Summer's end in Marseille and Southern Rhone Valley
The unexpected, unrelinquishing pandemic has changed a few things we had planned for the past two years. For me, one of those trips was to the south of France with my friend Sabine. Almost eight years ago, Sabine and I lived with the same host family when we were just wee babies studying abroad in Strasbourg and it just felt right to commemorate our friendship in the country where it began. Neither of us are exactly sure why we chose Marseille, but hey if there’s an Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown episode about it, I’m in.
On my resume, French is listed with business professional proficiency, which was definitely a stretch despite having lived in Montreal when I was little and taking French as a foreign language in college. I chose to spend my first semester abroad because it seemed like the middle ground between a gap year and a full-fledged undergrad degree. I had never been to Europe, and France excited me for reasons most teenagers also shared after one too many Tumblr reposts of the Eiffel Tower. Also, I was hoping to tap into some latent memory of speaking Quebecois French from childhood.
Four vaccine jabs and some booking confirmations later, we found ourselves in Charles de Gaulle International Airport.
Traveling during the pandemic is such an ~interesting~ experience: an emotional cocktail of caution, excitement, and guilt (or is that just how it feels to take time off as a corporate slave?). On top of the nerves, doing research into border entry and vaccination requirements has never been more important. The worst mood damper would be to arrive at the airport full of excitement and be told you aren’t allowed to board your flight.
While proof of vaccination from US/Canada could not convert into a QR code compliant with EU regulations, we were still able to get seating everywhere once we explained our travels.
Our first hotel room in Paris was so tiny that my check-in suitcase blocked both the entrance and the bathroom door. Sabine got a cafe au lait without stopping a beat. With a full day ahead of us, we changed, charged up, and headed out to brunch in Bastille.
Gotta get those positive ions goin’! My film folks, that’s for you.
I’ve been to Paris twice before - an overnight school trip during my semester abroad and heading back home during that same semester. Both experiences left lukewarm impressions - I didn’t fall head over heels for Paris the way most visitors do. What is so grand and sought-after seemed surprisingly mundane. Perhaps that sentiment is disappointing to you. After dreaming of romantic French fairy tales all my life, not falling in love with Paris was disappointing to me, too.
Something changed on this third visit. I’ve accepted that perhaps the charm of Paris is how mundane it is. We spent the majority of our time strolling, taking in the city, and sitting around different cafes catching up with one of my college roommates who had moved back to Paris after graduation. Passing time and living slowly may just be the Parisienne charm that I did not quite grasp until now.
Wanting to give ourselves enough time to adjust to the time difference, Sabine and I planned to make our way to Marseille on the third day. Gare-de-Lyon looked strangely familiar from my first visit and I suspect it was the same train station that welcomed me into Paris the first time. The Grand Central station ceiling is iconic, but I prefer the open, straightforward train station like Gare-de-Lyon. Small pause here to ponder whether or not my opinions are now all influenced by a post-Covid consciousness, in which open-air and space imply safety. We had a reservation for lunch at Le Train Bleu, but the famed staircase was closed for construction so we ended up canceling and grabbing things to go.
I’ll leave the views to your imagination as yours truly was desperately trying to recover from jet lag and was knocking my head on the glass pane, falling in and out of sleep.
We stepped out of the train car into blinding sunshine and warm coastal air. Most visitors to Marseille choose to stay in the Old Port, which really isn’t a bad idea for convenience and the views. If there were concerns about safety, Old Port is a great option for that too. Marseille often falls victim to a negative reputation, and the gun stores near the old port don’t help to make a different case. Like in most cases, don’t be an idiot and you should be fine.
Old Port, Marseille
After checking in and changing, we stopped for a late lunch at Epicerie l’Ideal. Let me just say I really fell in love with the daily menus and the delicately-made dishes, not to mention the weekly rotating vineyard partnerships. I had the greenest gazpacho I’ve ever had with a wonderful cheese plate with a dessert of fresh melon in rosewater (turns out, Marseille is big on melons). Swoon. This place was so good I insisted on coming here twice in the same week.
