Tag: Aix-en-Provence

In the last few days of our grand tour of Europe (otherwise known as the Ryanair jaunt) we were residing in Aix-en-Provence at our friend Phil’s house. We all decided to take a day trip into Marseille as it is only a short bus ride away.

The Protest

En route to the bus stop, we were walking towards the spot we knew there to be a lovely fountain, confused about why we couldn’t see it. Getting closer we realised that the view was being blocked by several large tractors. Drawn by a never-ending need to stick our noses in, we wandered over to see. As we walked around the fountain we found out what was going on. “PAS DE T.G.V” was scrawled on a large sign attached to one of the tractors. The local farmers were protesting the building of a new high speed train line through the area.

Naturally we posed for a photo or three before catching sight of an Aston Martin stuck amidst the chaos. Although we secretly laughed at the self important chap, Karl took pity on his beautiful car.

Dress Shopping in Marseille

When we finally reached Marseille, 45 minutes later, we took a stroll down one of the main shopping streets, Rue De La Republique. I had to nip into H&M. Being so frugal for nine days was really putting some strain on my consumerist tendencies. I picked a polka dot dress that I thought looked very French. I still have it, I still wear it, I still love it.

Arriving at the port front we bumped into another protest. We were a little more wary of joining in with or pushing past this one as they looked really quite annoyed.

The Puffing and Panting

Instead we walked south towards a basilica perched atop a hill. At first we bounded up the hill towards Notre-Dame de la Garde, but as we hit the stairs, our lack of fitness became all too evident. We puffed and panted our way up the rest of the staircase. Phil on the other hand does very silly things like running marathons for fun. He was still bounding, even showing us up further by throwing in some gymnastics.

Basilique Notre-Dame de la Garde

The view from outside made the climb worth it. Overlooking the bay, in the bright sunshine, with a gentle breeze blowing we almost managed not to look like the unfit sweaty messes we were. The basilica itself is a beautiful piece of architecture. It has been rebuilt several times, but the current model dates from the 1860s. They had just completed a seven year renovation so we got to see it in its new gleaming glory. I really liked the organ, it seemed a perfect little specimen.

The Old Port

Marseille has a bad reputation. It still comes 3rd on Europe’s crime index. Mind you, Manchester comes 8th and I’ve had some great times there without feeling threatened. The last time I heard about violence in Marseille, it was football riot and, as the rival team, we were equally to blame. The Old Port itself seemed lovely with lots of room to wander, some gorgeous French buildings and lined with many a bistro proffering bowls of bouillabaisse. This steaming stew of seafood and vegetables is a warm hug in a bowl. I am such a sucker for seafood though.

Walking just a tad farther from the Old Port to catch the bus, and we could see a roughening around the edges. Buildings were left derelict and the walls were daubed with hastily scrawled tags, with no sign of the street art that is eternally snapped by photographers elsewhere.

Wondering what the real city was like, and what it feels like to be out after dark, we were whisked back to the entirely un-intimidating Aix-en-Provence for yet more French over-indulgence. Is it any wonder we struggled to climb that hill!?

The Way Home

In all to brief a time, we were homeward bound. We had become accustomed to a much more casual attitude to all things Ryanair on the continent. Security in the smaller airports had seemed little more than vaguely interested, and the size of some of the carry on luggage left me flabbergasted. You would be charged a small fortune for trying take that from Stansted!! I was so paranoid about the tiny extra bulk of my dress, that I had to convince Karl to take it. At the boarding gate, my emergency travel document was subjected to the most intense scrutiny yet. After what felt like a full ten minutes, we were permitted to pass through the gate.

We had managed to see six towns in ten days. The seeds of an incurable wanderlust were sown.

Want to read more about the trip? Start here with our first day of the trip, Berlin – Bargain Flights and Big Mistakes

Rosie xx

Oh the joy of having friends who live abroad. OK, so you don’t get to see them that often, but it means that you get to visit them. Back in 2008 we had the chance to visit our friend Phil in the south of France, and so I can write this Aix-en-Provence travel blog. It is not “the best of Aix-en-Provence” but more a couple of highlights and a sense of time and place.

Arriving in Aix-en-Provence

Marseilles Provence airport, Marseilles and Aix-en-Provence form a triangle on the map. The airport is roughly 25km from each of the towns. It has been cited as one of those mislabelled small airports that low cost airlines use, named after big cities, but it was perfect for our to visit Aix-en-Provence. When we arrived at the airport we jumped on a bus from just outside the terminal which took just under half an hour to reach its destination. Two of our friends, Phil and Abi were living and working in Aix-en-Provence, and Phil was putting us up for a couple of nights.

We arrived in the main square to an absolute deluge of rain. We were wildly under prepared but Phil, sensible chap that he is, had brought his umbrella and donated it to us, so Mr Fluskey and I huddled under it as we climbed the hill towards his flat.

The Town

Aix-en-Provence is a wonderfully compact slice of French perfection dans le sud-est de la France, (oh that GCSE has NOT gone to waste!)  It is just the kind of place I had imagined when I read Chocolat. There is an outdoor market piled high with fresh produce. We visited on our first morning and I marvelled at the French people shopping fresh and local.

In the UK it would have been a farmer’s market with half of the stalls preparing hot meals and the other half way over priced and “artisan”. We watched as a grande Madame inquired about the price of some vegetables. She didn’t like the answer. “Oo la la!” she cried and plonked them back down with a haughty flounce. It was all we could do to contain ourselves.

The Food

We were invited to eat dinner a couple of times at Phil and Abi’s friend’s houses. These evenings went by in a blur of great company and great food. I must have chomped my way through at least three feet of baguette and four wheels of brie, topped with litres of tapenade and washed down with lashings of white wine. If this was the way they lived, it is a wonder anyone can still fit into a size eight. My bulging belly ached in glorious agony. I now understood why Phil used his bike to get around the hilly town.

The Museum

I couldn’t write an Aix-en-Provence travel blog and fail to mention the museum. Aix-en-Provence is a meandering place, a place to sit in street cafes and people watch. It is a place to soak in slowly, like a luxurious bath. It is not packed with must see attractions. We decided to take a punt on the diminutive Natural History Museum. Aix-en-Provence being in France, all the signs were in French. Now we should have expected that, but speaking English as a tourist is so common that we often forget that the whole world isn’t set up for our reading pleasure. The exhibits went from the dull (rocks) to the terrifying (taxidermy). Stuffed animals that looked as if they had been possessed leered at us from their dusty displays. We didn’t manage more than an hour.

The museum is moving to a new site, and I’m sure they are taking the chance to revamp it. It is closed for the whole of 2017 except for special children’s events.

The Beer

Realising that our greatest chance of having a lovely time was just to settle into Aix-en-Provence life, we went for a drink with our friends. Abi convinced me to try a demi-peche. It is a highball glass of lager with a huge glug of peach puree. The drink had a very pleasing golden hue and I decided to approach it with an open mind. Now, I have tried easing myself in with a fruit beer a few times, we had kinder-bier in Berlin (read about it in Berlin – Bikes, Barricades and Beers), but after the first taste of fruit, it all gets a bit…well…beery. My demi-peche was the closest I’d ever come to enjoying a beer. Lots of fresh peach seemed to do the trick. I may have had to wash it down with a few large glasses of white wine though.

Why not read about our day trip to Marseilles from Aix-en-Provence. For now, I shall bid you a hiccuping adieu.

Rosie xx