I'll admit it, I spent most of my day in Marseille on the beach, so I don't have a proper feel for the city yet. Ask a local and they'll tell you France's third city is dirty, dangerous and full of rude people, though I'm sure the Marseillais would say much the same about Aix. The rivalry between the two sister cities puts me in mind of that between Bristol and Bath, or Edinburgh and Glasgow- the smaller city pulling tourists in with its looks, the bigger with its personality.
Still, Marseille does make the effort. Making one's way out of the la Gare St Charles, the first view of the city is nothing but stunning, and the city's success as a port has made for some breathtaking architecture through years of development and eventual rebuilding after the second world war.
And so to the beach, where we spent several hours lying on tiny pebbles and getting a little bit sunburnt. Two metro trains and a bus took us out to the coast, and the deep blue waters and white-hot pebble beach we were promised was there with bells on. Or, kites, to be more accurate.
There are few things I love more than unexpected displays and blazes of colour, so the Fête du Vent really won me over. Kites filled the air in their hundreds, either tethered and stationary or flipped about in time to music, while elsewhere children could design their own paper cerfs-volant or get their parents to buy an elaborate oriental design.
Unfortunately, stumbling upon this kind of thing is not a feeling that can be properly communicated through pictures. From a cramped bus and a dark train we stepped out to a bright sky, and the effect was enchanting. The personality of the city makes this possible, its looks make it a soaring success.
Still, Marseille does make the effort. Making one's way out of the la Gare St Charles, the first view of the city is nothing but stunning, and the city's success as a port has made for some breathtaking architecture through years of development and eventual rebuilding after the second world war.
And so to the beach, where we spent several hours lying on tiny pebbles and getting a little bit sunburnt. Two metro trains and a bus took us out to the coast, and the deep blue waters and white-hot pebble beach we were promised was there with bells on. Or, kites, to be more accurate.
There are few things I love more than unexpected displays and blazes of colour, so the Fête du Vent really won me over. Kites filled the air in their hundreds, either tethered and stationary or flipped about in time to music, while elsewhere children could design their own paper cerfs-volant or get their parents to buy an elaborate oriental design.
Unfortunately, stumbling upon this kind of thing is not a feeling that can be properly communicated through pictures. From a cramped bus and a dark train we stepped out to a bright sky, and the effect was enchanting. The personality of the city makes this possible, its looks make it a soaring success.
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