and are lined with touristy restaurants and cafes. Place aux Huiles is so named because back in the day it was a canal used in a large part to load and unload barrels of oil from boats, much of which destined for the city’s thriving soap industry (more on soap later). In the infinite wisdom of city planners, over the course of the 20th century, the canal was completely filled in and later turned into a large, above ground parking garage. This crime against humanity (tongue in cheek, I have perspective, but it’s pretty bad) has been remedied by putting the parking underground and creating a tourist esplanade and plaza. That I am referring to the establishments along these plazas as “touristy” is no shade. It’s just fact. So factual that, in fact, we as tourists sat at one and had a couple refreshing beverages to relax, refuel, and soak in Massilia. As it was getting into later afternoon on Friday, there were a good amount of people around, also enjoying some adult beverages. One young couple was playing boules in the small boule court the bar had set up in the outdoor seating area. It was a good, relaxing, very Marseille experience.

Statue of Milo of Croton and fountain at Cours Honore-d’Estienne-d’Orves near Place aux Huiles.

After being sufficiently rested and fortified via a wine (for Lani) and a beer and coffee (for me) we strode on our way. We crossed through the Noailles district and over to the Belsunce neighborhood. A striking aspect about Marseille is how the composition and character of neighborhoods change rapidly in a short distance. A commercial block, catering to tourists, that one would characterize as stereotypically “French,” can quite quickly give way to narrow, bustling streets in an area with a completely North African or eastern Mediterranean feel. It's a joy. The jolt of realization when one is surrounded by sights, languages, smells, and manners of dress that are quite unlike what one saw just moments before is what exploring a place like Marseille is all about.

North African bakery on Rue d'Aix.

It was the early days of Ramadan when we visited Marseille. The city’s approximately 250,000 Muslims were busy not only going about their business during the day’s rush hour but also preparing for the nightly Iftar. Kids scampered about, playing on scooters and pulling wheelies on bikes. Women and men bustled around gathering ingredients for the evening’s cooking and also toiled in the area’s bakeries preparing such delicacies as the bright orange, sticky sweet zlabia in full view of the sidewalk. Walking from Place aux Huiles, through the Vieux Port area, Noailles neighborhood, and then down Cour Belsunce and Rue d'Aix is something of a study in contrasts, all within mere minutes of each other. It was glorious.

Port d'Aix.

As we slowly walked (and pushed and sidestepped) down Rue d’Aix, we soon caught a glimpse of the last large landmark we had set out to see that day. The Porte d’Aix is Marseille’s Arc de Triomphe. It was initially conceived and begun in order to commemorate the American colonies' victory in their war of Independence from Great Britain in which (of course) France was an ally of the upstart colonies. It was put on hold during France's own revolution and finally completed in 1839 having been re-endowed to commemorate French military victories in Spain. Many cities have their triumphal arches in France, the most famous of which is the large one in Paris commissioned by Napoleon Bonaparte on Place Charles de Gaulle (formerly Place de l’Etoile). The arc in Marseille is located on Place Jules Guesde, and I was endlessly curious about what we might find there. I had read a lot about the plaza and knew I needed to see it for myself to get a sense of things. One of the best pieces I had read was about how members of the Olympique Marseille Ultras (fan club for the local professional soccer team) would frequently gather near the Porte d’Aix to do mutual aid by setting up food banks for migrants, poor, and unhoused. I knew it was a gathering place and without being exploitative (no photographing unhoused people, no gawking, etc.) I wanted to get a sense of a city I was entranced by on a more profound level. And I wanted to see the arc.

