After six weeks of close encounters with nearly every aspect of autumnal life in all four corners of Provence, and entering 52 pages of analytical critique in our travel journal, we felt we gave that corner of France every opportunity to wow us in any way it cared to do.
We visited numerous “picturesque” villages, tramped our way around a good few towns and cities, took several long walks in the countryside and gave ourselves a superficial view of the famed French Riviera. We met many friendly locals, exercising our ever-improving knowledge of the French language as we learnt from them about local life, their attitudes to immigrants, the vagaries of the weather and simple politics.
One or two villages such as Cotignac, Bargemon and Tour Tour enticed us enough to want to go back for a second look, and we enjoyed a return visit to Aix-en-Provence which we had last visited a couple of years previously when staying with my step-sister in Nîmes. But in the end all the villages were either too remote from the culture to be found in larger cities, too small to offer us the mix of social life we enjoy, too grey and dreary, or catered too much to tourists and ex-pats at the expense of losing their French charm. Some aspects of one or two of the coastal towns and cities made us think they would be good to live near to, but overall the Côte d’Azur held very little allure for us. In particular, we didn’t enthuse at the idea of living with the massive influx of tourists five or six months of the year. It is a shame, though hardly surprising, that such a beautiful coastline has become so over-developed.
Our next scheduled stop was Montpellier where we had arranged to house and cat sit for a couple of weeks. This left us with a week to fill-in and, reckoning we had had more than our fill of la vie francaise for a while, a few days on the Italian Riviera seemed a pretty attractive tonic.
So one cool, mid-November, Saturday morning found us driving east along the Corniche, drooling at the gorgeous villas spectacularly located on promontories such as Juan-les-Pins, Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferat and Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, skirting round the edge of Monaco and eventually crossing the border just east of Menton.
Our destination was the little town of Ospedaletti where we had found an apartment with a balcony overlooking the sea. But before we even got there, we were struck by the contrast with the French coast we had just left behind. There were no high-rise apartments and hardly any housing developments on the hillsides to our left, just lots of vegetation, quite a few greenhouses, and unspoilt views up the many narrow valleys. We learnt that land that can be cultivated is very precious to the Italians – and to the Spanish Basque as we were to discover later in our trip – so much so that it is very difficult for developers to despoil such land.
We met our host, Simone, at a car park by the beach and followed him along a narrow road next to the sea, to an apartment building a couple of hundred metres away. Looking upwards, Simone pointed to our balcony five stories above us. Fortunately there was a lift, and we were soon inside a recently renovated one-bedroom apartment, delighting in the view from the balcony which, literally, seemed to be suspended over the rocky shoreline.
What a delight after our disappointing rental in Lorgues, with its view of the back wall of the local grape and olive crushing plant !
That first evening we dined on our left-over French groceries, as the evening sun disappeared down behind the distant headland. There is always something magic about watching sunsets across a large expanse of water and we indulged ourselves with the beauty of being so close to the sea.
The next morning we were greeted by bright sunshine and the sound of gentle waves washing lazily against the rocks below us. The Mediterranean was working its magic !
Ospedaletti is on the Riviera dei Flori, just a couple of kilometres outside the bustling city of Sanremo, yet our first impression was of a quiet little town with an unspoilt charm of its own. A 26km long cycle path, the Pista Ciclabile del Ponente Ligure, ran past the front of our building providing us with an easy walking route into the town centre. The path follows the course of an old railway line that once ran alongside the sea, all the way from Ospedaletti to San Lorenzo al Mare and is considered one of the best purpose-built cycle paths on the Mediterranean coast [pistaciclabile.com]; sorry to say we found so much else to do in and around Ospedaletti and Sanremo that we never got around to riding it.
