Location; Aix‑en‑Provence, Bouches-du-Rhône, Alpes-Côte d'Azur, France
Summary: A cancelled excursion turned into a shuttle trip to Aix‑en‑Provence, where familiar streets unexpectedly brought back memories of my mum. The day included frustrations with guides, overpriced cafés, and a stubborn bottle cap, but ended with good company, cocktails, and a late night on board the Costa Diadema.
Waking in Marseille
Today, I woke up in the port of Marseille, ready for my visit to Aix‑en‑Provence. My morning began with a disappointing shower; the water pressure was so weak that I couldn’t even stand under it. I had to hold the shower head away from the wall just to use it. After that, I went to the buffet breakfast and settled for a cheese and ham omelette, some shrivelled American‑style bacon, and tasteless melon. I then headed to the atrium bar for a coffee, stopping on the way to complain to the English host about the shower. She promised someone would fix it as soon as possible.
The night before, I had found a note on my bed informing me that my scenic tour of Aix‑en‑Provence had been cancelled. So after my coffee, I went to the MyTours desk. They offered me a simple shuttle bus trip instead, just transport there and back, with two guides who would point out a few things before giving us two hours of free time. At around 13:45, I boarded the bus, only to wait until 14:20 for latecomers. It was supposed to leave at 14:00, and I grew increasingly fed up as we sat there waiting.
Bus Trip to Aix‑en‑Provence
The drive itself was pleasant, with lovely countryside to look at. When we arrived, the coach dropped us off, and the two guides led us on a very roundabout walk to a square we seemed to circle before finally reaching. The only thing the guide pointed out was the tourist office. He then announced he would stay exactly there in case we needed anything while he went for a coffee.
The group dispersed, and I walked to the tourist office. It looked familiar, though I couldn’t place why. Unfortunately, they had no maps, only bus tours and souvenirs. Relying on Google Maps, I set off to explore on my own.
Parts of the town centre were roped off after an Ironman competition ended there, making navigation trickier. With only a couple of hours of free time, I wandered as best I could. Then I came across a restaurant that felt familiar. Slowly, memories surfaced: I had eaten there with my mum on a previous visit. As I continued walking, more places clicked into place. I realised I had stayed overnight in Aix‑en‑Provence years ago on the journey through Spain and France back to my mum’s home in the UK. I even found the hotel we had stayed in and the car park opposite where I had left the car overnight.
The visit would have been unremarkable if not for the memories it stirred: my mum, that journey, the two of us exploring together. Much like today, I remembered the prices being high and the weather not particularly good.
I wanted to stop for a drink, but I refused to pay €8 for a coffee. Eventually, I bought a bottle of lemon ginger beer from a health food shop. When I sat down at the meeting point, I discovered it wasn’t a twist‑off cap, and I had no way to open it. Into the suitcase it would go, destined for Los Alcázares.
People from the coach gathered slowly, all looking for the guide who had promised not to move from his spot, yet was nowhere to be seen. Ironically, the last people back were the two guides themselves. We retraced the same circuitous route to the coach and returned to Marseille. The trip was worthwhile only because of the memories of my mum; otherwise, it was a waste of money.
Return to the Costa Diadema
Back on board, I enjoyed a proper shower, the water pressure had been fixed, and then had a beer before heading to the Fiorentino restaurant for dinner. Yesterday, I had eaten alone at a table for six, but today a lady from Albir near Benidorm, named Gail, asked if she could join me. She turned out to be excellent company. She told me about another lady she had met, Val, whom she was meeting later, and invited me along.
For dinner, I had onion soup, sea bass stuffed with seafood and served with zucchini, and a piece of fudge chocolate cake. The soup was okay, the bass was okay, and the cake was okay, but it certainly wasn’t fudge chocolate cake.
After dinner, Gail and I went to the Teadora lounge bar to meet Val. We chatted over cocktails while listening to the music before heading to the Emerald Theatre for the evening show: Christi Nistor. The show was advertised as energetic and vibrant. Gail and Val seemed to enjoy it, but it wasn’t to my taste. The cramped seating on the 5th floor, with a slightly obscured view, didn’t help.
When the show ended, we went to the Country Rock bar to catch the end of the band’s set. They were quite good. Gail got up to dance, while Val and I chatted. Incredibly, we discovered we had a mutual acquaintance, the sister of friends of mine in England, who runs a bar near Val’s bar in Spain. The old “six degrees of separation” saying proved true.
When the band finished, we returned to the Teadora lounge for more cocktails. Gail danced while Val and I listened to the music. Later, we moved on to the Orlav Grand bar for yet more cocktails and music. In the early hours, Gail headed to bed, but Val persuaded me to stay for a couple more drinks before I finally retired, leaving her chatting with the cocktail waiter.
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