It sounds machine-like, though I know it is thousands of large insects, their bodies heaving with desire. When my taxi from Marseille stops at my destination and I open the door, their song surges at me from the trees, blanketing everything in its pulsing whir. No one has told me about the cicadas, though. I have seen pictures of Cassis, so I am unsurprised (though still seduced) by its beauty: the narrow, winding roads and stucco buildings that lead down to the shocking turquoise blue of the bay, and the castle-topped cliffs that rise around the port town nestled on the French Riviera.
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