The next morning was a Sunday, a day of rest for this travel weary couple, so after a relaxed late breakfast we took our first walk around the neighbourhood. We followed the bike path to the disused station building beside the little town beach at Piazzale al Mare and then climbed up to Corsa Regina Margherita, the main road through the town. There we beheld a fine avenue of trees behind which stood several elegant old villas dating from the turn of the twentieth century, pretty gardens on either side of the street, and a wonderfully located tennis club opened in 1962, where one’s game could easily be distracted by the views of the sea!
Our first priority was to replenish our pantry and, even though it was a Sunday, we did this very satisfactorily at Salumeria Alimentari da Nicola. It was just on 3pm when we arrived and the shop was closing; luckily the proprietor was very obliging and we came away with strawberries, apples, a tasty looking cheese and a loaf of Italian bread that made us want to nibble it as we walked on through the town. So a few minutes later we found ourselves sitting on a bench overlooking the beach munching a bread and cheese picnic, which we followed up with a very welcome coffee at the nearby Bar La Bussola. A good first impression of this pleasant little seaside town.
The next day we were greeted by clouds sent scudding across the sky by a brisk breeze, dramatising our wonderful view over the Mediterranean. Soon after midday, with the sun shining brightly through the wispy cirrus clouds, we set off on foot to explore the town further. As per usual we looked into a couple of small churches, Chiesa Parrochiale di San Giovanni and the delightful little Chiesetta dei Marnai Sant’Erasmo, another religious house dedicated to the seafarers of the Mediterranean, full of models of local ships and stories of danger on the high seas, much like the Basilica in Marseilles we visited a couple of weeks earlier [see my earlier posting “Provence part seven . . . “]. The Tora Saraceno, constructed to defend the area in 1579, is another interesting old structure in the town which appears to be permanently closed.
On Tuesday morning we decided to make a foray into nearby Sanremo, “La Capitale della Riviera dei Flori”, the self-styled “Riviera of Flowers” as they call this section of the Italian Riviera between Ospedaletti and San Lorenzo al Mare, which explains all the greenhouses on the hillsides.
Our first destination was the Villa Nobel, the long time home of Alfred Nobel, the Swedish scientist who invented dynamite, who owned Bofors the armaments manufacturer, and who, “after reading a premature obituary which condemned him for profiting from the sales of arms, bequeathed his fortune to institute the Nobel Prizes” [Wikipaedia]. Alas, when we arrived we discovered the house was closed on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. So we only had a brief walk down through the garden and out of the back gate, where we found ourselves on another section of the cycle path, which we followed back along the seafront, ending up at the Forte de Santa Tecla.
This impressive triangular bastion, which was built in 1755-56 on the orders of the Republic of Genoa after the citizens rebelled a couple of years earlier, remains abandoned and closed to the public, ever since the prison it later housed was closed down in the 1990s. However, on the grass sward outside its walls, there is a very impressive statue celebrating the sacrifices made by the Italian resistance fighting against Mussolini during WWll.
Feeling hungry after our walk, we investigated the many busy restaurants with alfresco dining along the waterfront by the old port, “Porto Vecchio”, and ended up at Ristorante delle Palme, mainly because they offered “polpa alla griglia”, which to my delight turned out to be a whole grilled octopus that I ate with great gusto as Celine enjoyed an equally delicious sea-bass.
Our gourmand needs fully sated, we headed away from the port and up the hill into the old town. Like a lot European cities that started to develop in the 17th and 18th centuries, many of the streets are narrow and buildings are five or six stories high. But it was clean, well maintained and very comfortable to walk around. In tune with other Riviera destinations there is the very elegant Casinò di Sanremo on Corso degli Inglesi, opened in 1905. And as one might expect in fashion conscious Italy, coming back down into the main shopping streets we found lots of good clothing stores; so realising how under-prepared I was for the onset of cooler, very un-South-Californian, weather, we bought for me a stylish winter coat.
