LAB REPORT: MARSEILLES

Approach with trepidation.

Marseilles seems proud of its bad-boy image. As a sailor’s city, the Old Port’s promenade is awash with fresh blue paint and a salty breeze. Its reputation is formidable, its spirit rebellious. Above all, Marseilles is a city to be heard. France’s national anthem is even called the Marseillaise. Waves of change have crashed onto this harbour since 600BC, bringing all the colour, chaos and spice that characterizes France’s second city.

Marseilles remains a city for work and for action. It may find itself on the shores of the Med, but a drive along the ringroads demonstrates ash-grey skyscrapers and cranes jutting out from each wayward suburb like spines from a sea urchin. There’s no frolicking on the beach here. No massive yachts. No St Tropez.

That’s the first impression, anyway. Strolling along Quai des Belges in the Old Port, a different view springs to mind. OK, so boisterous stalls sell T-shirts that scream “we are not french, we are marseillaise!” And yes, the hotel receptionist issues fraught warnings about walking home after dark. But beneath the swagger, Marseille houses a secret that the locals just can’t bring themselves to admit.

It’s beautiful. As an industrial port, poetically so.

Following the Quai de Rive Neuve away from the city centre allows glimpses into sandy enclaves, with lapping, green-glass seas. Zesty, independent hotels surround the docks, with swimming pools and seagulls perched on their rooftops. Beyond the rocks, the crashing surf focuses your eyes on the notorious island of Château d’If, where Alexandre Dumas imprisoned the Count of Monte Cristo in his psychological thriller of the same name.

A lazy climb to the Pharo gardens shows a leaf-framed view of the harbour, including the sandy-soft Fort St-Jean and elegant Cathédral de la Major. The statue of a desperate sailor stretches over the citizens of Marseilles as they relax, read and chat with friends in the park.

Back in the city, the streets throb as markets hustle up oysters, Moroccan tagines and rubber shoes, fenced in by flamboyant graffitti-splashed walls.

Even Bouillabaisse - the local seafood stew, thrown together from onions, white wine and tomatoes, fennel and saffron – sparks arguments over whether adding crab to the pot betrays the background of this traditional sailor’s supper.

Whatever your opinion, be sure to have one and proclaim it with vigour. This is Marseilles – and it has a reputation to live up to. Alright?