Between the upcoming Olympics and an impending Mistral, every marina in Marseille was full. We snagged a slip in the nearby port of Frioul, a popular tourist destination because it’s only a 20-minute ferry ride away. Docked in what we call the fishbowl on the main promenade, we took in the local vibe as a steady stream of flummoxed passersby spied first the US flag, and then the cat onboard. We engaged in conversations about crossing the Atlantic and the life of a cat at sea, until my French vocabulary topped out.

Around 8pm, the temperature dropped from singe so we rallied for our first anise pastis aperitif, followed by the Provençal version of mussels bathed in tomatoes and garlic…with a side of pomme frites, of course. We collapsed into bed under a full moon and ac in our cabin—a benefit to marina power.

Thankful for cooler morning temperatures, we collected our shopping bags and caught the 8am ferry into the Vieux Port of Marseille. Our rooftop seats gave us our first view of the Basilica of Notre-Dame-de la Garde perched high above the city, the eclectic styles of the Cathédral La Major and Musée des Civilisations de l’Europe et de la Méditerranée near the waterfront, and thousands of marina boats flanking the ferry channel.

We marveled at Norman Foster’s 2013 enormous reflective stainless-steel pavilion, which provides great shade and an artistic view of everyone underneath, and then started our shopping journey. The Sunday open market was a delight to stroll through and we ogled over skewers of rotisserie chicken, giant round pans of paella, over-sized loaves of bread, produce, sausages, and of course, fresh fish in this seaside port.

Two hours later and shopping bags full, we were on the ferry back to the marina. We unloaded our groceries just as the wind picked up. Line after line of thunderstorms and 35k winds passed over us. We loved the free boat wash that, for once, actually cleaned the boat instead of leaving a pile of red mud. We returned to Marseille via ferry for a culinary extravaganza at La Caille—the tomato, peach, hazelnut, and burrata salad was my favorite. The evening highlight, however, was simply strolling through the Marché Noailles neighborhood, where pallets of inventory and overflowing garbage bins just added color to this melting pot of ethnic markets and food stands. Generations of bold graffiti and street art covered every building, updated occasionally with a fresh coat of paint to mark the front door of a business or to announce the debut of a new artist.

Invariably when we’re on land, some kind of boat errand is required—today it was to repair the leaking port engine water pump. It was also a jour de transport, starting with the early morning ferry to Marseille, whose inbound trip, we discovered, carries crates of mussels and oversized paper bags filled with baguettes—all destined for Frioul’s restaurants and single market. Once we arrived in Marseille, we ubered to the marine repair shop in the Pointe Rouge suburb. The Volvo engine rep was a delight and even though my sailing vocabulary definitely demands Google Translate, I enjoyed the French banter and showing off photos of each other’s grandchildren. A second uber took us to the top of the Basilica, with its 40-foot copper-gilded statue of the Madonna and Child on top and inside a sanctuary decorated with photos from grateful sailors who survived shipwrecks by following the church’s light.

Steep paths led us down through hidden neighborhoods, where we landed at Pétrin Couchette. I gobbled down the best egg salad sandwich on wicked good bread—wish they could take me on as an apprentice in their kitchen.😁  Maison Empereur kept me thoroughly entertained, and fortunately had a lovely tea café for the captain. Touted as an old-fashioned hardware store, I explored endless rooms of kitchen supplies, soaps, toys, and yes, hardware. By this time, the captain was anxious to be reunited with his boat part so we boarded the ferry to Pointe Rouge, picked up the precious part, then bussed back to Vieux Port to catch another ferry back to Frioul. I managed a 15-minute nap and a delicious cold shower before gussying up for dinner. Back on the ferry to Vieux Port and a transfer to bus #83 that took us along the waterfront to Chez Fonfon in the small, colorful port of Vallon des Auffes. We finally sampled the local chickpea panisse appetizer at a casual bar and then went indoors for an upscale dinner of bouillabaisse for the captain. Not like his mama used to make from the Joy of Cooking, but it was delicious and the perfect “starter” to profiteroles drenched in hot fudge. Back on bus #83 to return to Vieux Port, and the ferry back to Frioul. Told you it was a day of transportation.😳 Yawn.

Clearly, we needed a down day, so Tuesday we slept in, napped, and mustered just enough energy to knock out a load of laundry at the marina. We happily ate our normal meal of grilled chicken on the boat, nearly smoking out the passersby. We finally got around to hiking this island that 400k+ annual visitors find so interesting. Fantastic views of little inlets and swimming holes, a distant view of the Chateau d’If (which we could never visit because of weather), and the entire zone interdit for the Olympic sailing events. Both Ratonneau and Pomègues islands are home to forts and bunkers used for quarantine since the 17th century all the way until WWII.

When the Olympics are in France at the same time as you are, you have to go…even if it’s a sport you don’t follow. Sailing events wouldn’t start for several days, so we became soccer fans and bought tickets for the first match of the Olympics—France vs the US. Having mastered the ferry and bus systems, we decided to give the Métro a try, following a stream of soccer jerseys when there was any doubt.

Marseille’s Stade Vélodrome was an impressive stadium and gave us an experience so different from the US—no glitzy souvenir stands, a limited food menu, and absolutely no alcohol. Ticketholders were confined to their own seating sections to prevent rowdy rival fans from getting out of hand during the Marseilles Bleux football season. It was strange to hear so much American English again—I couldn’t decide if I wanted to join or just silently blend in with the French crowds. I happily signed up for a French flag tattoo on my cheek but also felt an overwhelming sense of national pride as I sang along during the Star Spangled Banner. We waved our souvenir flags and cheered when the US played well and when the French scored. When the French were up 2-0, we decided to make an exit to beat the crowd and to make sure we made the last ferry back to Frioul…lest we end up sleeping on the streets of Marseille.

Some say it’s dirty, poor, congested, and dangerous; and of course, its weather often includes the evil Mistral, the cold northerly wind that complicates our Mediterranean sailing. On the other hand, it’s home to bouillabaisse and Savon de Marseille; and that evil wind creates the perfect viniculture for local rosé wines. We loved the gritty grandeur of Marseille and the unexpected bonus of attending an Olympic event. Time to move west!