Apart from local folks going about their business on an early Friday evening and a decently-sized, open-air fruit market set up off to the side of the plaza, the most conspicuous group of people near the arc were police. Quite a few police, in fact. They seemed to be doing nothing but standing about, sitting in cars, leaning on bikes, and generally making their presence known. There really weren’t that many other people around at all. Perhaps there was a correlation between who was and who was not present? We two were definitely the only tourists and certainly the only people snapping pictures of the arc. The arc isn’t the largest or most imposing I have seen, and it seemed like an architectural non-sequitur; smack-dab in the middle of a raised dais, up a flight of four stairs, and surrounded by an empty plaza which in turn is ringed by modern buildings. It’s worth walking to in order to enjoy the art on its facade and explore some history, but it just seemed kinda awkward. Perhaps it was due to all the police milling about, but something was off. Nice arc though. We bought fruit from the kind vendor (an apple and kiwi) and decided to dip into the Panier District again.

Bas relief on Port d'Aix.

A narrow street in Panier. Plant-lined streets like this are ubiquitous in Marseille.

Where streets turn to stairs: The Panier.

It was getting into the late afternoon, heading toward sunset. We took a leisurely stroll into the Panier via the Passage de Lorette, an “alley” that slices right through a block of buildings, down some stairs on one side, up some stairs on the other, and with a perpendicular “alley” connecting in the middle completely surrounded by the blocks-long buildings with some shops and cafes inside. As we wound around the Panier, the street art and graffiti-covered, plant-lined passages, routes, and boulevards became the gems, jewels, and coins inside the treasure chest that was Marseille and the Panier in particular. The way so many of the small routes turn to stairs and lead to small plazas or rows of shops is simply, well, a treasure.

One of the shops we stumbled upon was a soap vendor. For centuries, Marseille has been well-known for soap production, and we knew we would be buying up many bars of different size, fragrance (lavender for certain), and color. The small shop we found was brimming over with olfactory brilliance and we managed to not spend too many euros or weigh down our bags too much, although I am sure I wanted to buy even more than we did.

Soap shop, Panier.

After winding through the Panier and finally finding the Vieux Port, and thus our hotel, a short rest was in order. I say short, because we had dinner reservations all the way back at Vallon des Auffes (the small cove we stopped through early afternoon) at an establishment called Chez Fon Fon. I wanted bouillabaisse and had read that Fon Fon served a fine bowl. Bouillabaisse originated in Marseille as a dish of necessity for poor and working-class sea-faring folk who would use the less-desirable cuts of sea food in a stew. I am not going to dive into “authenticity” or engage discourse as to what makes a real bouillabaisse and which are tourist trash. I wanted to try it and I did. Chez Fon Fon is, as stated, on the cove, and its location is as beautiful as its food is outstanding. The kir royales we sipped as aperitif were a bit on the “eek, that was a bit costly” side, but whatevs. The very proper, very French server fella presented the cuts and fillets of “Fruits-des-mer” for me to approve before the chef prepared. He named the kinds of fish and I forgot them all immediately, as I was like a toddler in front of whom the server was shaking a key ring with flashy, pretty, jingly, jangly keys. The fruits of the sea were indeed pretty! I was excited, even if I didn’t know what I was about to eat. Mr. Proper French Server told me to tuck my napkin into my shirt like a bib and I was certain he was messing with the now clearly overstimulated American tourist, but I glanced around and saw a couple other gentlemen (Frenchmen, I had ascertained) with bibbed shirt collars slurping away at their bouillabaisse broth. So I tucked! And waited. It was worth it! The dish was rich, salty, flavorfully fresh fishy with that “direct from the sea this morning” feel. I was pleasantly fulfilled and happy. Was it “authentic?” I don’t care. Was it “yummy?” YES! And THAT I care about.

Vallon des Auffes and Chez Fon Fon.

Bouillabaisse and other seafood at Chez Fon Fon.

We had taken another public city bus, #83, from the Vieux Port to Vallon des Auffes in order to get to our seafood prize. We managed to only purchase tickets for one way (my mistake) and thus our return trip was either another long walk (after dinner and wine), or we would have to try to hop on the late bus without paying fare. I am not proud of what we did, as I think that if one can afford it, one should pay the fare for transport. Let’s just say that there is a rear door on the bus and we did not walk. It was a good day all around.