We spent the rest of the afternoon weaving through the alleys of Old Port and the nearby 6th arrondissement, checking out shops and taking in the new city. Neither choices for dinner plans worked out so we settled for a simple charcuterie board nearby, then visited a snug cocktail bar called Copperbay before retreating back to our room at Grand Hotel Beauvau and fell asleep to Obelix et Asterix.
A routine naturally formed around DEEP, a coffee shop founded by a former Brooklynite and Venice Beach resident, because Sabine is a coffee fiend. Life is full of surprises but the words “can we get a coffee” out of my friend’s mouth within the first 45 minutes of her waking up is not one of them. Also, cold brew in France? How can you say no?
Recharged on a small but mighty cold brew and some grapes, we climbed all the way up to the Basilica of Notre-Dame for a pano view of Marseille. Sitting at the highest point in the city, Notre-Dame de la Garde is hard to miss. Catholicism has its troubling history, of course. Sitting in this church served as reminders of both said history and that people generally want little more than love, acceptance, and welfare for others they care for.
Marseille is home to the famous bouillabaisse, a soup dish of cooked fish in a light tomato saffron broth paired with roasted pepper rouille. We chose to go to Chez Fonfon for the view of the layered houses surrounding the small canal. Most popular/touristic restaurants in Marseille, such as Chez Fonfon, require reservations and rarely welcome walk-ins. For the bouillabaisse, you’re given a choice between the dish being prepared entirely in the kitchen or “by the table”, where waiters first bring a metal tray to display the different types of white fish going in your soup, then spoon the broth into your dish by the table, as the name suggests. The roasted pepper rouille is intended to thicken and enrich the tomato saffron broth. I was confident the hike to and from the Basilica had worked up my appetite, but the bouillabaisse was way too filling for a first timer with the amount of liquid and carbs expanding in my stomach. We walked it off on our way to la plage des Catalans. At one point, Sabine and I hopped onto a singular rental scooter and just nearly made it to the beach without any casualties. That moment still makes the both of us crack up.
Following being stared down (and I mean stared down for almost 30 minutes nonstop) at the beach, we made it to our dinner reservation at Nestou. It was a perfect experience, complete with a sassy waiter who tolerated my terrible attempts at his language and the perfect chocolate tart that Sabine died and came back to life for. When our waiter found out how short our visit was, he jotted down two places he felt were the quintessential but underrated points of Marseille. Both of his recommendations are included in the list of recommendations at the end of this post.
Earlier when I mentioned I was passing out on the TGV from Paris to Marseille, I wasn’t being completely transparent. In the brief windows of consciousness, I fooled around on Google Maps zooming in and out around the vineyards I bookmarked in southern Rhone and came across Chateau de Varenne, an 18th-century chateau-turned-boutique hotel between Avignon and Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Images of eggshell structure with its evenly spaced baby blue french windows, clawfoot baths, front garden, and princess beds hit bullseye in our romanticized idea of summer in France. It only took us roughly 45 minutes between initial discovery and a booking confirmation.
~ summer in France ~
If you’re lucky enough to drive stick shift, good for you - manual transmission rental costs half as much as automatic transmission rentals. Interestingly enough, all automatic transmission rentals are exclusively SUVs. Because European cars are so small, there are usually two sets of traffic lights for each intersection, one higher to inform drivers ahead of time, and one lower near eye-level of a seated driver to avoid delays at the intersection. The French wasted no time on highways. Everyone drives like an extra in Fast & Furious, weaving through traffic at a “suggested” 130km/hour. Also, watch out for French equivalents of E-ZPass. We ended up in the wrong lane twice and made some truck drivers very angry. If you happen to make the same mistake and can’t back out because there are already cars waiting behind you, you can always hit the service button and pay by phone.
First stop: Domaine d’Acquis in Tavel. Tavel is the only AOC in France that produced rosés exclusively until a few years ago, and in fact was one of the first regions to have achieved AOC status when the system was introduced in 1936. The rosés I typically come across were always too sweet and thus never sparked too much interest. However, wines produced in Tavel tend to be drier with a fuller body. Even the color is a few shades darker than your regular rooftop rosé. The administrator was so kind and patient with our questions and poured us a little bit of every bottle in stock. Afterwards we walked the grounds, fondling grapes and playing house without sight or sound of other human beings.
