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Impressions: Côte d’Azur We are caravanners. Please keep reading! We’re not the sort who hold you up on a country lane if we can help it, we avoid them if we can - we’re more likely to be overtaking you on the motorway! But I digress; I only mentioned ‘the caravan’ because it gives us many more holidays than we could otherwise afford – and without it we could not have undertaken a five week trip to the south of France. Previously restricted to school holidays, it was an area we had always avoided, so, though much visited by everyone else, this was our first visit. The planning was a complicated task because we wanted to go in October, after our daughter had returned to university, and most of the campsites in northern and central France were closed. But after consulting the continental campsite guide and phoning each and every site, we managed to put together an acceptable route, heading south through Burgundy and Provence. Week One We sailed Portsmouth-Caen, camping the first night 10 km inland at Ranville, the first community to be liberated during the night of 5th/6th June 1944 by the taking of Pegasus Bridge. The very interesting and informative museum has the original bridge in its gardens whilst an identical, though stronger replacement bridge now spans the River Orne and Caen canal in its place. The events of that night are well documented, when members of the 6th (Airborne) Division, without electronic aids and in radio silence, glided over the bridge unseen, turned and landed silently within 47 metres of the guard-post. Still undetected, they took the two bridges within 10 minutes and held them with the aid of the 2nd Oxfordshire & Buckinghamshire Light Infantry (airborne) and 7th Parachute Regiment while they awaited the arrival of the 1st Special Service Brigade from the direction of Sword Beach. Counter attacks by 21st (Panzer) Division resulted in numerous losses, some of whom are buried in a special sector of the churchyard. Many others lie in the Allied Military Cemetery next door. Our route south took us along empty sunlit country roads, with an overnight stop at Etampes, just south of Paris and two nights at Meursault near Beaune, a pretty, very French village with cobbled, flower bedecked square, and steeped in wine production. It was sufficiently out of season for us to have a choice of pitches at a campsite with extensive views over the Burgundy vineyards, where we enjoyed the sight of the sun rising through the early morning mist and the viticulteur already hard at work. It was at this point we realised we had lost the remote control for the caravan mover (which enables us to position the caravan at the press of a button), resulting in involved conversations in French with the proprietor of the previous campsite and a resolution to look up ‘remote control’ in the French dictionary! Beaune is well worth a visit. We parked near the church from where it was an easy walk to the centre, the market and the ‘Visio-train’, (though the feedback on the loudspeaker commentary was so terrible it’s not to be recommended). The highlight of the town, however, is the old hospital, the Hotel-Dieu. Built in 1443 in the wake of the hundred years’ war when Beaune was suffering from poverty and famine, Nicolas Rolin, Chancellor of Philippe-le-Bon, Duke of Burgundy decided to found a hospice for the poor and it continued as a hospital until 1971. Its remarkable feature is the multi-coloured roof, seen only from the inner courtyard and considered today to be a jewel of mediaeval architecture. The tiles are thought to have originated in central Europe but the style proved so popular that it gradually spread through Burgundy and eventually came to be considered typical of this province. Inside, the wards are still set up as they used to be, the beds end-to-end along the wall and separated by wooden screens. Another call to Paris confirmed the remote control had gone for good so we arranged for a replacement to be sent out to us at the campsite we were heading for in Provence. Back on the road again next day, we had a good run through and reached our planned overnight stop by lunchtime so continued on to Aubignan near Carpentras in Provence where we planned to stay three nights. It was incredibly warm for October so we were back into summer clothes and an evening barbecue. Weekday mornings started early with the tolling of the church bell on the dot of 7.00 am, followed by 10 minutes’ gun fire in an adjacent field and concluded by an early riser playing tennis on the court opposite. And all before 7.30 am! We were still late setting off for the Friday market in Carpentras and spent goodness knows how long finding somewhere to park. It seems the whole world goes into Carpentras on Fridays, but at least the Council suspend parking fees and allow you to park absolutely anywhere. The market takes over the whole town with stalls up and down every street, in every square. We bought fruit, mushrooms, saucisson; one old lady was turning a mini barrel organ and singing ‘My Way’ and ‘Imagine’. Another stall was supposedly raising money for the fight against animal cruelty but didn’t seem too concerned about the plight of their own animals, a fact which drew us to the stall - a rabbit and a tiny Vietnamese piglet, which was no bigger than the rabbit. They were sitting in a tray lined with newspaper but with no food, no water and no shade. We had planned a walk for the next day and that’s when a new problem started - I couldn’t find my sandals. Or to be precise, I found one sandal in the boot of the car, but the other was nowhere to be found. Realising it must have dropped out the day before in Carpentras, we retraced out steps. 