If There's Another Universe Please Make Some Noise
Leaving Marseille, the true journey to paradise, and the newest OÍR mixtape
The train station was quiet, almost tranquil, because I arrived at 7:30 in the morning. The pigeons were barely awake. “That was so easy,” I say to Kyle. “It’s also not hot,” he responds. This was true. Time aside, the air was cool and there was no humidity lurking, an element that can drive people to chaotic choices. This kind of calm was a new sensation as I tend to take trains in the afternoons, usually when they’re at their busiest, with a goal of arriving at my destination just slightly after the universal 3pm check-in time. Budget coffee and croissants were quickly acquired and now I’m writing this aboard the RENFE train headed to Barcelona from Marseille.
Looking back, Marseille ended up being a lovely place to spend a holiday. It ticked a lot of boxes for me, namely: easy to explore, unique restaurants, interesting wine, art museums, frequent beach visits, and great architecture. I would also add just how friendly the Marseillais are. By the end of my stay I’d become a regular at the local coffee shop Bernie, they would tease me when I walked in, “A cold brew today?” knowing very well I order an americano glace. I crave expresso. Or Sarment, the little tapas and natural wine restaurant, that on some days had no seats or tables inside, the whole restaurant spilled out onto the sidewalk to enjoy the night air. Kyle and I visited probably four times in total, and on our last meal, I nearly hugged the woman who worked there as by that time, she seemed almost like a newly formed friend.
I highly recommend Marseille, especially if you’re looking for a more laid back version of Paris. I’ve put together a pretty thorough list in this Google Map if you’re curious what I found while staying there. Or, if you’re looking for more specific recommendations, feel free to me email — thefoxisblack@gmail.com
I’m listening to the new Early Hours mix by Jon Hopkins and watching the country roll by, thinking how crazy it is that a month has already passed and that I turned 42 somewhere in there. One night over dinner Kate jokingly asked, “Any pearls of wisdom now that you’re 42?” and at the time, nothing came to mind. But the question continued to rattle around my head… what I did learn in this last year?
In the last few months I’ve attempted to “live a life true to myself, not the life others expect of me.” This is a quote from the book The Top Five Regrets of Dying by Bonnie Ware, which I know, sounds a bit dramatic but I’m not being overlay serious. Even at my big boy age I still get that feeling of, “oh, I couldn’t do that” or “what will people think?” and what’s funny is, I truly know I’ve placed these limitations on myself. And I say this as a very self-confident person! Maybe it’s fear? Maybe it's lack of motivation? It’s a feeling I’m trying to be more aware of, so that when I start to doubt myself, I sit for a second and analyze why I have this trepidation. I guess what I’ve learned is to question why I do, or don’t do, things in my life, in order to enjoy a more rich and fulfilled version of myself. It still feels very “work in progress” and I’m hoping my writing about it acts as a sort of catalyst. Time will tell!
It’s early in the afternoon when I set off for the calanque, which is basically an inlet of water, coveted for the vibrant waters it contains, whose color resembles that Japanese word which means both blue and green. The map says it’s a 45 minute walk, though it’s more of a hike, as Cassis is a hilly town nestled into craggy limestone cliffs. Most of the journey is spent walking past holiday homes until I reach the base of a trail that arches over the rough hillside with the calanque lying on the other end.
At first glance it seems like any other hiking trail you’d experience in the redwoods of California or in the Pacific Northwest. But as I’m starting to ascend I notice how the stones and roots that creep between them are polished like marble, slick and shining in the sunlight. It quickly becomes apparent just how slippery the rocks are and that each step taken must be done with care. I’ve taken to saying the phrase “look down, not out” as a reminder to myself and this advice couldn’t be more accurate in the moment. I realize the trick is to step around the rocks, in the dirt and crevices between the smooth stones, where my footing is slightly more stable. Each stride becomes a carefully coordinated movement, I feel like Tom Cruise would be in awe of the grace of my steps.
