“Marseille Is The World”
The city is a landing point for immigrants coming from former French colonies. Being so, it is one of the most diverse parts of the country. Laying just beyond the cusp of the French Riviera, Marseilles mixes the beautiful waters of the Côte de Azur with a city that has struggled with industry decline and high unemployment levels. These identities are reflected throughout the city in the people, architecture, and smell.
Arles is a funny little town.
The town that collectively threw out Vincent Van Gogh for being the crazy asshole he was, and now, because the amount of work he produced in his short stay, profits from his time here through post cards, a cringey restaurant, and art foundations.
That said, there is a legitimately heavy focus on the arts. One of the world’s largest photography festivals covers the town, somewhat literally, for a good chunk of the late summer. Pieces are displayed in every available space from abandoned mills on the outskirts to the winding walls of the old city, where mountings from past exhibitions still exist.
The Luma Foundation recently put its mark on the city with a new Gehry building that rises contrast to the Mediterranean architecture. Small galleries dot the area between the Roman ruins and the Rhône. While leftist graffiti garnish alleyways that end up at a Romanesque church which holds the bones of saints.
It’s a funny town.
Castles, cheese, and cuisine.
Grey stone, green moss, and gold ornaments
Old wealth is just a layer that the modern Northern France is built on. A history steeped in rule and braced for cold weather. The money poured into the monuments of each city be it churches, walls, or clock is astounding
The cities have seen their heydays as far as massive works and expansion as the centralized wealth has been partially democratized and flipped into a tourist industry.
It’s pretty.
Mont Saint-Michel is an island off the Normandy coast in northwestern France famous for the tide which pulls itself around its walls, completely sealing it off from the mainland. Due to this unique attribute, the area was never captured by enemies during various wars.
But now, the city within is continuously bombarded with an arguably worse uniformed drove, school children on day trips. The narrow cobble stone streets packed elbow to elbow with matching jumpers bearing school insignia. The slow inclined march towards the abbey filled with those inclined to make fart jokes to test the patience of tourists.
But much like the famous tide the island is know for, eventually the children are pulled away and the area is much more discoverable. Once the water recedes, the unique features of sand and rock are brought to the forefront and allows the area to truly be seen. The snails that hang out on stalks while the water is away, the patterns of the sand when it dries, and the now useless floating warnings telling visitors of the dangers of swimming.
Long hallways and grand rooms with giant windows that are covered by thick curtains. The windows are often covered, casting the opulent interiors into the shadows. As the revolution cast the ruling class who needed these ornaments into a lesser existence.
The gardens as well, which stretch for miles, are covered in such lush arrangements of trees that the mid-day sun could be turned into a minor inconvenience. It’s as if having this amount of solitude and control over your environment can warp your view of the people living around and under you.
Fountains and gardens once only enjoyed by a few are now open parks, traversed by anyone and everyone that can make it to its gates. Being to able walk the grounds with a bottle of wine and watching tourists taking pictures of the rowing teams practicing in the Grand Canal seems like the biggest ‘fuck you’ the people of France could ever deliver to the former monarchy.
A ‘fuck you’ that is subject to park hours, however.
Basically: A bunch of rich dudes got 86’d and now there’s a park.
