marseille’s sweaty art traps and why you should never trust a street vendor

woke up to a sun that felt like it was trying to hypnotize me. i checked my phone-33.79 degrees, feels like 36.69 because nothing’sAC here. humidity’s at 46% which is either a blessing or a chemical weapon depending on your hydration level.

aroud, the streets are a canvas. no, not like some pretentious mural project. this is the kind of art where a homeless guy named julien glued a bottle cap to a pigeon and called it ’abstract minimalism.’ i saw it last night hung from a bridge. my roommate told me, ’that’s not art, that’s a security hazard.’ but then i saw his sneakers-painted entirely in lumpy gold paint, like he’d dipped them in a suspect’s wallet. it’s surreal. you know? something about the heat making everything feel like a fever dream.

last week, i heard from a guy at a hostel (overheard while he was aggressively microwaving a sandwich) that the old port’s kafés are Team Undercover Spy. like, real spy. he said one of ’em serves espresso that’s actually laced with… something. i don’t know. maybe just really strong espresso. i haven’t tried it. probably 不 worth.

if you get bored, the alps are just a cursive 2-hour drive. don’t follow me. literally. i once followed a man in a neon tank top who kept changing directions and ended up at a bakery. turned out he was on a spiritual quest. or maybe just looking for a nap. who knows.

someone told me that if you wander far enough west, you’ll find a hidden beach where the water’s allegedly radioactive. my scientist friend says it’s a myth. my conspiracy theorist friend insists it’s real. asked him for proof. he just handed me a lukewarm soda and said, ’trust the vibe, dude.’ vibes are 36.69 here.

now about the weather again-this heat’s making the city breathe. i saw a street performer juggling dramatic sighs instead of balls. she was wearing sunglasses indoors because her hair was done up in a tight braid. it was… something. went to a yarn shop to escape. the owner was weaving a tapestry of local gossip. asked her about the weather. she said, ’it’s like the sun’s trying to melt the city’s soul.’ i thought she was quoting a poem until i saw her stare at my sandals and go, ’you’ve got sand in your toes. that’s not normal.’

i followed a map-it was terrible-and ended up at a tapas bar where the owner claimed she only served food that matched the weather. since it was 33.79, all dishes had to be ’melty.’ got a figinese that was basically a fruit smoothie with a side of existential dread. tasted like it was prepared by someone who cried in a soup pot.

speaking of secrets, i heard that the neighborhoods here have a reputation for ghosts. not like creepy, wandering spirits. more like… local legends. one guy said his neighbor’s dog died and now the dog’s ghost rides his bike at dawn. i asked him how to find them. he said, ’ask the street cleaners. they’re the only ones who haven’t been distracted by the heat.’

for real though, if you’re here, check out the street art via tripadvisor. it’s a survival guide. also, yelp reviews warn that the cafés might ‘temporarily transform into art supply stores during heatwaves.’ not sure if that’s literal or a metaphor for the existential crisis you’ll feel after three pastries.

oh, and the neighbors. they’re loud. not in a festive way. like, early morning karaoke sessions at 6am. one family plays jug band music with a trash can as a percussion instrument. i heard it outside my window and immediately judged their life choices. but then i saw their dog-a chihuahua in a tiny fedora-dancing to it. so maybe they’re not all bad.

bottom line: come for the art, the heat, and the weirdness. leave before you melt. don’t trust the taps, trust the locals. and if you see a bottle cap pigeon, follow it. it might lead to something.

p.s. my shirt is still stuck to my back. but at least the heat makes the street art pop. literally.

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