French Riviera – Taran's Tales

Provence part seven – Another touch of seafaring history and more of the fleshpots.

The French Riviera is, in reality, much more than a hedonists’ paradise, including as it does two of France’s most important centres of maritime and naval industry. We were already favourably impressed by Toulon [see Provence Part Six] when a rendezvous with Celine’s sister Dagmara, gave us a good reason to visit the other great seaport at the extreme western end of that coast.

Marseille and the islands from the Basilique.

Marseilles is a real working city, historically important to France’s foreign trade, and somewhat renowned in the past as a place one needed to be careful where one trod, that is, in the best traditions of the seafarer’s way of life, it used to be a bit rough around the edges. Therefore, in homage to its maritime past, we made la Basilique de Notre Dame de la Garde our first stop.

Impressive architecture of La Basilique de Notre Dame de la Garde

Built on top of an impressive rocky outcrop in the 6^th arrondisement, this stunning piece of religious architecture, visible from all over Marseille, is the place to visit if you want to have the best views of the city, the old port and the islands in the bay beyond. It also houses many fascinating artifacts, paintings and models of ships that set sail from the port over the years, commemorating the seafaring heritage of the city. Afterwards, we three took a short stroll through the old city, where we found artists and some amusing grafiti and back down into the port area; but, alas, the day was fading fast and we realized we had to return another day to do the town justice.

Walking back down to the port from the old town, with the Basilique in the distance.

Musée des Civilisations d’Europe et de Méditerranée

And one week later we did just that, Dagmara needing to meet up again with her ride home to Antugnac. Once we had said our “Adieus”, Celine and I proceeded to discover that this was yet another town where one can get hopelessly mixed up in it’s traffic system, and our assumption that the car park named “Les Terrasses du Port” would be convenient for another visit to the old port, proved to be very wrong. In fact Les Terrasses du Port is a modern shopping centre better situated for ferry passengers visiting the new port area, so we relocated ourselves to the car park nearby the somber-looking Cathédrale La Major and wandered down past Mucem, the ultra-modern Musée des Civilisations d’Europe et de Méditerranée sitting in its moat, and around the rebuilt Fort Saint-Jean, the sea-wall battlements of which provided many quiet corners for courting couples, including ourselves, to enjoy the afternoon sunshine away from the madding crowds.

Once in the old port, we decided to make the most of the autumn sunshine by taking a boat trip out on the bay of Marseille, to visit Château d’If, the island fortress on the tiny Île d’If, the smallest island in the Frioul archipelago about three kilometres off shore. Originally built in the mid-sixteenth century for King Francis I, to defend the port of Marseille, it never had to prove its worth in battle. Instead, the nineteenth century saw it become one of the most notorious jails in France, being escape-proof, even if Dumas’ fictitious hero, Edmond Dantès, proved otherwise in “The Count of Monte Cristo”. This fantasy resulted in one rough-hewn cell being maintained in honour of Dantès as the main tourist attraction! There really isn’t very much else to see in the chateau itself and the best parts of the afternoon were the boat trip itself, and the lovely views back towards Marseille, and of the two larger islands further offshore. I could see a large well-protected marina on Île Ratonneau which got me thinking what a great place it would be to berth my yacht, but then I get that dreamy feeling whenever I see a large fleet of sailboats!

A couple of other attractive small towns to the east of Marseilles are Cassis and La Ciotat, the latter also being the home of a small shipbuilding yard, Chantiers Navals de La Ciotat, where I once spent an interesting couple of weeks in my professional capacity as a marine engineer, and first discovered the French capacity for obstinacy when it comes to using the English language. Both towns were horribly busy on that late Saturday afternoon and as parking seemed to be a near impossibility, we decided to drive strait through; but it was evident that they were both popular places to live and, perhaps, for the wealthy Marseillaises to wine and dine.

With the more down-to-earth ports of Toulon and Marseille ticked off on our bucket-list, it was time to return to the fleshpots of the Côte d’Azur, first stop Monaco. Our arrival there was a nightmare. In an effort to reduce the amount of traffic flowing above ground through the tiny municipality, the hillsides are now a warren of underground roadways, and having taken a wrong turn somewhere deep in the rocky depths, we found ourselves in an enormous never-ending tunnel, going goodness knows where. No longer in the most positive of moods, we eventually found our way out into fresh air and what we hoped would be a convenient car-park at the base of Le Rocher, upon which the ruling House of Grimaldi have built their palace, claiming for themselves the best views of this city-state. And then again, Grace Kelly, the subject of my early adolescent love, lived there once upon a time, so I could never hate the place whatever problems it presented.

It was easy to imagine how beautiful Monaco must have been a couple of centuries ago before the Casino opened in 1869. However, it is now the most densely populated state in the world and as one turns to face the city behind Le Rocher, the view is a seething mass of high-rise apartment buildings that severely mar the view of the hillsides on which they are built, and seem to extend in every direction except for seawards.