5 km later we arrived back at the parking space we had found and there, lying on the ground, was my sandal! Relief all round that I didn’t need to buy another pair! Week Two Carpentras is well situated for exploring Provence and as the weather had turned a little cooler we set off for Orange. Not knowing quite what to expect, we parked in the central square and looked around us. The first thing we saw was a queue, and, being good Britons and understanding that if there is a queue there must be something worth queuing for, we joined it. Our reward was a freshly baked baguette - the best in town and a couple of generously filled baguette sandwiches! The main attraction is the ‘Antique Theatre’, a Roman theatre in ‘the best condition’ of any in Europe with a majestic stage wall decorated with a statue of Augustus. But our visit was cut short by an icy wind which was growing stronger and stronger, so we resolved to spend only another day in Provence then move south to warmer climes. After our sandwich lunch, we followed signposts to the little village of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, source of one of my favourite French wines. Passing through 8 km of vineyards, all part of the ‘district’ of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, we were surprised to discover how many separate domains or ‘chateaux’ there were, all licensed to produce under the same name. The village has steep, cobbled streets and at the top of the hill, the Chateau itself, at one time the Pope’s summer palace, where we were rewarded with magnificent views over the Rhône valley. We called in at a ‘cave’ but didn’t buy, as a rather full-of-herself English lady was trying to obtain a bottle of 1982 something-or-other to drink in three weeks’ time on the 20th anniversary of something else. The salesman insisted that a 1982 would need at least six weeks to settle… Not far from Chateauneuf is Avignon where we easily found the bridge - the Pont St Benezet, but parking was another issue. We found a space, but needed 3 Euros for the meter, which we didn’t have. We went to a shop to buy postcards to get some change, but they didn’t have any change – there seemed to be a great shortage of 1 Euro coins in Avignon. We finally bought a book on Provence to force the production of enough change to park and walked down to the bridge, but since admission fees were required just to walk on it we decided not to bother and explored the town instead. The main square was bustling. In front of the Theatre and Hotel de Ville was an exquisite Victorian two-tier roundabout and either side of the square, restaurants and brasseries where we relaxed with some welcome refreshment. In a tiny village by the name of St Didier, about 6 km from Carpentras, is a nougat factory and that’s where we headed the next morning. However, having circuited the village about three times with no sign of the nougat factory we were about to give up, when we found it by chance. By this time, of course, it was closed for lunch, except for the back door into the warehouse where we could have just walked in and helped ourselves to any amount of nougat! St Didier had nothing else to offer; in fact it is so ‘nowhere’ that we decided the skip the factory and move on to Isle sur la Sourgue, a very pretty, flower filled town. The Sorgue river divides into five branches, which flow around the streets and houses. The downside is that it is also overrun with waterwheels. Close by is the even more touristy Fontaine de Vaucluse, the source of the Sourgue, complete with yet more waterwheels, cheesy ‘sur le pont d’Avignon’ music coming out of a mechanical novelty outside a gift shop and souvenir shops everywhere. However, the views of the mountains were beautiful and there were wonderful opportunities for walking, given the time. We arrived ‘home’ to find the caravan remote hadn’t been delivered as promised, which meant we wouldn’t be able to move on in the morning to the coast, as planned. We phoned the delivery company, who promised faithfully that it would be delivered the next morning, so we agreed to stay an extra day, not realising that it would be a further 48 hours before it finally did arrive, by which time we seen all we wanted to see in the area, stayed three nights longer than planned and were wondering how on earth John Thaw had managed a whole year in Provence! We left Provence in the pouring rain to arrive in brilliant sunshine at Villeneuve-Loubet Plage, near Antibes, which, like other towns along the coast, offers an old town, a new town and a port. Our preference is for the old town, with its narrow, winding streets, artisan markets and little brasseries, but the port also warrants a visit if only to admire the large and very expensive yachts. Neighbouring Antibes is Juan les Pins, the seaside resort for Antibes, with sandy beach, designer shops, seaside shops, bars, casino, hotels. It is pleasant and unspoilt. We found a little Italian restaurant there where we had an excellent lunch for around £5 each