We found happily that our room was another private double (not sure how we kept forgetting these things, but it was a pleasant surprise). We settled into the hotel and rested for a while, watching the Olympics. When we finally headed out, it was late afternoon, and we intended to walk around, but the part of Marseille where our hotel was felt terribly scary. We tried to find a market to buy some dinner in, but the one we found was dimly lit and smoky. When we got to the back of the store, one of the other customers began to harass me, so we left. He followed us out of the store and down the street a little way until we lost him in a crowd and scurried into a nearby Subway to get off the road. There were homeless people passed out all along the road, cradling a few precious items close to them, and there was trash everywhere, covering the sidewalks. One man was bathing in a muddy puddle in the road, rubbing the water over his shins and arms and face. Everywhere we walked, children asked us for food, money, something to drink. It was sad, but I felt like a hypocrite turning away from them, like some entitled tourist who feels she shouldn't have to see suffering while she vacations. Another man followed us as we left the Subway and dipped back into our hotel. He hovered outside the doors as we whisked up to the sanctuary of our room, feeling guilty about feeling frustrated.

The next day, we had grand plans of beach-going, but we both awoke feeling slightly ill. We wondered if it might be the water, as that out of the tap in our bathroom smelled slightly foul. So, we stayed in bed watching the Olympics and the city outside from our balcony, updating blogs and Facebook, generally getting our lives back together after weeks of neglect. But I wonder how much of our staying in was because of the water and how much of it was really to avoid more hungry children and wandering homeless men...