Marseille: music and rugby, happiness and sadness

Well… what can I say? It was a day of highs and lows. Overall, John and I agreed the highs won and it was an enjoyable day, even though Wales lost to Argentina and it was far from the result we’d dreamed of.

After a restless night’s sleep, we were up in plenty of time to catch the train from La Couronne-Carro to Marseille. We picked up some pain au raisin, our favourite morning snack, then locked our bikes and cycle helmets up in the special lock up at the station, which is accessible only with a valid train ticket.

The train journey took around 40 minutes then we caught a tram to the old port. Once there, we wandered around and did a bit of sight seeing before heading to the fan zone.

Marseille was prettier than I expected… at least the waterfront of the Vieux port was. We wandered past lovely historic and modern buildings, overlooked by Notre Dame de La Garde perched on the hill across the water.

After a quick stop for a beer because we both needed a wee, we met up with Marge and Rich for a singalong with Shân Cothi who, I have reliably been informed, is a Welsh singer-songwriter and BBC Radio Cymru presenter. Even though I don’t know the words to most of the Welsh songs and couldn’t sing along, I know the tunes so I hummed and joined in when I could, soaking up the wonderful atmosphere.

We first met Marge and Rich on the campsite in Cagnes sur Mer when we saw Wales beat Portugal. Marge is in a choir back at home and has been singing at flash mobs before all the Wales games. There was a small singalong at a small square near the port before we moved to Place du Général-de-Gaulle for a more widely publicised flash mob.

We joined friends of Marge and Rich’s in a bar, waiting for 1 o’clock to come and the singing to begin. It was great watching more and more Wales fans arriving in the square, which soon became a sea of red. John and I were pleased to see Mike, a good friend of our next door neighbours… quite a coincidence given that we hadn’t planned to meet up with him and there were so many red shirts milling around. Mike’s in a male voice choir and I was glad he had the opportunity to join in with the flash mob. The singing of the Welsh hymns, arias and especially the nation anthem gave me goose bumps and brought tears of emotion. The place was vibrant and we could feel the energy buzzing and expectations building as the time approached to catch the underground metro to the stadium.

While we sat and had a drink by Stade Vélodrome, with its beautiful curved roof, it felt as though the Welsh were outnumbered by Argentinians. This puzzled me because, despite having a much larger population than us, Argentina is so far away. There were also a lot of neutral fans, many of whom seemed to have had tickets as part of a package, or whose team hadn’t got through to the quarter final.

Once inside the stadium, there still seemed to be a lot more blue and white shirts than red shirts. The Argentinians were in good spirits singing and bouncing up and down, waving flags. Even the neutrals all seem to be shouting for Argentina! They got quieter as the first half progressed and Wales took the lead, then louder again as Argentina fought back. The Welsh fans did their best to out sing them, but I’m not sure we managed it. The lady next to John moved to an empty seat because of John shouting and singing in her ear. He was a bit croaky by the end of the game! 🤣

The second half went badly for Wales as Argentina had several penalties, and a controversial decision went against Wales. They fought back with another try, but Argentina were stronger and ultimately won the game 29-17. Going out in the quarter finals was a sad end to Wales’ World Cup campaign and we felt very deflated as we made our way out of the stadium. Our disappointment was exacerbated when John discovered some Australians had stolen his Welsh flag, which he’d tied up on the fence behind us. Why would somebody steal another team’s flag?

We walked back towards Castellane where we could get a metro train to St Charles and catch the mainline train back to La Couronne. Bike, train, tram, metro, walk, metro, train, cycle… it’s a wonder it all went so smoothly! It was only about 7.30 and our train wasn’t until 10 o’clock, so we’d planned to have a meal while we waited. I had visions of a cosy little bistro down a side street but that wasn’t to be, mainly because we were caught up in the crowds and it was difficult to explore. We ended up with chicken and chips in a bar (which was perfectly nice, and quite cheap) then went down into the metro.

As we climbed on the escalator up from the metro, we saw a big guy in an England shirt with a large bandage around his leg stop at the top and drop his bags. I rushed to help him collect the bags and move away to stand somewhere safer. When I asked if he was ok, he said ‘no’, practically in tears. While John took the bags, I cradled his arm to support him and kept chatting to calm him as we slowly left the metro station, one step at a time, resting when he needed to. He was clammy, in pain and feeling unwell, and very distressed about how he was going to get back to the cruise ship he was staying on. Apparently, his package had promised transfers, but they hadn’t materialised… at least not in the way he’d expected. Just as I was starting to worry we might miss our train, John managed to find a taxi for him and we helped him into it. He told me his name was Oliver but I forgot his surname (probably thanks to too much wine with my dinner) so I can’t look him up on Facebook as he suggested. I kept waking in the night worrying about him. I hope he got back to his ship, that he feels better now, and that he finds a way to see the England match today.

At least we got to see our team play, even if they did lose, and we’re fit and healthy and were able to enjoy the events fully. The atmosphere was vibrant, the company was excellent, the singing was joyous and despite the result not going our way, we had amazing experience.