I came for five days. Sun, sea, birthday, quick escape.
Ha.
Marseille doesn't do schedules. It does sunsets that make your hair glow like you planned it. Cliffs that look at you until you jump. Cafés where the laughter spills as freely as the rosé, and nobody's checking the time because the time is irrelevant. Streets that twist just enough to make you feel like you're discovering something, then twist again.
And the people. God, the people — friends who argue and flirt and drag you somewhere better than wherever you were going, locals who talk to you like they've known you for years and mean it.
By day three I knew. 1 week wasn't going to cover it.
So I watched my girls pile into their Ubers with their suitcases and their early trains and their very responsible Monday mornings, I waved, and I turned back around to face the sea.
More beach. More parties. More Marseillais who had absolutely no business being that charming.
Marseille doesn't let you leave — and somewhere between the third sunset and the second jump off a cliff I hadn't planned to jump off, I stopped wanting to.
C’est Marseille bébé!
I came for five days. Sun, sea, birthday, quick escape.
Ha.
Marseille doesn't do schedules. It does sunsets that make your hair glow like you planned it. Cliffs that look at you until you jump. Cafés where the laughter spills as freely as the rosé, and nobody's checking the time because the time is irrelevant. Streets that twist just enough to make you feel like you're discovering something, then twist again.
And the people. God, the people — friends who argue and flirt and drag you somewhere better than wherever you were going, locals who talk to you like they've known you for years and mean it.
By day three I knew. 1 week wasn't going to cover it.
So I watched my girls pile into their Ubers with their suitcases and their early trains and their very responsible Monday mornings, I waved, and I turned back around to face the sea.
More beach. More parties. More Marseillais who had absolutely no business being that charming.
Marseille doesn't let you leave — and somewhere between the third sunset and the second jump off a cliff I hadn't planned to jump off, I stopped wanting to.
C’est Marseille bébé!
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