The Gauche Guide to Marseille
It's this summer's Shangri La: the Naples of France. In other words, going there now would make you incredibly basic. But, Will and Davina ask, who am we to judge?
The great modern poet, Nelly Furtado, once said all good things come to an end. I believe she was talking about a relationship, but she could just as easily have been talking about Mykonos, Capri or indeed Marseille. Wait, Marseille? Yes, Marseille. I’m calling it right here and now. It’s over. C’est fini.
No sooner than it had started, mind. All it took was a couple of clever clogs to realise Marseille is not, in fact, just an airport to which one flies en route to St Tropez when flights to Nice are too expensive. Before you knew it, every brat girly under the summer sun was squealing, ‘oh em geeeee! Marseille’s the place to beeee’; promptly booking their tickets for summer ‘24; and going. (Davina Thomas, ed and resident clever clog: “I went last year.”)
Disclaimer: I too am a brat girly. I too was tempted by the pilgrimage to the 13000. I saw who was going – chefs, artists, my editor’s daughter – and realised: this is it. It makes perfect sense, too. Marseille feels very now. It’s gritty, warm and sleazy; rough, raggedy and beautiful. The hues are orange, violet and pink. The wine flows à volonté. It’s the Naples of France, a gateway to godlessness, with a smattering of lapsed Catholicism.
But that’s the thing about the present: blink and poof! it’s a thing of the past. Before you know it you’re talking about Marseille in one of those exceptionally complicated tenses only the French could make up. Passé, finito, done.
What will happen next? I imagine the more feckless members of the cool set will make Marseille their home. They will move there like some have to Deia, Mallorca and rile up the locals, to which they’ll respond, ‘Nonsense!’, ‘We’re boosting the economy!’, etc. It’s trustafarian colonialism at its finest. Next thing you know, AirMail will be opening a shop in Rue Saint-Ferréol.
Most of the cool set will return home to London/Paris/Milan and, as they always do, elect a new spot in the Med to yassify next year – Patmos and Elba are high contenders, though perhaps already come and gone; I reckon the best bet is Kotor in Montenegro. As for Marseille, a new crowd will appear: slightly less cool, less finger-on-the-pulse, though perhaps more moneyed; the wealthy and the influenced. Until it just becomes too gauche, like Mykonos, and the exodus begins, as it has from the Greek island – to places further afield like Bodrum.
At the time of writing, flights to Marseille for the August bank holiday cost just south of £500 from Heathrow (British Airways) and just south of £400 from Stansted (RyanAir). You could, of course, book for next summer instead, and enjoy the sort of deal you’d only get from advance planning. But come 2025, there’ll be none of the magic or the clout. Marseille has been this summer’s Shangri-La. If you still insist on going, behold: our guide to la ville la plus dangereuse de France. Xoxo
TO DINE
Sepia
Work up an appetite with a steep climb up through the picturesque Parc Pierre Puget, and sit down to an equally grammable meal. Ever wanted to learn French for ‘our menu concept?’
Restaurant La Baie des Singes
Just seen a story of friends dancing on tables at Club55 and felt a pang of the green eyed monster? Take a pretty long train east (debatable if still qualifies for this guide) for the freshest seafood, white tablecloths and a private beach. And breathe.
La Mercerie
Maybe one of the best meals you’ll ever have, with all the home (if home is Clapton) comforts; tasting menus, fit waiters and unfinished interiors.
TO WINE
CopperBay
When In Marseille you can’t not try pastis, no matter how ambivalent you may be. At least in this place they’ll dress it up with a herbal syrup of sorts. It’s online listing promises mood lighting - what mood you might leave in depends on your budget.
Livingston
With its neon lighting and rough-and-ready exteriors, you may be delighted to finally find yourself in the seedy criminal hot-bed your mother imagined when you mentioned this trip. Livingston’s biodynamic wine list should disavow you of this notion pretty quickly.
Cafe de L’Abbaye
Qui veut du campari? Moi s’il-vous-plaît. A gem of a bar just off the Vieux Port and a stone’s throw from the Citadelle, although you do have to cross the world’s most perilous roundabout to get there. But, you know, details. First come first serve so get there early.
TO TAN
Plage du Prado
If you like an atmosphere of quiet desolation and a proximity to motorways, Marseille’s longest beach is pure white sand and a lot of time with your own thoughts.
Plage des Catalans
Copacabana by way of La Haine, on a diminutive scale. Absolutely perfect blue waters, tightly packed bronzed bodies, expressive graffiti and blaring reggaeton.
Les Calanques
The lyrics to Everything Is Romantic might as well have been written about these incredibly picturesque creeks just outside town. The sort of people who go to London Fields Lido go here.
TO SEE
Unité d'Habitation
What do you feel when you hear the words; a landmark icon of brutalist architecture? If you’ve ever whistfully whined about a building’s period charm, Le Corbusier’s masterful housing blocks in the Marseillan suburbs won’t be for you. But, for those with Barbican flats on their vision boards, go and ogle away.
Château d'If
A short trip for magnificent views of the city (everything looks better from afar), this 16th century castle and former prison was the setting for the Count of Monte Cristo. Whether you’ll care does depend on your literary nous. And that’s a big If.
Le Cours Julien
C’est Camdén! Or as the highest rated Google review would put it; ‘a little edgy but worth the visit’.
Words: Will Hosie & Davina Thomas
Guide: Davina Thomas, Sveva Guedroitz, Mojola Akinyemi