La ville de bonnes redbeards

Since moving abroad, I've traveled as much as my wallet, schedule, and dog babysitter will allow. But mostly to other countries, not really within France. And France is good shit, it has mountains, beaches, fast trains, and I can speak the language (ish). So last weekend, I decided to take a little trip down to Marseille with Max. I had no idea how easy it would be. Climb aboard the train, three hours later we're there. And we brought our pug-son Bosley, he was beyond thrilled.

Marseille was a lot of things Paris is not: chill, beachy, hilly, smiley, cheap. It even has a prison-island, much like Alcatraz. I love me a good prison-island. Just getting to breathe fresh, ocean air was well, like a breath of fresh air (apologies for the terrible word play). But anyway, in Marseille I ran into a redbeard brotherhood. Maybe brotherhood is a strong word, but there were two handsome young Frenchies, both bearded in red. They were chill dudes and happily posed together for a photo. At the last second, one was like, "Hey! Jean-Marc has a red mustache," and they pulled the fellow on the far left into the shot. I would tend to disagree. Perhaps there are some rouge strands in that stache, but it looks brunette to me. That said, I wasn't going to shoo him away or anything. 

The next day, I happened upon a redbeard-themed bar. Barberousse. How very perfect. It was breakfast hour and the bar seemed closed, so I didn't stop in. But another point to Marseille for being cool as fuck. Oh, and "l'escale des pirates" basically translates as "the pirate stopover." Are beards of rouge a pirate thing? I'll have to look into this further.