It was dark before we retraced our steps to our car, parked near the main railway station, and found our way back to our delightful pad in Ospedaletti, where Simone, our very thoughtful host turned up with the missing spaghetti strainer, a must for any Italian kitchen! Already this combination of quiet little town next to a busy small city was starting to feel like a good place to live and when we said as much to Simone, he let on that he was a realtor and would be delighted to show us a few properties before we left at the weekend, how convenient!!
Wednesday arrived and, realising we were already half way through our little Italian tryst, we felt that we ought to get out and see some of the countryside. A river called Fora di Taggia flows down through the Vallee di Torrente Argentina from high in the Ligurian Alps until it reaches the Mediterranean Sea at the small community of Prai five kilometres east of San Remo. Near to the source of this wild river is the small village of Triora, known in the tourist industry as “The Salem of Europe” being the site of the last Italian witch hunt that began in 1587. That year a famine was the result of bad weather and pitiful crops, but the locals were convinced that their misfortune was the work of witches. This led to the imprisonment of 30 or more women and girls, their torture and, for some, their death by being burnt at the stake. What better place to visit on what was to turn out to be a grey, damp overcast day.
Strada Provinciale 458, the road we joined after leaving Strada Statale 11, followed the river closely copying every twist and turn that nature had dictated over many millenia. Dense green forests covered the slopes on each side of the river, with a scattering of houses clinging to the hillsides here and there. Eventually we came to the comune of Badalucco, where we stopped briefly to stretch our legs, and take a stroll along the bank of the river as it curled tightly around the edge of the village on it’s headlong rush to the sea. But with time pressing and clouds appearing over the mountains we decided to push on up the valley. However, as it so often does, nature soon called and we were obliged to stop in the hamlet of Montalto Ligure at a rustic looking little cafe, “Bar Trattoria Ligure”, to partake of the homely facilities and enjoy a coffee and a couple of croissants stuffed with Nutella, not super-healthy but very satisfying. We also bought a kilo of delicious rich dark honey, an inherited weakness of yours truly.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally arrived at Triora ; the clouds that had by then completely covered the sky had also started to descend, enveloping the village in a fine mist, adding to the spooky feel of the place. Triora was built on a formidably steep slope and the road up to it was a series of sharp hairpins. Only residents are allowed to take their vehicles inside the village’s maze of steep streets and we parked at the entrance among a fairly modern group of buildings that included a medical centre, a school and the town hall. A short walk and we were immediately in amongst a very ancient complex of houses, many of which were linked together, providing each other support, and many ‘streets’ were no more than narrow footpaths running between and often under buildings as they tumbled down the hillside. We headed up hill, following the sound of sheep bleating and their bells tinkling, the houses becoming more and more rustic the further we got away from the bronze sculpture of a supposed witch near the village entrance. Walking through a small farmyard we were greeted by a very official sign advising us that “Mushroom picking was regulated and banned to unauthorised persons” and then out of the forbidden mist-covered hillside a herd of sheep came rambling down the grassy path, nibbling on the way. The town was practically deserted as we wove our way back down along ancient cobbled passageways between the houses ; a group of children playing tag in the church square were the only reminders of which century we were in.
The next morning the sun was shining and the sea was calm as we had a leisurely breakfast during which we sampled our miele ligure ; with a rich, flowery flavour and the dark brown colour of damp autumn leaves, it has to be the tastiest honey this life-long honey fanatic has ever had the pleasure of enjoying. So good in fact that we made a return visit the next day to buy a couple more jars to see us through the upcoming holiday season!
Sanremo also deserved a return visit and we spent this November Thursday exploring the town. But first things first, it was lunchtime when we arrived, so following our landlord’s recommendation we sought out the strangely named seafood restaurant, “Ittiturismo m/b Patrizia” near the port.
There, in the company of two or three tables of businessmen and no other tourists, we had another very good meal of Tagliolini al gambero, cappon magro, a couple of glasses of a tasty dry white wine, closed out with tiramisu, zabaglione and coffee. How the Italian way of life was starting to change our eating habits !