The spoiled beauty of Monaco greatly enhanced by my travelling companions!

It is by no means a pretty sight. However, the Jardins de Saint-Martin that stretch down from the front of the Palace around the edge of Le Rocher, with views over the Mediterranean and down over the Port de Fontvieille, are a pleasant place for an afternoon stroll among the lawns and interesting sculptures. But once you reach the eastern end of the gardens overlooking the marina crammed full of enormous luxury power yachts, the awfulness of such concentrated development smacks you in the face. One saving feature, the police do seem have a sense of humour; when asked to indicate the quickest way down to the quayside, one fine officer, standing outside the city hall, pointed straight towards the requested destination, that is down a fairly precipitous cliff face, then laughingly turned round and pointed us towards Avenue Saint-Martin, the road that curves down around the end of the rock, slower but decidedly safer! The pompous ceremony of the “changing of the guard” at the palace gates was also a bit of a farce, there being literally only one guard to change!

We eventually made our way down to the quayside and as we wandered along admiring the magnificent super yachts, we were apalled to find a large funfair spread across the end of the marina, making the place seem more like Blackpool on a drizzly Lancashire afternoon than the posh sophisticated ambience of Monte Carlo and its casinos that we had expected. Undeterred we continued our walk round past the Casino de Monte Carlo itself, till we arrived at La Nouveau Musée National de Monaco, thinking we would visit the advertised Musée de la Poupée. That, alas, was another disappointment when we learned that the doll museum had actually been closed for the last five years, and there was no other exhibition installed to replace it!

Whilst I am quite sure Monaco is still “The Place” for some people, I’m afraid it left us feeling very negative about it and so we quickly returned to our car for the less than 20km, but 45 minute drive further east to Nice, which, with it’s more demure fading elegance, was a great improvement. You arrive driving along the now infamous Promenade des Anglais, the scene of such terror just a few months earlier. This long boulevard is lined with lots of elegant houses and hotels facing the sea, and yet in stark contrast, the road just behind these buildings looked really very impoverished. We found a spot to park in Parking du Phare at the entrance to the small port just around the headland at the end of the long curving beach. Retracing our footsteps, we passed the powerful Monument au Morts de Rauba-Capéu, a memorial honoring Nice citizens killed during WW1, and once back round the headland of the same name, arrived in the Vieille Ville, the type of warren of narrow streets among old buildings, with restaurants and cafés at every corner, that are such a joy to wander through. Sadly the day was coming to an end and we had little time to really appreciate the place, let alone get a true impression of what is France’s fifth most populous city with a population of about one million, and the holiday destination of around four million tourists every year.

A couple of days later we headed back in that same general direction, to visit first of all, Grasse considered to be the world’s capital of perfume, up in the hills a few miles inland from Cannes. Following a succession of signposts, we eventually arrived on the edge of town at the Fragonard factory, where we took a guided tour to learn about the history and processes involved in perfume production.

According to my two sophisticated lady companions, our young guide was not very knowledgeable; and the inevitable sales pitch at the end of the tour was all rather nauseating in more ways than one, as we really didn’t like any of their perfumes, let alone their aluminium perfume “bottles”! Nevertheless, I was quite impressed to learn that some three thousand different essences, sourced from all over the world, are used in the manufacture of their range of perfumes and soaps, and a good “nose” can identify and distinguish each and every one.

The ingredients of today’s perfumes are sourced worldwide

The local perfume industry started to prosper at the end of the eighteenth century, and centered around Grasse because the micro-climate is particularly beneficial for the flower farming industry. Ironically, whereas in 1905 nearly six hundred tons of flowers were used in the local perfume production, modern methods and synthetic ingredients

Isnard, a local family-owned parfumerie.

mean that less than 30 tons of flowers were used in early 2000.

Heading back into the town centre we were much more impressed by visits to one or two of the many perfume shops, and especially liked that of Isnard. The proprietor, Mlle. Isnard, comes from a long family line that was able to trace their association with the town of Grasse back to the Middle Ages. And because we liked her products so much we came away with a bag well filled with perfume, soaps and even a liqueur to satisfy the driver!

Realising a need to fortify the body as well as the soul we had a delicious late luncheon at “Lou Pignatoun”, deep in the historic centre of the town, lured by their Friday speciality, “L’Aïoli”, a Provençal speciality of a platter of fish, prawns, hard-boiled eggs and lots of other tasty morsels served with a dip of garlic and olive oil mayonnaise. Sadly, we were just too late for that particular dish, but we still ate well of veal, steak, a mix of potatoes and smoked lentils . . . yummy. A quick visit to the very attractive cathedral completed our visit to Grasse, and a second brief stop in Cannes completed our Cook’s Tour of the fleshpots of the Côte d’Azur and also actually marked the end of our stay in Provence. Time for a change of language, and for a short tryst across the border in Italy, but that’s another story . . .

