No bread on Sundays

Heeello from not Marseilles (finally)
I figured, despite my joyous departure, I would finish the two part mini horror movie that was this buttwipe of a city (brought to you in part by tequila).
In last week’s episode we left a stranded Paige & Kailyn with the likes of two large rats & the hope for a city of surprise when they rolled out of their triple bolted fortress and into a world of pee-stained cement, screaming drunks & one too many piles of crap.
I know you’re dying to hear more of this tragic tale so I won’t waste any time..
On our only full day in Marseilles we decided to give it a chance and hit all of the big spots we had been researching with Pinterest pins & blogs galore (shoutout bloggers you the real mvps).
First and foremost was breakfast

[but if you remember, the French don’t eat real breakfast, unless you consider an ongoing of cigarette butts, cursing you under their breath and side-eye glares a balanced breakfast, because I think they do].

We wanted a bite before the Basilica, so we decided to wander around the streets near our bus stop for a croissant, piece of bread, old donut, really anything edible. 

Not only was there not a SINGLE bakery open, but no stores, no cafes, no naaaada. 

It was like everyone decided collectively that Sunday was not only God’s day, but also time for boulangerie to give rest…so there is no bread to be served. Sundays mean no bread. Or food. Or anything…except…well…McDonald’s. But I’ll get to that, unfortunately.
The only thing that was open was a small grocery with probably ten things total, one of which was a bag of 8 stale chocolate croissants for €1.60. 

So I was that girl the rest of the day…the one with a bag of mass-produced & smushed pain au chocolat in her purse. 

I still felt like a movie star in this town despite that detail.
Not only am I not going to describe whatsoever how long it took (and how many modes of transportation we encountered) to get to the Basilica, I’m going to attempt to forget, because I easily almost yacked on the rude & sweaty bus driver. 

(Although it would have been just chocolately?)
When we arrived, we couldn’t help but be awed by the beautiful stature and majesty.

Notre Dame de la Garde Basilica // moments before I was almost shoved down a flight of stairs by a tour group leader
I probably sound like an a** complaining about something this beautiful

Until we walked up two flights of stairs.

Only to find I’m pretty sure every single tourist that was in Marseilles that day. 

Every. Single. One. 

With selfie sticks…

I thought those things died.
Not even factoring in the sounds, smells, lack of personal space and annoyance I was experiencing, the thing that really soiled my knickers was the fact that we were standing in this ridiculously amazing church that was built in the TWELVE hundreds, and bitches were chatting it up. 
Loudly…and with gusto. 
[Okay so I know I’m no Patron Saint Pagina (and I’m still trying to figure out why I haven’t burst into flames in each cathedral we have been in), but come on]

It is like an unsaid thing that you stfu in a church.

God likes silence.

It’s friggen golden haven’t you heard.

Plus, honestly I don’t think that Jesus gives a flying eff about being on your instagram story, or want at all to hear about how Jacob will totally slide into your religious af dm’s

(yeah, these are the stunning conversations you overhear when these girls are the only ones speaking understandable english).
After I successfully spilled an entire can of Pelligrino in my purse, I stuffed the third stale croissant in my mouth and we were on our merry way.
Now this part of the day is my personal favorite.
As we walked down the massive hill headed to the main port, we took in every last stunning, aromatic and stupendous sight. Making the best of a bad situation, we laughed at the absurdity, decide we will make a new plan at lunch and take a few pictures so we never ever forget this place.
As these words come out of my mouth:
“Let’s just make the best of it, yeah it’s gross but this place isn’t so ba-”
A woman wearing a very hard-working tube top, with one shoe and carrying a bucket of what I believe to be fried food, walks past us and lets out the loudest belch I have ever heard a female human produce.
[So, not all of you know my brother, but this kid can really let them rip, so I am no stranger to the loud belching (that is why the burp wasn’t even the funniest part)]

It was simply the fact that we were trying to convince ourselves (aloud mind you) that Marseilles wasn’t as scummy and gross as we might think, and some lady with long toenails, various cliche tattoos and blue sunglasses arrives just in time to interrupt that thought with a sound rivaling only the boat horn as the titanic hit. 
We almost fell off the curb and into oncoming traffic because we were laughing so hard. It was at this point, as a smoking fruit stand owner, two homeless guys and the burping lady’s greasy friend stared at us with tears rolling down our faces, that we decided to press on, and remember every last little detail, because damn if this isn’t already a hell of an experience.
We reached the main square — Vieux Port — and despite it looking like the pictures when you were eyeing the boats directly, when you turned around, there was grime upon hell of a lot of grime.

To top it off, every restaurant seemed to be mistaken as to where they were located with insanely overpriced menu items and cover charges to match.
We ended up at McDonald’s.
Again, for those of you judging I will say this.


McDonald’s is nicer in Euro — you order on lifesize iPads and they have fancy menu items yada yada


Please see one again.


That’s all I’ve got, that place is foul but it was the only feasible, familiar and frankly, Marseilles-less place that we could find.
Not only was it fancy pants, but this particular nugget palooza had “zones”. What are zones you may ask? Apparently there are places in the “restaurant” (allegedly) that you specify when you are ordering on the giant touch screens so that a team member will bring you your food…
America is doing it wrooooong.

McDonald’s was good for some semblance of (cheap) food, but it was even better because we sat there for a few hours attempting to figure out what the next move was (aka how to get the hell out of this place) by using their wifi & sucking down our ice-less sodas.

Even this store had the sentiment down

And alas, we used every ounce of sanity, determination and motivation to bail to achieve a new plan: next stop, Avignon.

Can’t wait to hit the road and have it not hit back. And maybe see a place where there isn’t someone’s stomach contents on the sidewalk.
Keep it weird and keep it interesting my friends.


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