We needed to walk off this sumptuous repast and so we set off uphill walking through yet more cobbled passages and climbing endless stairs till we reached a quiet lawned park, Piazza S.Costanzo where gnarled old trees pushed their roots over the edge of the retaining wall, and from where we had marvellous views over the city and port far below.
At the end of a short avenue there was the impressive Santuario della Madonna della Costa, another rich edifice dedicated to the Catholic faith. While I sat on a wall and admired the scenery, resting my knees after the long climb, Celine walked up to the church and reported back that it was typically decorated in standard baroque style and that I didn’t miss anything special. So I reckon I made the wise choice.
The afternoon was drawing in by the time we reached the bottom of the hill and out onto the busy commercial streets. We came across one square that had more scooters per square meter than either of us had ever previously encountered. We mentioned this to Simone the next day and he told us that Sanremo was renowned for having the highest per capita scooter population in Italy. And yet in spite of that somewhat alarming statistic we found most scooterists to be very polite and unthreatening, unlike my driving experiences in many other large European cities. We wandered around in the evening darkness, enjoying the busy atmosphere of an unpretentious, ordinary working town. It made us think that just such a town would be good to have close by wherever, and whenever, we find somewhere to build a new nest.
Friday arrived far too quickly for our liking as we were really starting to enjoy this little corner of Italy. We opted to spend the morning visiting Villa Nobel which was fascinating. Alfred Nobel was working happily in Paris for many years until the French government accused hom of high treason against France when he sold to Italy, his patent for ballistite, one of the many specialist explosives he had formulated. Sanremo was a popular health resort in the mid eighteen hundreds which well suited the ailing inventor. The Moorish-style villa that he purchased, and lived in for the final five years of his life, was formerly owned by a Polish poet, Josephy Ignacy Kraszewsky, who named it “Moi Nido”, “My Nest”, just the kind of place we would love to find . . . and be able to afford ! He set up a laboratory in the grounds of the villa, which reached down to the sea and carried on his research, in delightful surroundings. The villa, which the city bought in the 1960’s, is now a museum of his life and works and we found it utterly absorbing.
Time passes quickly when you are enjoying yourself, and as we had a late afternoon appointment with our host Simone, to visit one or two homes for sale, by the time we managed to drag ourselves away from the Villa, we only had time for another quick drive back up to Montalto Ligure to purchase two more kilos of that delicious honey, and a final short walk around Ospedaletti.
Simone picked us up and we drove into Sanremo where he nonchalantly double parked his Mercedes in typical Italian style, across the road from the Casino, and walked us to his office, stopping to grab an exceedingly quick coffee on the way. We had read somewhere, that one big difference between Italians and French was the way they consumed their daily doses of caffeine. And how true it was, we had no time to stop and people watch as we had got used to across the border, this espresso was gulped down standing upright at the counter of the rather posh cafe, and we were immediately off again! Unfortunately our friendly realtor’s interpretation of our stated likes and dislikes home-wise weren’t very close to the mark, and out of the four places he had picked to show us, only one was vaguely interesting. Part of the problem was the lack of properties with gardens, and the other was the shortage of anything other than apartments in our price range. However, unfazed, Simone promised us that now he had a better idea of what we were looking for he believed he had one more place he could show us the following morning, before we departed back to our next destination in France.
And so it was that on that sunny but blustery Saturday morning, we found ourselves clambering across the rocks and through the grounds of a small resort apartment complex, enjoying the sea spray-filled atmosphere, till we arrived at a small apartment building with views of the sea nearly as good as we had been enjoying all week. It was in so many ways just what we were looking for but, for reasons you can read about in my earlier blog (“On finding somewhere to build a new nest”, posted May 30, 2017) we decided to pass, much to the disappointment of all three of us !
Thus, we sadly came to the end of our Italian tryst. Ospedaletti had done great things for us, our optimism was renewed and we set off in high spirits, back to France and a couple of weeks of cat-sitting in Montpellier. . .
