Marseille

Fish is sold on one quay each morning straight off the boats, and the stalls are packed up before midday. A thin mirrored canopy stands over the square, and under it people appear upside down. A small ferry crosses between both sides in a few minutes.

It holds the highest hill in the city, so the gilded Virgin shows from anywhere. Model ships slung under the ceiling and wall paintings were left by people who came back alive from the sea. The walk up is thirty steep minutes, so the bus is better.

A box wrapped in a concrete lattice, tied by footbridges to the old fort beside it. The fort courtyards and the roof walk need no ticket; only the galleries charge admission. It is shut on Tuesdays, so Tuesday here goes to something else.

Narrow inlets fill every split in the limestone, water clear to the floor. From June to September fire risk sets each sector's access, settled by the previous day. A red day shuts the massif. Sugiton wants a booking in the summer peak, and it costs nothing.

A rock-island prison fifteen minutes offshore from the old port, where the novel won a cell for a prisoner who never lived. In winter Mondays are shut, and rough water can keep the boat in. Almost no shade exists out there, so land with a hat.

The oldest quarter clings to the hill behind the port, its lanes so narrow that a car can barely get in. Walls are painted over and over, so the same alley looks different a few months later.

The building marks the end of the channel that brought mountain water into the city. A stepped fountain sits in the middle with a gallery and a natural history museum reaching out on both sides.

The road follows the sea, often heavy with traffic, a very long bench facing the water. Halfway along, Vallon des Auffes is a harbour for a handful of boats. In summer children jump from the bridge, though rocks lie beneath and copying them is unwise.

The same boat that calls at the island prison carries on to these white rock islands, treeless and glaring. The sea is clear but the shore is stones and rock, so shoes stay on in the water.

A tobacco factory turned over entirely to studios and stages, with a wide open roof. By day the roof carries a sports pitch and vegetable beds; at night the same space takes the shows.

Above the Joliette docks rises this cathedral of the late 19th century, its green marble and pale stone laid in alternating bands. A row of Byzantine domes faces the sea. Entry is free of charge; the MuCEM is 5 minutes away on foot.

Le Corbusier's concrete block of flats, finished in 1952, with an interior street of shops and a hotel set on its middle floors. Residents still live here, so only certain parts are open to visitors. The hotel rooms keep the original layout.

An abbey standing like a fortress atop the rocky spur south of the Old Port, on a site first built in the 5th century. Down in the crypts, early Christian sarcophagi lie in the gloom. Thick walls keep the church above cool even in midsummer.

A fishing port 40 minutes' drive east of Marseille, whose harbour boats tour the calanques. To the east above the port, the cliff of Cap Canaille rises red straight from the sea. The station is 3 kilometres from the harbour, linked by bus.

The old capital of Provence, reached from Marseille by coach in 30-odd minutes, where fountains line the plane-shaded Cours Mirabeau. One of them, furred with moss, runs with warm spring water. Cezanne's last studio survives on the hill to the north.

Digging for a shopping centre in the 1960s uncovered the Greek harbour quays, now kept as a garden. The museum beside it shows the timbers of ancient wooden ships raised from the same ground. The entrance, through the mall, is easy to miss.

A square and its side streets up on the slope above Noailles, walls, steps and shutters smothered in graffiti. Record shops, vintage clothing and small music venues ring the square. Climb the stairs up from Noailles metro and you are there.

An old fishing village out past the northern docks, where Cezanne and Braque came to paint its red roofs and sea. Signboards with copies of the paintings stand where each was made, forming a walking trail. In summer a boat runs from the Old Port to L'Estaque.

A wide man-made beach park built in the 1970s on soil and rock dug out for the metro. Its broad lawns get more use for picnics and evening walks than for swimming. A marble copy of Michelangelo's David stands at the roundabout by the entrance.