including wine. As the week progressed, we found it was rather pleasant to visit a new resort every day and lunch in the autumn sunshine. There are sufficient expatriates on the Côte d’Azur to warrant an English radio channel “Riviera Radio”, which offers a decent mix of music and news in English. Villeneuve-Loubet Plage is situated between Antibes and Cagnes-sur-Mer and backed by the wooded Parc du Vaugrenier. The shingle beach is accessed by a subway under the railway line, which runs along the coast. A monstrous development - Marina Baie des Anges - was built here in the early 1970s and this dominates the skyline. Five blocks surround a marina containing some rather magnificent yachts, the apartments stepped so that each layer is shorter than the one below, the end apartments having garden balconies, the whole have a pyramid appearance. We were told by the owner of a pizzeria on the waterside that the layer third from the top of one block is owned by a Saudi millionaire - that is, the whole floor, part of which is garden and swimming pool. Another is owned by a family of five - parents and three sons. They sail their yacht every year, without a crew, from Chile, through the Panama Canal and across the Atlantic to this Marina and have done so for the last 20 years. Week Three The next morning was a beautiful day with clear blue skies so we headed for Nice, entering from the south and driving along the Promenade des Anglais. Nice was very busy so we drove slowly, taking in the atmosphere as people took a Sunday stroll, or cycled or roller-bladed the length of the promenade. The old town stands high above the bay at the eastern end, but we could find nowhere to park and as we ran out of promenade we decided to carry on to Monaco. Rounding the headland the port of Nice is laid out far below, cruise liners moored in the bay. The coast road runs through Villefranche-sur-Mer, Beaulieu-sur-Mer, Eze, through tunnels and along a stretch of road familiar from James Bond films. We rounded the final bend and there below us, shimmering in the heat, lay Monte Carlo, its port glistening with millions of dollars worth of yachts and its town spreading up the hillside. And, not surprisingly, there are an awful lot of Ferraris driving around! We passed through the town and up through the famous Grand Prix tunnel to a car park on the far side and from there, explored on foot. Beside the car park is a beautiful Japanese Garden, complete with little bridges and pools of koi carp. From there the footpath takes you back through the tunnel, past the Casino and down to the marina. The marina is an eye-opener. The size and opulence of the yachts moored there was unbelievable; yachts registered in all the tax havens of the world - Cayman Islands, Kingston Jamaica, and so on. All were sparkling, hiding their inhabitants behind smoked glass windows and some guarded by Chinese bodyguards. The main apron of the port was roped off for the Grand Final of the Go-Kart Championships, which was to take place that afternoon. West of Antibes is Cannes. We had discovered by this time, that the best place to park in southern French towns is the port where the car park is almost always empty - most people shy away from the not-particularly-long walk back to town. Kerbside parking is dodgy - the southern French have a scheme whereby you may block your neighbour in, so long as you leave your car out of gear and the hand-brake off. When anyone wants to leave they just ‘shunt’ the cars in front out of the way! Every car is dented. Cannes is elegant with a long, wide promenade backed by cream stone buildings and a clean, sandy beach. A wide central area is gravelled for boules and well used. Behind that stands a row of designer shops (Chanel, Gucci, Rolex) and we pressed our noses to the glass, remarking on the prices and in particular the ridiculous size of most of the jewellery. It was notable that the locals had resorted to winter clothing, whereas we were in shorts! We lunched at a little pizzeria in the sun and watched preparations for another film festival, before exploring the old town, climbing up through very narrow, steep streets to the castle at the top of the hill, from where there were spectacular views over Cannes and its port. Close to the top a steep road had restricted parking. A Jeep had been parked with a rock under its front tyre. Unfortunately another car had rolled into the back of it and the Jeep owner was waiting for that owner to return. A few miles inland is the small, mediaeval village of St Paul de Vence, where Roger Moore reputedly has a house. Essentially an artisan stronghold today, it dates from the 14th century and little has changed since. Cars are banned from its narrow, cobbled streets and the whole town is surrounded by a 15th century garrison wall. The shops are expensive but it was a fun place to explore. We had still not visited Nice so, tired of trying to park, we took the train next day. The ticket office was closed but we managed to work out how to use the machine and just had enough change for the 11.60 Euros required for two tickets for the half hour ride. The station is in the centre of town and it took us a while to orientate ourselves which meant that by the time we found the seafront we had explored Nice quite extensively. We found it pretty much like any other city and quite grubby in places but once we had picked up a town plan we soon found our way to the shingle beach. In the centre of the sea front is the Hotel de Ville surrounded by gardens and along the front are hotels and designer shops bordering the Promenade des Anglais, in our opinion the only attractive part of Nice. All in all we preferred Cannes. It started to rain a little so we headed back to Avenue Jean Medicin and explored Galeries La Fayette, Monoprix, C&A, before retreating to the station to return on a double decker train. It was time
