Frioul

Well, now we know what a Mistral is!  There is bright sunshine and the air is almost halucinogenically clear – in the middle distance I can see the towers of the Chateau D’If, where Dumas’ Count of Monte Christo was imprisoned, standing on its own island not far from the entrance to the Old Port of Marseilles.  The wind is screaming at us from the North West, blowing down the Rhone Valley at gale force or more.  The sea is dark blue with foaming white horses racing across it and the air is full of salt spray.  Standing in the cockpit it is difficult to keep my balance as “La Fulica” vibrates and bucks against the seas, her rigging moaning with the force of the wind.

Fortunately, we’re in a marina, so the feeling of man fighting the elements is more imagined than real.  And what an odd marina it is – Port du Frioul, six hundred yacht berths sandwiched between two rocky islands a couple of miles from the centre of Marseilles. Essentially it’s the Marseilles’ Old Port overspill marina and there is nothing here except a small grocery store, four or five cafes, some old Napoleonic fortifications and a castle-like isolation hospital where presumably sickly crew were left to die before their ships went into Marseilles.  The Old Port has over 3,000 yacht berths and is right at the heart of the City, so every yottie heads there first knowing that there are only ten or twenty visitor’s berths and that they will almost certainly be told to go to Frioul – a kind of exile for the not so rich and not so chic.  When we arrived in the Old Port on “La Fulica” I tried charm and when that failed I begged, to no effect – “If you want to stay in Marseilles then its Frioul for you my lad, or otherwise you can bugger off.”

So here we are.

One of the lessons we have yet to learn is that if we want to continue sailing out of season we are going to have to let the weather forecasts decide how long we stay in particular ports and anchorages.  Wanting to visit Marseilles and to explore Frioul we paid for three days in the marina, only to find that two of these had really good sailing weather and that by the third day the Mistral was looming, so that on our fourth day it had set in and nobody was going anywhere.  Now we’re stuck here until it blows out, maybe after five days.  We’ve been into Marseilles twice and a fantastic place it is.  There are hourly ferries from Frioul, though only until 6.30pm sadly, after which time you have to pay an arm and a leg for a water taxi.  The ferry arrives in the middle of the Old Port, which is itself in the City Centre.  Immediately you are hit by the smell of fresh fish being sold on the quayside and by the buzz of a vibrant City.  We wandered the streets and shops taking in the sites, sounds and smells of the place and trying out the inevitable Bouillabaisse – a fish stew which has the air of a “manufactured” local delicacy, not necessarily eaten by anyone other than tourists.

Although Frioul is looked down upon by many yotties as the place for people who failed to get a berth in the Old Port, it too has its own fascination.  There are two islands covered in rock and scrub with lots of bays, inlets, the odd sandy beach and Napoleonic fortifications scattered around the place.  The walking is great and we have had our first swim in the Med since Antibes in early September.  Even with the Mistral screaming around the place, when you find a sheltered spot the sun really burns.

All or most of Frioul seems to be owned by the State in one form or another, which can be the only reason why it has not blossomed with really up market marinas, artificial beaches and tourist development, given its Mediterranean weather and location right at the mouth of the Old Port.  Instead, there is a scruffy and I think corrupt municipal marina (when you pay you are never given a receipt and if you ask for one you are assured that all the details have been entered on the appropriate record card, stacked in a haphazard heap in the marina office), some tired social housing, a school activities centre and some cheap cafes.  There is currently a debate about the future of the islands and I’m sure there is a story here, the place has the smell of misplaced European Community funds, dodgy deals and local government corruption.  Maybe this is my preconception of Marseilles, but I guess I do have a nose for these things.

While waiting for the Mistral to stop we have been socialising with other English yotties in a similar position.  Chris (female by the way) and John on Sapphire have given up lying at anchor for the time being and have come into the marina.  They came round for supper the night before last and we’ve also been boat visiting with another traditional sailing boat from Guernsey, a tiny twenty-two footer which has been the home of Tara and Darcy for the last three years.  In their late twenties they decided to set off from Guernsey for the Med in May this year for the hell of it and seem to be enjoying every minute.

So, when the Mistral does stop, although at the moment it has become our way of life and shows no sigh of abating, where the hell do we go next?  Our plans are still fluid, you might say, although we currently have a general intention to coast-hop along the Cote d’Azure to Italy and then stop at some point when the weather gets too tedious and we like the look of somewhere and can afford the mooring fees.  But, like all our plans so far, I’m sure that will change, maybe.