There’s a specific window in the afternoon where finding a restaurant becomes a challenge in France. Luckily, we arrived in Vieux ville Avignon (not to be confused with Avignon) to stumble upon a small bistro operating the town square and scarfed down two burgers. Seriously though, why are the French obsessed with hamburgers? It drizzled lightly post-lunch so we lined up behind six very excited children for ice cream, and Sabine purchased a couple of old postcards from an antique store on the same block.
Almost bought three antique ashtrays from this shop
Another 20-minute drive to the Chateau. It was everything we imagined and more.
I so desperately wanted to squeeze maximum productivity out of our short trip by visiting another vineyard or two in the Chateauneuf-du-Pape AOC just across the Rhine river, but my body said no ma’am and I knocked out on the princess bed to the smell of dried lavender.
Even with the endless blog entries and Instagram posts detailing visits to just about anywhere in France, I still find it difficult to filter through the dining recommendations. Not having go-to bloggers also means I have no context into their pallet or their dining priorities. Word of mouth recommendations from trusted sources are always great, but in less frequented destinations it’s not so easy. Personally, flavor and intrigue score much higher than photogenic plating or decor. Butter alone is not a flavor, sorry. Most of the restaurants I found on the trip came from the Michelin Guide, which I imposed much-presumed expertise based on its French heritage.
Cross-referencing restaurants in the Guide with seating availability within our budget, Au Jardin Des Carmes became our destination for the night. Walking to the restaurant, I made a silent promise to myself to never complain about how hard it is to park in big cities again. Imagine driving the wrong way down a one-way on a cobbled street where your vehicle is spilling out of the railing while three different French men are throwing their hands in the sky yelling “alors!”. How quickly do you raise your windows so you can freak out in private in a language you understand? I’ll race you there.
Au Jardin Des Carmes allowed for the discovery of Rinquinqin, a provençall aperitif. Distilleries et Domaines de Provence describes it as,
“Sweet and light, fruity and subtly feminine, Rinquinquin is the aperitif par excellence. An unexpected blend of peaches, peach leaves gathered in autumn, sugar, and white wine, made following a traditional recipe. Rinquinquin is a classic aperitif that is as Provençal as a sunshiny day. In fact, the name Rinquinquin, meaning a refreshing drink, comes from a word in the local dialect—requinquilhar, ‘to cheer up”, a name commonly given to refer to one’s favorite tipple.
For a tonic, add one part Rinquinquin and 5 parts tonic water; for an aperitif, serve drink on ice. The website also recommends drinking this liquor with foie gras!
The Chateau was probably the best decision we made the entire trip. I (sloppily) taught Sabine how to play chess in the common room over some Lillet and a bottle of rose from the earlier vineyard and drifted peacefully into sleep after a long hot bath. Breakfast featured artisanal bread, pastries, local cheeses, fresh eggs, and summer fruits. Unapologetically we dressed up for breakfast, ignoring the lingering stares of older tourists around us, and set up a quick photoshoot in the courtyard. Since its original construction in 1676, Chateau de Varenne transferred through so many hands from French monks to aristocrats to Germans to now an Irish family. For more than two hundred years this chateau has stood on this hill, overlooking the Provençal valley beneath it transform and watching people and animals come and go. It has aged so well.
Goodbye was difficult but it had to be said. We drove back to Marseille for our last almost-full day, which we spent getting our COVID-19 travel testing, revisiting Epicerie L’Ideal, and walking through Cour de Julien, an arts district. We stumbled upon a vintage film store filled with old movie posters in French - A Fantastic Planet, Casablanca, original James Bonds, any Studio Ghibli films, the list goes on. Coincidentally, a friend and her significant other were in the area after visiting family so we met up at their hotel, the Intercontinental, and headed to a group dinner at Sepia. It could be difficult to get together with friends in the same city, let alone abroad. I’m so lucky to have spent our last evening in Marseille with the best company and the most delicious Mediterranean cuisine.
