(Sorry, Peter Mayle, couldn’t manage the year!)
Base Camp
We knew little about Provence. But the kindness of a friend, lending us her apartment, changed all that. We stayed in Sanary-sur-Mer. It was Bournemouth-by-the Med with a few more palm trees. Easy on the eye, pale terracotta walls and roofs, wooden shutters.
I understood why the population was aged; a fine place to end your days. Bikinis on the beach were not confined to those with curvaceous, twenty-something bodies. It didn’t matter how old you were. Nor did it matter if you sunbathed topless, breasts hanging like dehydrated leaves, wrinkles a fashion accessory. Skin was tanned to a supple leather.
It was a café society. Little local places, unpretentious, always busy, or more elegant ones near the harbour where there was always fresh seafood.
We went to Le Provençal, a family-run restaurant with its regular clientele. Aïoli on Friday lunchtimes was the thing. We’d not have looked twice at the restaurant but for a recommendation. It was worth it.
The Wednesday marché is famous. The largest market in France, they said, taking over all the centre of the town. Cruise ships call in and the market is full of visitors for the day, Germans when we were there. We bought huge, sweet tomatoes, ripe figs and local cheese. It cost little.
We were close to a wine area, Bandol. It’s a famous area no-one has heard of. No-one who isn’t Provençal, that is. Furnished with a list from the Office de Tourisme, we set off to visit several vineyards for dégustations and a few purchases. Even with a Satnav, finding them was challenging and we were grateful our hire car was small. Roads were narrow, winding and sometimes steep. The vineyards ranged from small affairs with tastings at a little bar in the corner of a room, to far grander, more commercial places. Although many advertised ‘English spoken’, they were keen to speak to us in French, interested to find out where we were from and how we’d found them. Pale rosé was ubiquitous but Bandol is known for its reds, good, high tannin wines that keep well. We were told one wine we bought would keep for thirty years. Longer than I will. A 2004 red was delicious but at over €50 a bottle, a tasting was all we had.
We were able to bathe in the sea every day – just a few paces across the road from the apartment. The sea was 21˚ at its coldest, the air much warmer. Usually we swam in the early evening and watched the sun get lower in the pink sky. We lived in a little bubble, divorced from the news, enjoying life.
Mixing with the Rich
On the Cote d’Azur, it’s not difficult to find wealth. The evidence lies in the superb yachts moored in the bay, spotless after vigorous cleaning by the well-dressed crews, in the expensive restaurants and in the chauffeur-driven limos. Rich people are harder to spot. They look much like us, sometimes tattier.
We liked St Tropez. It was busy, hot, a place to watch people. It had a good feel to it in spite of being touristy. You could have a drink in a bar or a Plat du Jour without too much financial pain. The artists along the quayside still benefit from Brigitte Bardot although the landscapes pleased me more. The old part of the town was unspoilt. People lived here, hung their washing out from their windows, their cats lounging outside front doors in patches of shade. Dogs here obviously don’t poo – they produce ‘dejections canines’!
We walked up to the Citadel, an old defence against the English, for a panoramic view over the town and port.
We visited the art gallery – painters have always been drawn here by the quality of the light. We could understand that.
I saw a couple saying goodbye on the quayside. He kissed her lips several times, kissed both her hands and looked for long seconds at her face. Then he walked into town. She turned, walked along a pontoon to an elegant boat to be greeted greedily by another man. There must be a story there!
Monaco seemed more affluent, more frantic, more crowded and more complicated than St Tropez. The road system is a nightmare and we were glad to park in the first car-park we found. We saw ‘the most famous bend in the world’. Watching the Grand Prix will mean something now.
There was a yacht show in progress when we were there which added to the number of people and boats (and hospitality tents and restricted areas).We visited the royal palace and the royal collection of cars. I run out of sufficiently grandiose adjectives!
The famous Casino is a beautiful building. Suited men on the doors watched the tourists taking photos of them. I assumed they were there to prevent the riff-raff from going in. Wrong! Entry was not only permitted but free. We were able to go into the room with gaming machines but to go into the posh roulette area, you needed appropriate clothing. As my husband was wearing sandals, we were inappropriate.
No such restrictions on the bar, however. If you can’t have a glass of champagne in the bar at the Casino in Monte Carlo, where can you?
Going inland
Provence is known for its ‘villages perchés’, little hamlets high up on the hillside. We visited a couple, Castellet and Bormes-les-Mimosas.
Hard to imagine what life would be like in these small communities – a mixture of isolation and tourism, depending on the time of the year. A day-long tournament of boules was taking place in Bormes. This game is taken seriously.
We went to the Gorges du Verdon for its spectacular scenery,
to Aix-en-Provence to see Cézanne’s studio,
to Villecroze for the troglodyte dwellings
and to Cassis for its ambiance and its walks around the Calanques. To our surprise, the blackcurrant drink, Cassis, is from Burgundy, not here.
Rough seas prevented us taking a boat trip to get a different view of the coastline. With my ability to be sea-sick, this was maybe a blessing. Something perhaps for another time.
We did long walks and got lost. Sign-posts were rare on the paths. On our last day, we got so far from our route, I thought we’d end up walking to the nearest town to get a taxi to take us to find our car. Time was running short. I wanted a last swim, a final drink at the restaurant by the sea, a proper farewell to Sanary. Fortunately, Tony and his map rescued us. I had time to do all those things.
Our kind friend has said we can return whenever we want. There’s still much to do and see. I think we’ll be back.
linimeant 