“Habit de Perfume”
Tomek Pawiak 1997
after a 17th century engraving.

Provence part six – Our first taste of the fleshpots of the Côte d’Azur

Provence means one of two things to most people, either sun-filled landscapes with a scattering of small medieval towns and villages perched artistically on hillsides, separated by never ending vistas of vineyards and olive groves or, the exotic lifestyles of the rich and famous in the fleshpots of the Côte d’Azur. More commonly known amongst the anglophones of the world as the French Riviera, the Côte d’Azur nominally stretches from the Italian border in the east to Cassis, near Marseilles, in the west. My dear Celine is torn between the culture of big cities and the beauties of nature, whereas I am more of a dedicated countryside fan myself; nevertheless both of us approached the French Riviera cities of Nice, Cannes and Monte Carlo, with no real expectations of finding our optimal nesting place. A couple of other big cities that also interested us both, especially me as an old sea-dog, were Marseilles and Toulon; whilst not typically on the average Cook’s Tour of casinos and the lives of the high-rollers, they are both interesting old seaports with lots of history. Still we were determined to experience all that Provence had to offer which included a day or two “at the seaside”, and so one mid-October day, with a forecast of “periods of clouds and sun” we set off for our second of several visits to the azure waters of the Mediterranean.

We had already briefly tasted the Riviera lifestyle when visiting Saint Tropez [see “Provence Part Two – Saint Tropez”], but Cannes was to leave us with some very different impressions. A town of just 72,000 people, it seems much bigger than that, with an infrastructure and hinterland to support the vast numbers of tourists that descend on it every year. It is well known for its various film festivals but all the same we were surprised to find it so crowded on that grey autumnal day. Unknowingly, we had arrived for the first day of MIPCOM, a festival of television programming where 14,000 delegates, including 1,600+ of the world’s film and TV producers and 4,800+ buyers from TV stations, Netflix, Hulu, Amazon and the like, descend on the Palais des Festivals et des Congres to criticize and barter each other’s made-for-television films and series.

Looking for somewhere to park near the promenade we found ourselves competing with a mass of oversize limousines and luxury black sedans with dark tinted windows, and finally ended up at the Parking de la gare de Cannes in a slightly less salubrious part of town. The Palais des Festivals monopolises the western end of Boulevard de la Croisette, the main street alongside the promenade, from Le Vieux Port round to Pointe Croisette at the eastern end of the bay. Not having any great interest in television soap operas, we set off towards the old town, past the pentagonal bandstand on Allée de la Liberté Charles de Gaulle, past Mairie de Cannes, the impressive Town Hall with it’s clock tower and the war memorial in front, then down Quai Saint-Pierre and Quai Max Laubeuf, enviously admiring the flotilla of luxurious sailing yachts with their perfect teak decks, moored stern-to, Mediterranean fashion, awaiting a visit from their well-heeled owners.

Mairie de Cannes, the city hall in Cannes.

A couple of weeks later, when we made a second shorter visit to the city, showing Celine’s younger sister Dagmara the sights, we got into conversation with a lucky young man walking ashore from the British yacht “Latifa”, who proudly told us he was helping the owner prepare for a five year circumnavigation of the world, in which he would be one of the five crew. This legendary 70ft yacht, a successful competitor in three Fastnet Races in the 1930’s and post-war, was designed and built by William Fife in 1936 at a small shipyard on the beach in the village of Fairlie in Scotland, and its present condition was a compliment to the boatbuilders of old. It had me fair droolin’!! And I like to think my dear wife and sister-in-law could be quite tempted to go to sea on such an elegant craft! [see www.sandemanyachtcompany.co.uk for a fascinating history and more photos of SY “Latifa”].

The elegant sailing yacht Latifa, being prepared for a five-year jaunt around the world.

Anyway, Celine eventually managed to drag me away from the quayside and we enjoyed our walk the narrow streets and up the stairways of the old town and up the hill to the church of Notre Dame.

We had great views of the port below us as well as a cruise ship moored offshore, and, looking inland, we appreciated the true size of the city and beyond. Descending back to sea-level, we headed towards the festival with its pavilions bedecked with enormous hoardings of TV programmes vying for the attention of the delegates, and the entrances of its perimeter of steel barriers guarded by snappily dressed young men, all identical in their black leather shoes, black suits, white shirts and red ties, to keep us common people away from the celebrities.

And as if that level of security wasn’t quite enough, heavily armed soldiers in combat fatigues mingled “discreetly” among the crowds of mere mortals enjoying the small funfair. We followed the Walk of Fame, where we found, among others, the handprints set in stone, of Timothy Dalton, Vanessa Redgrave, Dennis Hopper and, appropriately, Sharon Stone.

