My French is just about passable. GCSE level. I could certainly order a coffee or ask a stranger where the nearest public swimming pool is but would struggle to hold a conversation with any convincing level of fluency.
But as we stood there, on the pavement staring up at the front door, the message – a scrawl of French in marker pen, written at face height – was crystal clear: you are not welcome here. We had arrived in Marseille just hours earlier. After navigating the public transport system from the airport, we’d reached our home for the next three nights; an AirBnB apartment on a wide boulevard, all grand facades and ornamental doors.
We’d picked it because of the fun neighbourhood, the historic charm, and the absolutely killer balcony with sweeping views of the city. We imagined evenings spent putting the world to rights with a bottle of French rosé and a cigarette or two (come on, it’s a holiday ). But the message changed our expectations entirely.
Plastered on the door was the name of our AirBnB host, followed by: “[Name] arrêté AirBnB ou on aura ta peau”. It caught our attention – both because it named her and AirBnB explicitly. We cautiously opened Google to translate the rest: “[Name] stop AirBnB or we will have your skin”.
Shocked, we nervously laughed, surely that must be a turn of phrase? That can’t actually be as violent a threat as it sounds when translated to English? Nope. Not a phrase. As we stood scrambling on the pavement – ev.