One of the joys of travel is staying in someone else’s home, with a stranger’s life briefly opened to you like a book.

In my experience, this is especially true when the host is older. They often seem less concerned with hiding the personal details of their lives. Their homes reveal so much about their tastes, habits, and memories, quietly inviting you to observe and connect.

I visited Marseille and stayed in the home of a retired French writer. Let’s call him Mr. G.

From the furniture and the things that filled the house, you could learn a great deal about him. The place carried the spirit of the people who had lived there. Framed photographs and objects arranged on the shelves told stories of their own.

You could see what he loved and how he spent his time. His kitchen tools showed that he enjoyed cooking, and not only casually. The spices offered clues about the food he preferred and the attention he gave to flavour. Even his choices of tea and coffee said something about his taste.

I could also see that he loved photography and was passionate about jazz.

The house was filled with antiques that had clearly been with him since they were new. They seemed to belong to him in a deeper sense, carrying the charm of an era he apparently loved.

I especially liked the many books scattered around the house and the small library in the bathroom. It was filled with light reading, trivia books, and collections of “Did you know?” facts. Apparently, the bathroom was not only a place of necessity, but also somewhere to catch a new idea.

I never met Mr. G, but by the time I left, I felt that he had already told me a great deal about himself.