“Back it up, Casanova”, I told him. He thought that was cute and blew me kisses as I picked up my pace.

I was disenchanted. Unimpressed. Hot. Tired. While aware that I had only, thus far, experienced a single part of this new destination, I couldn’t help but feel a rising disappointment.

Is this what the oldest city in France had become?

The rest of my day involved laying in the AC, participating in the outside world only through an open third-floor window. Between pages of a new book and glasses of wine, I returned to the same window to watch the world and observe life in Marseille from the safety of the indoors, trying to recalibrate and make sense of this new place.

At one point, I’ll be honest, I considered leaving. But then, I stayed. What did this place have to share? Surely, the road led me here to find out, not to run me back out as quickly as I had arrived.

The next day I ventured out again, with restored energy and espresso-fueled optimism, and made my way to a different part of town.

For hours I strolled through small artist shops and concept stores. I spoke to soap makers, tarot illustrators, and bought a photograph of a man walking solo on a curving road from a local photographer. How appropriate, I thought, to that moment in time - - - in my life, in my journey, in my travels.

I wandered through the alleys and the narrow streets. I took in the graffiti, the stickers, the street art. The art, a specific style I’ve yet to see again, continues to work its magic in my mental archive to this day, as it blends and mixes and rises to the surface, peeking out from time to time, as I work and consider it again.

The slow stroll in the afternoon warmth opened into something else, when suddenly it was interrupted by a sudden windy chill. With the corner I had just turned came a sudden rain cloud and windy spell that turned my easy wander into a mission to find cover.

Right in front of me stood a Congolese restaurant with a patio and colorful large umbrellas, offering respite from the raindrops that had already begun to fall. I sat. I breathed in relief - - - for a moment of sitting after hours of walking, for a dry seat and shelter from an unexpected shower.

I ordered fish ceviche and a glass of Bissap, a West-African tincture made from Hibiscus sabdariffa, a particular type of hibiscus (also known as roselle or sorrel) specifically cultivated for its edible, fleshy, tart red calyces rather than just decorative flowers, mixed with various blends of aromatics and spices like mint, ginger, orange blossom, star anise, vanilla, cloves, and cinnamon.

I savored the tart and refreshing drink to its end, ordered another, and had drunk my way half through when a wind gust so intense sent one of the cheerfully colored umbrellas crashing into the table next to me. What felt like a passing shower had turned into something demanding we head indoors.

Once inside, the group of patio strangers now turned dining room huddlers, began to chat. We drank our drinks and watched those unlucky enough to get caught in mother nature’s change of temperament with empathy but no regret.  They scurried past the doors, holding bags and newspapers and jackets overhead, half running, half dancing on tip toes like characters in a Golden Age cinematic dance number.

I watched the rain turn the stone street into a shade I’ve never seen before and felt the Bissap mingle with the moment as it floated down through my body, pit-stopped at my heart, and radiated outwards with a buzzy warmth. The west African music, turned on and up by the owners, added another layer of momentary magic. I thought about how we - - - this group of absolute strangers assembled in this moment in space and in time by a twist of nature, by proximity and circumstance - - - were the only ones in the entire world that got to add this experience to our individual stories. I wondered if it would register as a story to tell later to anyone other than me.

Once the rain stopped, we said our goodbyes - - - some literally to each-other, others of us figuratively to the moment - - - and ventured back out toward whatever was next.

I headed downward from Le Panier, strolled back past the artisan shops and a fluffy white dog named Claus I had said hello to earlier, and past the Intercontinental, towering above like a monument to be admired. I kept going, through the obligatory “shopping center” in the middle of town, past Hermes and Sephora, Vuitton and McDonalds.