Vieux Villages, Mougins, France - SN at the Scene...We take our time this morning repacking and sorting through, taking a final stroll around the grounds before leaving Club Mougins. We’ve saved Marseille as the last stop on our tour of Provence. We will explore the old city and seafront, and tonight we will stay near the Marseille airport. CA and I fly late-morning to Madrid/Malaga to the Marriott Marbella Beach Resort, while SN2 fly from Marseille to Paris and home to the snow and chill of a wintery Chicago.
SN1 can’t resist taking the scenic route through the hills in Mougins, and then onto the A8 and onward to Marseille. He has been our willing and competent driver this week throughout the cities, villages, and countryside of Provence. We have had some interesting and hilarious experiences with the narrow, winding roads and frequent roundabouts and he is unflappable and kind and self-effacing. As we head along the A8 on toward Marseille, SN1 compliments the French on their good driving habits. He says that they keep right except to pass, even on six- lane highways. They don’t weave through traffic, lane jumping, and cutting people off. However motorcyclists are another story! They must follow a different set of rules of the road than the auto drivers. They zip up from behind on your right and your left; they zoom between lanes and seem to consider the white lines to be a special motorcycle lane…
We reach Marseille and the drivers here seem to have an entirely different mindset. They are crazy! Pedestrians beware! The cobbled roadways are weaving and narrow, following ancient oxen paths with buildings so close to the road that there is barely space for our small car. There are one-way streets and dead ends. You have no right-of-way here.
Vieux Port [the old port] is jammed with boats at anchor—a forest of masts and lines—and ferries for island commuters and ones for tourists, too. Overlooking the blue, blue Mediterranean, the hillsides surround on three sides and are crowded with terra cotta-roofed, ancient buildings, clad in aged and sun-bleached white stucco. The harbor is lined with cafes and restaurants and we walk along, reading menus, and contemplating lunch. My plan was bouillabaisse, but we quickly realize that every tourist wants to try the bouillabaisse, and the restaurateurs have the upper hand. None is on offer for less than 38€, and because my tolerance for any form of fish or seafood is low, the plan is revised…
We walk nearly around the harbor, through the Christmas markets, and up and down a few streets above the harbor. We decide that lunch can be light as we have a celebratory dinner planned for tonight. We opt for pannini’s at a Lina’s and find it a comfortable place to eat, relax, and reminisce.
After lunch we head for the Cathedral of Notre Dame, climbing and winding through the old streets and the questionable neighborhoods where buildings and retaining walls are graffiti-covered. Just at dusk, we take a different street to walk down to Vieux Port, where we find the winds have picked up--a Mistral has kicked in just as the sun has gone down. It's the “magic hour” and the harbor is awash in soft, receding sunlight which bounces off the water and reflects back against the aged buildings. It's magical.
Our legs are tired and we are ready to leave this labyrinth. The GPS saves our bacon, efficiently directing us out of the old city and toward the airport. Maggie shines as she leads us to a hotel. As we enter the carpark, an airline captain climbs out of his car and heads toward reception. CA and SN1 strike up a conversation and James vouches for this hotel--the rooms turn out to be basic and dorm-like with another small utilitarian bathroom where you have to choreograph your movements just so, whether using the facilities or the shower. James, the pilot, also suggests a restaurant across the street where we can have our last dinner together. We spot him as we enter the restaurant and visit a bit. Later he offers to interpret the menu for us and then sends us a bottle of the house red wine. A very nice man—from South Africa, The Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and also the U.S. There are surely stories there to tell…
Dinner is familiar French food--entrecote [grilled steak], roast chicken, boudin blanc w/ carmelized pear and fois gras, and grilled bacon-wrapped shrimp. Although this is a chain restaurant, the food is good and we end our week together on a celebratory note.
Tomorrow there will be new adventures.
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