Lyon or Marseille? Comparing Two Unforgettable French Destinations
Two cities, two souls. One confused traveller trying to choose between Lyon and Marseille.
I’ve been asked this question more than once—“So, which one do you prefer? Lyon or Marseille?”—and every time, I freeze a little. Because, well... how do you even compare the two?
It’s like being asked whether you prefer jazz or rock. Red wine or rosé. Silence or chaos.
One of them whispers. The other shouts. One leans in close and tells you its secrets over time. The other? It grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around, shouting, “Look at me!”
And just when I think I’ve made up my mind, something happens—a sunset in Marseille that looks like it’s been set on fire, or the quiet charm of a traboule in Lyon—and I’m back at square one.
So, no answers here. Just a messy, honest attempt to think it through.
First Impressions – Two cities, two worlds
Lyon didn’t try to impress me.
That’s the thing. It didn’t throw its beauty in my face.
It just... was.
There’s something grounded about it.
Solid, even. I arrived by train and walked out into the streets like I knew what I was doing (I didn’t).
Everything was neat, sort of self-contained.
Even the chaos felt orderly.
Marseille? Different story.
When you get off the train, you immediately step into what felt like a scene from a film you hadn’t been cast in.
Heat bouncing off the concrete.
Music blasting from somewhere.
Someone yelling into their phone.
Smell of fish, cigarettes, diesel.
A woman in heels shouting at a delivery guy who’d dropped a crate of tomatoes.
But weirdly, that’s what pulled so many visitors in.
Marseille doesn’t try to be tidy. It doesn’t care what you think of it. It’s got better things to do.
Culture, History & Getting a Bit Lost
In Lyon, history is folded into the pavements.
I walked through the old town one misty morning, the kind of morning that smells like coffee and chimney smoke, and you could hear the footsteps of past centuries in those narrow lanes.
The traboules (those hidden passageways between buildings) are a dream—and a trap.
I took one thinking I was being clever, and ended up emerging somewhere completely unfamiliar.
For a moment, I thought I’d travelled back in time.
Turns out I was just behind a kebab shop.
But that’s Lyon.
Elegant, quiet, layered.
Marseille’s past isn’t hidden.
It shouts. It bleeds through.
It’s a port city, and ports are like open wounds in the best way—they let things in, and they let things out.
You feel the mix: Greek ruins, French colonial façades, African rhythms, Italian accents.
It’s not neat, but it’s alive.
One afternoon you can get lost in the Panier district.
Not lost-lost—just enough to feel unsure.
You end up in a tiny square where some kids are playing football, and two old men are arguing about pétanque scores.
The buildings are crumbling, painted in pastels, graffiti everywhere.
And it is beautiful. Like, really beautiful.
But not in a postcard kind of way.
More like… real life, happening right in front of you.
Food – Or how I ate too much, repeatedly
Let’s be real: Lyon is serious about food.
Like, intimidatingly serious.
The first time I walked into a bouchon, I was handed a menu full of words I didn’t understand—and I speak French. "Cervelle de canut"? “Grattons”?
I just pointed at something and hoped for the best.
Turned out to be andouillette.
If you know, you know. If you don’t—well, you’ve been warned.
But once you get past the learning curve, the food in Lyon is phenomenal.
You feel like you’re being let in on a secret.
I had a lentil salad that was amazingly delicious.
A slice of tarte aux pralines that made me rethink dessert as a concept.
And the wine—oh, the wine.
You could probably pour anything red in a glass and it would still be good.
Marseille’s food, though?
It’s sunshine on a plate.
It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s full of olive oil and garlic and anchovies and herbs that I couldn’t name but instantly loved.
You can have panisse from a street vendor that you still dream about.
You can eat pizza with goat cheese and honey on a beach wall with stray cats eyeing your crusts.
And the fish... it tastes like it was pulled out of the sea five minutes ago and slapped onto a grill just for you.
And pastis. Oh boy. Let’s just say there’s a fine line between “Ah, this is refreshing” and “Why am I singing Charles Aznavour at 3 p.m.?”
Things to Do – Or Not
Lyon is built for flâneurs.
You don’t do Lyon—you stroll it.
You drift. You wander across the Presqu’île, down the cobbled alleys of the Vieux Lyon, up to Fourvière for that sweeping view over the rooftops.
And when your feet ache, you sit by the Rhône with a book you won’t read, and just... watch people go by.
Marseille? You don’t stroll. You plunge.
You hop onto a boat without knowing exactly where it’s going.
You follow your nose through open-air markets.
You take wrong turns that lead you to wild staircases and sudden sea views.
Imagine climbing a hill just because it looked interesting.
At the top? A tiny bar with a view of the city, a dog asleep on the counter, and a man singing Edith Piaf off-key with his eyes closed.
And the Calanques. Don’t get me started.
When you’ll see them—clear turquoise water, cliffs like white teeth—you’ll forgot how exhausted you are from your walk. For about ten minutes.
Green vs Blue – And everything in between
Lyon has parks. Nice ones.
The Parc de la Tête d’Or is huge, with a lake and even a zoo.
You can rent a little boat and pretend you’re in a 19th-century romance.
But Marseille has the sea.
Not a park, not a pond. The sea.
And it’s right there. You walk a few blocks and boom—waves.
Salt in the air.
It changes the whole rhythm of the city.
You don’t dress the same.
You don’t move the same.
There’s something about seeing that endless blue every day that resets your brain.
And the light... The light in Marseille is something else.
Painters talk about it all the time, and I used to think it was just romantic nonsense.
It’s not. It’s golden and sharp and full of drama.
Everything feels more vivid. Even your own thoughts.
What No One Tells You
Marseille has a reputation.
Some of it fair, some not.
Is it chaotic? Yes.
Is it rough in parts? Definitely.
But it’s also one of the most welcoming places I’ve been.
People talk to you. They ask where you’re from. They’ll give you directions and then argue among themselves about which route is best.
Lyon, by contrast, feels safer.
Cleaner. More... polished.
But sometimes, that polish can feel a bit distant.
Like you’re admiring the city through glass.
I loved it, but I also wanted it to let its hair down a bit more.
Stay in Lyon and/or Marseille
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And for Marseille, there are plenty of great places here.
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So… Which One? Really.
I wish I could give you a neat answer. I really do.
But the truth is—they both stay with you. Just in different ways.
Lyon slips into your memory like a line from a book you underlined years ago.
You might not remember when you read it, but you know it mattered.
Marseille crashes into your mind like a song you didn’t ask for but now can’t stop humming.
It makes a mess. A beautiful one.
If you want clarity, go to Lyon.
If you want chaos, go to Marseille.
Or do what I did—bounce between the two, let them argue it out inside your head, and realise that maybe the best trips are the ones that don’t end in answers.
Just stories.
Find out more on the blog!
Discover Le Vieux Lyon, the old town
Découvrir Marseille en 10 sites incontournables
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