The afternoon was getting greyer and damper and we walked around the edge of the event till we found the famed red carpet where my own A++ celebrity made her entrance.

Celine receives the red carpet treatment.

By this time my tummy was rumbling as usual and we found a small café overlooking the beach where we took shelter from the drizzle, across the road from the elegant old hotels, luxury apartments and casinos that lined Boulevard de la Croisette. Somewhat fortified we turned our backs on the festival and walked back into the normal life of the city, to find our car, stopping only for a few groceries at a little Arabic store on Place de la Gare, as well as finding some rather tasty pastries in a local patisserie, to consume as we drove back through the pouring rain to Lorgues.

Not exactly convinced by the attractions of Cannes, a few days later our next trip to the coast took us on our first of two visits to Toulon, France’s main base for its Mediterranean Naval Fleet.

Also the centre for many different industries, Toulon had seemed to be a rather inauspicious place to visit as we did our research back in California, until one damp evening in Lorgues, I sat and read the city’s reviews in the Michelin Guide I found on our host’s bookshelves. And we really did enjoy our visit there, starting with the busy port itself, a delightful mixture of yachts large and small, fishing boats, local ferries taking commuters back and forth across the bay to Saint-Mandrier-sur-Mer, larger ferries servicing the island of Corsica, and of course, warships of all shapes and sizes.

Toulon, home of the French Mediterranean Fleet.

Some of the small inshore fishing fleet alongside in Toulon.

As usual we headed off into the mainly pedestrianised old town behind the port, initially poking our noses quickly inside the elegant 18^th century convent church of Saint-Francois de Paule, and then walking along Cours Lafayette, an ordinary shopping street with market stalls down the middle, catering to a pretty broad cross-section of this port-city’s society. We took a closer look inside the more magnificent 19^th century Cathedrale Notre-Dame de la Seds, before finding ourselves in Place Puget with its extraordinarily calcified fountain, on top of which a veritable copse of small trees and shrubs grows in and around the central sculpture of three dolphins, now nearly lost among the greenery. It is always easy to get a strong, tasty, but decaffeinated café in France, so coffee in the late afternoon is never a problem for those of us who don’t wish to stay awake all night! So in this square, once frequented by the likes of Dumas, Flaubert and Hugo, we indulged ourselves in the café culture once more, watching the late afternoon ladies passing by with their shopping and young lads challenging all on their skate boards, as we enjoyed crèpes with our decaffs.

Old Toulon is pleasantly ordinary, with some eye-catching architecture, yet not at all sophisticated or overtly touristy. Its streets and passageways are somewhat artsy, sometimes a bit dilapidated and one passageway in particular smelt so strongly of urine that, in spite of the beguiling street sign indicating more artistic work at its far end, I could not persuade Celine to explore further! With the day nearly gone, to finish our visit we searched out, with some difficulty, the route to the top of Mont Faron, from where, in the light of the setting sun we had a terrific view over the town and the port laid out below us, the peninsular of Saint-Mandrier-sur-Mer that protects the port, and all the way west to the nearby village of Sanary-sur-Mer.

Traditional fishing craft, “pointus”, line the dock in Sanary-sur-Mer

I had wanted to visit Sanary-sur-Mer ever since reading “The Little Paris Bookshop” by Nina George, in which the narrator, bookseller Jean Perdu, winds up there at the end of an extraordinary odyssey on his floating shop/home/barge, along the inland waterway of canals and rivers from Paris to the Mediterranean. So one of our last day-trips in Provence was to explore that lesser travelled part of the Côte d’Azur to the west of Toulon, starting in Bandol, which we liked a lot. It has to be said that everywhere on this coast is extensively developed, but Bandol seemed to be less than most.

Celine relives her childhood on the waterfront in Bandol.

A pretty sandy beach, a busy little marina with plenty of sailing boats of all sizes, including a large fleet of pointus, the traditional fishing boats of the area, a late eighteenth century carousel, and a waterfront of modest buildings with the usual mix of cafés, restaurants, small hotels and local shops, all combined to give the village a warm friendly feeling that beckoned us inwards, where we found more tidy narrow streets and a pretty tree-filled square in front of the small church. Sanary- sur-Mer, a few miles further east was equally likeable and we even managed to find a little second-hand bookshop that I easily imagined to be the one where Jean Perdu ended up his days. Between them, these two villages gave me renewed hope that there were places along the Riviera where life was lived at a more normal level than we had seen in the fleshpots! But then again, we weren’t there in “the season”! We had barely scratched the surface of the Riviera’s hedonistic offerings, and we still had to visit another seaport renowned for it’s lowlife past!