Marseille

Abandoning my mother's invitation for the weekend, I raced to the southeast of France in an iron train.

More than four hours just to meet the beautiful woman who gave birth to my mother. I think I inherited that beauty from her.

The smell of sand has begun to waft from the final station of my destination. All the way Canebière I passed smelled of the past.

Omma ( Grandma ) took me on the " Petit train de Marseille " train for the first time five or six years ago.

In the past she was the descendant of a wealthy merchant in the Port who sold goods from Immigrants. Marseille in the past was famous for being very crowded and chaotic.

Now this woman who is more than 70 years old can only push her feet on a sewing machine that is almost the same age.

I arrived at my aunt's house. Slightly surprised a tall, middle-aged woman with a curvaceous body approached me.

" Avec qui es-tu venu ? Tu aurais dû me le dire avant "

( Who did you come with ? You should have told me first )

I just smirked and confused.

My grandma hasn't even had breakfast yet even though it's already past noon.

" Hi Madeline, go get something to eat " my grandmother told her.

My grandfather died even before I was born into this world. The old woman I was massaging her feet repeatedly told the story of the two's struggles in youth whenever relatives visited her. Even though it's boring he loves me very much. Especially since Aunt Madeline and Patrick had no children.

A few moments later, this woman whose name I spoke of, has returned and served me my favorite dish " Bouillabaisse " . Typical spiced seafood soup with Mediterranean fish introduced by the Maghreb. A plate of kebabs also accompanies.

As usual my aunt gave me pocket money after a long absence. Family tradition. I still accept it at my age. Shame is nothing compared to hunger.

The second day, Patrick took me to his place of work. Only 20 minutes from La Canebière I was able to tour the historic area called QUARTIERS NORD ( Rue Sainte-Victorine, Marseille).

L'Art De Vivre where he worked allowed some of his colleagues' relatives to visit his office to expand his connections.

I could walk around the theater company or walk the Comptoir.

Half a day I explored the world of accessories, I didn't feel I was sitting in a small cafe sipping soda cans in the Belle de Mai Hangar area.

Instantly a group of men in black jackets appeared at the opposite cafe and clouded my vision.

My eyes fell on a man who was like the leader among them. About under 180 cm in height, his skin is brownish yellow to match the color of his eyes. His athletic body tends to be thin, his hands look strong which implies his heavy work. His eyes were sharp, but there was sadness in them.

I don't know why he looks so sexy to me. This is the first time the definition of a sexy man comes to mind. The six-pack-bellied man on display everywhere doesn't even appeal to me. My eyes keep stealing glances at his figure. Several times he even caught me doing it.