A four-leaf clover decorates the outside facade, beneath the logos of the FDJ (Française des jeux) and PMU. Lost at the crossroads of the Barbini and Toussaint lanes in the 3rd arrondissement of Paris Marseille, one of the poorest in France, if not EuropeThe “Bar Marius” is one of the last places of life in a dying neighborhood, caught in a pincer movement between different teams of drug traffickers, whose “ovens” at Moulin de Mai and Félix-Pyat are regularly in the news..
But here, on the two screens placed on either side of the single room measuring some forty square meters, it’s the horse races that provide the entertainment. The most faithful of the “flambeurs” – nicknames for gamblers – have arrived in the morning to scour the horse racing pages of the newspaper and validate their tickets. sports betting on the dedicated FDJ and PMU terminals. Taciturn, their faces are closed and the few words exchanged with Dominique, the owner of the “Bar Marius” with thirty-two years of counter service, consist of ordering coffees after the customary greetings.
High rollers, deserters, big wins and big runs
A high roller doesn’t talk,” explains Jasmine*, just 40 and leaning against the counter with an Orangina in one hand. They follow 1,000 things at the same time, and when it’s over, they leave without a word.” Whether the day was a good one or not. Shortly before the related confinements to the Covid-19 pandemicone player hit the jackpot: 1.3 million euros. “He left without saying a word. And we never saw him again,” recalls Dominique. “He was an undocumented immigrant,” adds the leader, who came to Marseille from Flemish Belgium in 1983, before the age of 20.
Other gamblers briefly enjoy their fortunes before going under: “Some we don’t know what becomes of, and others go mad,” continues Dominique, before giving the example of a former customer who was paid 80,000 euros and now begs down the street.
And while there are plenty of gamblers in the bar, they are far from the only clientele. “At first, I used to come here to pick up parcels,” says Sébastien, who arrived in the neighborhood around ten years ago. The employee of the prefecture is now a regular here, reconnecting with his “social class”, more accustomed to the zinc counters than the polished parquet floors of the government offices.
“You know when you’re coming in, but never when you’re leaving”.
When it comes to decor, “Bar Marius” is a minimalist affair: a counter, a few stools, two tables with four chairs, that’s it. A third of the room and two other tables are occupied by parcels and betting terminals. In the middle of this warm bazaar, a karaoke machine and two speakers. On one of them, Boulette, the bar’s cat, clearly likes to do his claws between two naps.
At “Bar Marius”, the day is one of continuous comings and goings. Gamblers, punters, parcel collectors and coffee drinkers all meet here. “It’s like Customs or the Border Police, this bar. You know when you’re coming in, but you never know when you’re leaving”, says Jasmine. And on this late Monday morning, between two pastis, the customers are making jokes about the customs. lazy-planked-civil servants or talk about the lottery organized by Elon Musk to push for Donald Trump’s election. Two colorful old punk couples spin their spoons in their coffees.
To eat, you’ll have to go elsewhere, as the owner has stopped cooking. Pity. “I can’t do everything at 62. I started working at 13 and a half as an engraver. And anyway, people don’t have any more money,” says the woman who opens her bar every day between 7 and 8 a.m. and closes when the last customers leave. Who, on Monday, will have seen “Liquidateur” win the trotting race featuring “Amiral Darling” and “Laussac de Buisson”. Everyone here would have liked to have played number 11, which had a 143 rib and came 3rd. “If you’d bet on it, you’d have been fine,” lamented one punter.
Animation also comes from the street
And while the “Bar Marius” bubbles over all day long, the animation also comes from the street. Outside, a Flemish removal van is stuck in the alley. A van, parked straddling the sidewalk, is blocking the way. Don’t panic, Jasmine knows the van’s owner: he’s gone up to Paris and is on the train back down. Phone call. A friend has left a copy of his apartment keys in his mailbox. A trip to the block, a deft hand and the apartment is open. The van keys in hand, the way is made for the truckers, who are lucky to find Dominique speaking their language and offering them a cup of coffee to wait. As for the owner, he avoids the pound and a hefty bill.
In short, it’s a good thing she’s there Dominique, and it’s for this service rendered for more than thirty years that the Fooding has slipped its bar in. among the 100 PMUs that count in France. It’s little consolation for the hard-working woman who, shortly before 4pm, before the bar really comes alive with races scheduled to run until 9:30pm, has just enough time to confide in us about her players: “We’re not going to lie, most of the players are of foreign origin. They live like bums here, ten to a room with a bag of rice and some chicken. The winnings don’t stay in France. I don’t think that’s normal, and Marine Le Pen is right about that…”. This will be the only slightly political statement of the day: for such is the rule at “Bar Marius”, as in many PMUs in France: “no religion, no politics. Here we gamble, drink and leave everything else at home”, sums up the hostess.
*First name has been changed