to move on. Pleased to leave the busy roads around Antibes far behind
us, we headed for Cavalaire, a two hour journey into a beautiful landscape
of deepest blue sea and wooded hills. We pulled into Camping de la Baie
at lunchtime and settled close to the pool on a sun filled pitch. We were
just five minutes’ walk from the main street, the marina and the
beach. Next morning we explored the town. The main street has a wonderful delicatessen with a vast selection of cheeses, cooked meats and ready prepared salads. With a décor of stainless steel, glass and bright lights it looks spotlessly clean. On the other side of the road, a ‘cellar’ selling every kind of cheese imaginable, olives, mustards, pickles, oils - and a cellar full of wines and champagnes of a quality and price to burn a very big hole in your pocket. We picked up some necessaries - and some un-necessaries. Most of the clothes shops were having end of season sales with as much as 50% off, prior to closing down at the end of the following week for the winter. It was still very warm, so we spent the rest of the day stretched out in the sun beside the pool, venturing out in the evening only to reach an excellent fish restaurant, Le Pescator. I don’t know which was better - the lobster stuffed courgette, the oysters or the sea bass. There was little or no night life in Cavalaire at this time, but the choice of restaurants was superb. Week Four Sunday morning. We drove over the peninsula to St Tropez and parked easily on the quayside. Here artists at work displayed and sold their paintings to those strolling by. Across the water mixed shades of terracotta warmed in the sun. Colourful reflections in the almost still water were as inspirational to the photographer in me, as they clearly are to the artists. Behind the
port lie a myriad of alleys and streets leading to the ‘citadel’
at the top of the hill. A walk all around it provides beautiful views
of the surrounding bays and cliffs and of St Tropez itself. This is the
one place which has old town and port, but no new town, and is delightful
for it. We could quite well understand why it is a favourite with the
rich and famous. Opposite were houses, one of which had a high garden gate leading into a ‘secret garden’. Beside it was a paved area behind which was a garage door. Part way through the meal, the garage door opened and a lady emerged, dressed in black trousers, black jacket and black floppy hat with a colourful band around it - she had an air of the 70’s about her. Her hair was grey and dressed in a long plait. She hung a hammock between two trees. Then she added several more hammocks. Slowly over the course of an hour more and more emerged - easels and paintings, colourful baskets, mannequins wearing the long skirts and floppy hats popular in the 70’s, stuffed parrots, mirrors… Whenever a customer approached, she sold them nothing, just handed out pieces of paper. Intrigued, after lunch, we wandered across to investigate. She couldn’t sell anything to us until after 4pm, she said, but explained her artisan connections. The shop was full of baskets, clothes she makes and has made for her, paintings by local artists, soaps… She gave us details of her website and a long lecture on the advantages of her scented soaps, which are a universal cure-all for eczema, herpes and apparently even baldness! We spent the next few days exploring Fréjus, St Raphael, Sainte Maxime and St Aygulf, Agay and Grimaud. It was raining, which perhaps coloured our view, but as seaside resorts they seemed much the same as each other and end-of-season tired and we were unimpressed - with the exception of Grimaud, which, with its cobbled streets and village persona was worth visiting. So after that we went west over steep and winding coastal roads, until we discovered two beautiful beaches at Cavalière and St Clair and here we settled for the rest of the week. There was a nice little beach bar for lunch, it was still warm enough to swim and hard to believe it was almost the end of October. Week Five It was time to go home. So sadly we packed up and left Cavalaire, determined to return. Our homeward journey was necessarily by the same route as fewer and fewer campsites were still open. Each stop north grew colder; at Carpentras we could see our breath first thing in the morning and at Beaune it was frosty; we went from summer to autumn to winter in three days. By the time we reached Ranville it was Hallowe’en. The graves in the churchyard, together with those of the allied servicemen buried there, were adorned with flowers in preparation for All Souls Day. Although well cared for, it was not a place to be at dusk on Hallowe’en! We arrived back in England at 13.45 on 1 November in filthy, wet weather, ran into a half hour traffic jam and then hit school traffic in town. Good to be back? First published in VISA issues 65-66 (Feb-Apr 2006) |