One of the best Christmas cribs, or what the French call crèches de Noël, in Marseilles can be found in my quartier right by the city’s old port. Every December crowds stream through the former abbey that bears the same name as our neighbourhood — St Victor, after a Christian martyr executed during Marseilles’ late Roman period — to see its magnificent crèche.
Provençal cribs are known for their santons, traditional clay figurines that have featured in local nativity tableaux since the 12th century. The best are said to come from Marseilles. This boisterous port city, France’s second largest metropolis and its oldest, is celebrated for its santon makers, or santonniers, whose wares are sold at Christmas markets across the country. At St Victor’s crèche the sprawling cast of santons — hand-painted in nearby ateliers — usually includes romanticised representations of characters from Marseilles’ past, with historical figures sharing space with fishermen, farmers, winemakers and artisans.
Last year I did a double take when I spotted one contemporary face among them. There was no mistaking his flowing blond hair, spectacles and white medical coat. Didier Raoult — the Marseilles microbiologist whose controversial championing of hydroxychloroquine (an antimalaria drug) as a treatment for Covid-19 caught the attention of Donald Trump — had been transformed into a santon. It was a measure of how much Raoult, who was then drawing the opprobrium of the French medical establishment, had become something of a folk hero for certain Marseillais who held him up as an example of the city’s rebel spirit.
It all feels rather different this year. Last month Raoult was sanctioned by a medical disciplinary council after he was accused of violating the medical code of ethics with his promotion of hydroxychloroquine. Many in Marseilles have already had their vaccine booster shot, but Covid cases are again on the rise in the wider region. Traders grumble that new rules making masks obligatory for visitors to the annual Christmas market will dent sales.
The pandemic had an eerie historical resonance in Marseilles last year, knocking the city sideways during the tercentenary of what locals call La Grande Peste, one of Europe’s last big outbreaks of bubonic plague. At its height it claimed a thousand lives a day. When it finally faded two years later, almost half of the city’s population had perished.
Advertisement
I live in one of Marseilles’ oldest quartiers and that grim history has long fascinated me. Several street names and statues in the city honour the dead of 1720. A stand at the home stadium of Olympique de Marseille, the city’s storied football team, is named after Chevalier Roze, a local hero during that time.
Yet Planète Mars — an affectionate nickname for the city — is also benefiting from the shifts brought about by pandemic-induced remote working. Many Parisians are swapping the capital for sunny Marseilles. They, along with a significant cohort of young Britons, are drawn by low rents, a Mediterranean lifestyle and the creative energy.
It’s a trend Provence Promotion, a local development agency that opened offices in the UK and the US last year, is keen to encourage. The city’s new residents, dubbed the neo-Marseillais, are also remaking its politics. Last year their votes helped a green-left alliance take over the city hall, after the previous mayor had remained in place for 25 years.
Some blame the more affluent newcomers for rising property prices and the gentrification of neighbourhoods including Noailles, where eight people died after dilapidated buildings collapsed in 2018. But other Marseillais are more worried about how the city may be affected by the reactionary turn in French politics as the country prepares for presidential elections next April.
Centuries of trade and migration have made Marseilles, once one of the most important ports in the world, one of France’s most diverse cities. After Paris it has the country’s second largest Muslim and Jewish populations. Challenges including unemployment and gang crime notwithstanding, there is a sense of coexistence that is missing from many other French cities. Perhaps that is why Eric Zemmour, the far-right presidential candidate, got such a frosty reception here during a campaign stop last month. Heckled throughout his visit, Zemmour was caught on camera sticking his middle finger up at a protester.
Advertisement
The far right has tried to make inroads in the city for years. In my neighbourhood posters of Zemmour’s far-right rival Marine Le Pen are torn down or defaced almost as soon as they go up. In her inaugural speech last year Michèle Rubirola — who made history as the city’s first female mayor before standing down after six months — cited a famous line about the city. Marseilles, she said, belongs to whoever comes from the open sea. No better riposte to the far right.
Mary Fitzgerald is a writer based in Marseilles
Follow Times Travel on Instagram and Twitter and sign up for our weekly Travel newsletter for all the latest articles, expert advice and inspiration for your next trip