MUCEM, or Museum of civilizations of Europe and the Mediterranean, is an iconic stop in Marseille that should not be missed. Constructed in 2013 to welcome Marseille’s new title as the European Capital of Culture, MUCEM has a sizable permanent collection and a very strong research team to produce new and exciting temporary exhibitions. On a time constraint, we browsed through a Jeff Koons exhibit and a detailed, emotional exhibit on the resilience towards urbanization in major Mediterranean cities. Having rushed through it, I would suggest allotting three hours to fully absorb the exhibits and another hour to walk around the premises. Not only is the architecture incredible, but it also gives great views of Old Port and a quick shortcut to the Panier (second arrondissement). Speaking of famous landmarks, fans of Duma’s Count of Monte Cristo should not miss the Chateau d’If.
While packing our bags, I cracked my forehead on the corner of a window in our hotel room. Sabine then insisted we get two different bruise creams from the pharmacy. It just would’ve been too good if both of us went home unscathed.
A short train ride later we were back in Paris and therefore back to regular programming. We spent the last afternoon of our trip walking, searching for perfume (I haven’t quite gotten over the missed chance to purchase from Xinu Perfumia in Mexico City), and getting as close as possible to where Sabine’s brother had lived when he studied in Paris. Dinner time rolled around and we headed to Liza, a Lebanese restaurant. A college friend had moved to Paris after graduation, so we planned to catch up with her at Ground Control, where she works. Before then, Sabine and I needed to have one last joyride on scooters along the Seine. At some point a random man pointed and yelled, “IL EST LE BEURRE!” at us zooming by. I’m the butter? I guess I’m the butter.
Last morning in Paris meant the last chance to visit a French bakery! There’s something about participating in the morning ritual of a busy bakery that makes me so fulfilled and excited for the day. Goods in hand, we walked towards Place de la Bastille and realized people had finished running around the entire city of Paris before we even sat down to eat breakfast. There we were, cheering on athleticism from the steps of the Bastille Opera, swallowing cheesy egg and spinach quiche. Staying next to Gare de Lyon proved to be a smart decision because we were quickly able to avoid road closures by hopping on the subway to catch our flights.
This may be strange, but in many ways Marseille felt familiar and comforting because it reminded me of Dalian in China, where I was born. Something about a bustling city submerged in salty, coastal air, the daily fish vendors, the narrow alleyways, the use of shouting as the main form of communication, ad the awareness of something illegal happening nearby but out of sight that is so much like being right back in my roots on the other side of the world. The same aspects that seemed so homespun to me, however, were culture shocks to Sabine.
Daily fish markets at the Old Port
As per usual, time passes quickly when you’re having fun. I found myself leaving Marseille and the Southern Rhone valley with toned legs and a slight tan, but also a lot of bookmarks, curiosities, and questions left unanswered for the next visit.
Special shout out to West gallery in Bushwick for suggesting this roll of Kodak Gold 200. Couldn’t be happier with the colors on these shots.
RESTAURANTS IN MARSEILLE
L’Epicerie L’Ideal
Ourea
SEPIA
Chez Fonfon
La Boite de Sardine
BARS IN MARSEILLE
Copperbay Marseille (cocktail with wasabi? yes pls.)
L’Audacieux (wine cellar by the Intercontental Hotel)
COFFEE IN MARSEILLE
DEEP
7VB
Cafe La Fiancee (and a quick brunch)
VINEYARDS IN SOUTHERN RHONE VALLEY
Domaine d’Aqueria
Domaine de Beaucastel
Vieux Telegraphe (a friend recommended this for its difficulty to be found in North America)
Domaine de l’Ecu (predominantly nature/biodynamic wines)
RECOMMENDATIONS FROM OUR WAITER @ NESTOU
Chez Paul, L’Auberge du Corsaire
Calanque d’En-Vau (you can get there by renting a car or catching
