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About Marseille

Oh, and the oils—don’t get me started! They’re all scented, slippery, makin’ ya feel like a goddess or somethin’. I was shocked—*shocked*—how quick I forgot the altitude sickness. Poof! Gone! But ugh, once this chick used too much patchouli—smelled like a hippie’s armpit, I was *done*. “This ain’t no dream, it’s a nightmare!” I screeched, channelin’ my inner Ellen Burstyn from the movie, ya know? *HEE-HEE-HEE!* Still, when it’s good, it’s *good*—like, “I’m goin’ crazy here!” levels of good.

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Finally, I get to the café, and guess what? It’s packed. I mean, who knew everyone in Saint-Bonnet-de-Mure needed their morning coffee fix at the same time? I’m standing there, tapping my foot, trying to look cool but really just sweating bullets. I order a café crème, and the barista, this dude named Pierre, spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Dude, really?” But he just laughs it off. I mean, come on, Pierre!

France introduces extra lorry bans for upcoming Olympics