Coucou from snowy Marseille! I’ve taken refuge against this unexpected turn of the weather in a cozy lil cafe and figured it’d be the perfect time for an update!

Last location: Sorrento (Amalfi Coast), Campania, Italy

Current location: Marseille, Provence-Alpes-Cote d’Azur, France

Next location: Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain (!!!)

The switch between Barcelona and Lisbon, Portugal occurred last night when RyanAir cancelled my flight- originally set for tomorrow morning- which allowed me to reconsider the option of entering Portugal by way of Spain. Additionally Marseille and Barcelona have direct bus lines running between them, so I paid my twenty euros and Thursday evening will sling my backpack into the underbelly of one of France’s finest coast buses (so, an average coach bus with the added bonus of wifi and charging ports). After a particularly nasty and complicated ordeal wherein I attempted to find Rome’s Ciampino airport fruitlessly at four in the morning- very lost, definitely desperate, and completely freaked out- I am more than happy to stay on the ground.

This change additionally (wonderfully) provides me with another day in Marseille, as instead of leaving on a flight at ten in the morning I’ll be catching an overnight bus that  departs at ten in the evening. Marseille has proved to be the biggest surprise on this trip. I love it. And I never planned on stopping here! When I decided to leave Italy, my destination was unquestionably Portugal. The fact that flying from Rome to Marseille, and then from Marseille to Lisbon, was significantly cheaper than flying directly from Rome to Lisbon simply provided me with an excuse to explore a new city in the South of France. And oh my goodness, this city continues to blow me away and exceed my expectations. Previously Marseille had been described to me as a seedy port town, a rough-and-tumble cousin to Naples, Italy; loud, dirty, and run by the mob. My decision to try out Marseille stemmed from two sources- the first being a hostel mate in Rome who lived in Marseille for years and told me to visit, citing the incredible energy of the city and kindness of its residents, and the second being the absurdly low cost of the ticket from Rome (It was eighteen euros- who can turn that down? Combined with finding a really cool hostel it seemed serendipidous). Like any city, Marseille simultaneously embodies and rejects its stereotypes. Yes, tell-tale signs of Marseille’s poverty undeniably exist, but beneath that slight veneer of dirt the profound beauty of the South of France persists.

My emotional reaction to arriving in Marseille paralleled the reaction I experienced in Paris at the start of my trip: pure and expansive joy. Again, that feeling of homecoming and a beautiful sensation of recognition. I now can recognize that during my time abroad I unconsciously cultivated a french version of myself. When abroad I found the near-total cultural immersion extremely difficult, and often painfully isolating, but the experience resulted in an increased ability to understand and relate to those around me through an expansion of myself. Of course, the benefits of total immersion may seem obvious- as you immerse, you learn! wow!- but I have only been able to fully appreciate the outcome of immersion through returning to France. The ease of return validates the notion that confronting discomfort produces lasting comfort. Again, a simple concept- but one best internalized through experience (for me! As always, other people have other extremely different and completely valid experiences). So I’m really, really curious to see if I’ll feel more comfortable in Italy when I return in a month! Did I internalize any part of the culture? Was one month too short a time period? Did the international atmospheres of hostels provide too thick an insulation to break through?

As on the Amalfi Coast, in Marseille the sun strikes the water and turns the shifting mass of Mediterranean indigo, turquoise, and teal into a glittering expanse of dancing silver. The sky darkens midday into that powerful shade of cornflower blue that evokes sonorous summertime afternoons. The coast is rimmed with limestone cliffs that stretch back and swell into low-rise, chalky mountains. Back in Italy we snaked up the mountainside and proceeded to hug the edges of cliffs that shot directly down to the Mediterranean on the bus between Sorrento and Positano. When we took the first curve and an uninterrupted view of the coastline emerged, my knees literally shook (I was extremely grateful to be seated). The beauty verged on sickening, it was difficult to process, almost overwhelming, terrifying. (The bus ride was- without a doubt- the best two euros I have ever spent, and I passed the whole day in a grateful daze.) Of course Homer believed the sirens who sang to Odysseus and his crew, luring men to their deaths, swam in the waters surrounding Sorrento! It plays into a hypothesis I’ve been mulling over about Italy, something to do with an omnipresent underside of passion- the destructive power of indulgence, beauty being too powerful, the potential darkness of worldly pleasure and all that. I don’t really know what I’ve concluded, just that I think you can sense both sides of pleasure throughout Italy- joy and darkness.

Unlike the Amalfi Coast- which holds a pervasive sleepiness in the low season, quietly waiting for the tourists to pour in after Easter- even in March, Marseille is fully awake and reverberating with energy. The cobblestone streets rise and descend studded with artisan cafes, art workshops, boutiques, and bookstores. The sun-kissed walls serve as canvases for the vibrant street art splashed across them. People smile at one another (they’re really smiling!! In France!) and happily engage in easy conversation. The shroud of self-conscious energy that habitually surrounds my french language skills has fallen away here. This wonderful, colorful port sits on the crossroads between France and the rest of the Mediterranean cultures, and visibly retains the influence of Italy, Greece, North Africa, and Spain. They use more olive oil here than any other city in France I’ve visited.

I mean, they have a running path along the coast here! I’ve been mistaken for a Marseillean! There’s an authentic Breton creperie right next to my hostel! Am I finally losing my winter pallor? Am I (maybe?) beginning to reflect the rosy hues of the buildings and sunlight? I love it here. I looooooooove it here.

Anywho, off to find some food (I could write a whole other post about food- my burgeoning appreciation for olives, the glory of cheap and delicious local wine, my hunt for the best pizza in the world in Naples) for lunch! Hopefully will write more in Barcelona- do they have a cafe culture there? I’ll find out!

*** Coucou means hi!