Kyle and I slowly pass families along the route who are clearly unaware of the, let’s say, advanced nature of this trail. He and I are those people with toned legs and strong lungs that politely keep our distance behind you but would prefer if you please scoot to the side and get out of the way. There’s a small rest area with a very nice view not quite halfway up the hill, still far from the end of the trail, and there sits a German man with Matrix glasses and a bucket hat perched on a rock, cigarette in hand, puffing as he stares out at the small boats that cruise in and out of the bay. ”Good for him,” I think to myself, knowing that this man will be fighting demons on the way up. When I finally reach the summit, and then begin to descend, I see a gangly blond boy bounding up the path with a man shortly behind him carrying a toddler up the bolderous stairs. The toddler has a dull, expressionless look on their face while the poor father is struggling to catch his breath. “Ok stop… wait for me there…,” he huffs, the words like clouds of dust leaving his mouth. I feel dreadful watching him slowly trudge up the hill and I want to hurry and get past him because selfishly I’m afraid they’ll fall and I don’t want to witness such a thing.
Then I notice the din coming from the calanque, like a school field trip or the sound before a play begins. Sure enough, the beach is packed, like Dolores Park on a sunny day, like Cancun during spring break. “I should have known better,” I murmur to myself. The calanque is overrun with bros inflating rafts with squeaky pumps and parades of children collecting rocks and young women reading It Ends with Us though I’m able to find a spot easy enough but it’s far from the water’s edge.
Settled in, I’m looking from my place on my towel and I notice that the “beach” here has no sand whatsoever, only rock chunks that come in torturous octagonal and heptagonal shapes, all jagged and rough and hostile, and ironically, the opposite of the rocks on our path here. These are the things influencers don’t tell you when they travel. The nature itself is beautiful but the way here is hellish, and even once you’re there, more traps lie in wait. A woman is walking toward me from the water, wincing and whining with each step. She has downturned eyebrows, a constant furrowing, like the world in its entirety is a nuisance. She plops down on the towel next to us, holding her feet like a wounded soldier, offering an Oscar-worthy performance. Thankfully, her overly doting mother, father, and boyfriend are all prepped to nurse her wounds. I being to have a sinking feeling that my judgmental thoughts will karmically bite me in the ass when I take my turn to go into the water.
I get up and Kyle follows and we head toward the shore. The rocks are not as bad as I had imagined though every step is uncomfortable. The discomfort continues to the shoreline, and even into the water, and I realize that somehow thousands and thousands of tourists have still not made any impression on these rocks, nor worn them down in any helpful fashion. I dive into the water, all cold and crisp, a recurring feeling I’ve had in the Mediterranean, which again, none of the Influencers tell you about. I’ve set my mind to becoming okay with the frigid water temperature, to relax and embrace the numbing feeling. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, right? This calanque is set particularly deep into the cliffs so it’s possible to swim quite a ways until you reach the sea. As I paddle further, I feel like I’m somehow the star of some reality TV show as there are so many people perched nearby, watching from the rocky shoreline. Or perhaps I’m Charon navigating the river Styx, teems of lost souls watching remorsefully from the river’s edge.
Out of the water and back on my towel I take a moment to enjoy that feeling of being cooled by the water, and then baking in the sun. Sadly, this moment is short lived due to the clatter surrounding me. The newborn crying (“why would you bring them here?” I think to myself), the child behind me humming the tune of a Swedish kids song, and the ceaseless buzzing of cicadas all around me. I lean over to Kyle and whisper, “I think it’s time to go. Do you want to go to another beach?” He agrees wholeheartedly, and we pack up, making our way back up the arduous hill. On the way, a shirtless young man passes by and I notice a tattoo directly below his sternum that reads “UNIVERSE IS ON OUR SIDE” and I take it as a sign we’ll find the tranquility we’re looking for at the next beach.
Download the mixtape here →
As it’s the beginning of the month, I’m excited to share another new OÍR for your listening pleasure. This month I’m put together a mix that travels between hyperpop, guaracha, garage, and then more hyperpop. I was in a very high key mood this month and this is what the soundtrack in my brain sounded like. There’s a nice mix of familiar and new tracks, and even if you know some of these songs, I promise you haven’t heard them put together like this.
by my partner, Kyle Raymond Fitzpatrick, is a sharp and insightful look at all the things going on in the world, arriving every Sunday to your inbox. Highly recommended, obviously.
I’ve been reading TFIB since it was Kitsune Noir and blogs were new. I just popped here to say thanks for this post… I found it so evocative, and enjoyed getting to spend a bit of time, resting slowly with your thoughts.