A pocket of left-bank Parisian-chic deep in Provence, Aix-en-Provence is all class: its leafy boulevards and public squares are lined with 17th and 18th century mansions, punctuated by gurgling moss-covered fountains. This is market day when the shoppers take over from the drivers.
Haughty stone lions guard its grandest avenue, café-laced cours Mirabeau, where fashionable Aixois pose on polished pavement terraces sipping overpriced espresso.
No avenue better epitomises Provence’s most graceful city than fountain-studded cours Mirabeau, sprinkled with elegant Renaissance hôtels particuliers and crowned with a summertime roof of leafy plane trees. Named after the revolutionary hero Comte de Mirabeau, it was laid out in the 1640s. Cézanne and Zola famously hung out at Les Deux Garçons, one of a clutch of pavement cafes.
Place Richelme.
Art, culture and architecture abound in Aix. A stroller’s paradise, the highlight is the mostly pedestrian old city, Vieil Aix.
A rainbow-display of olive oil savon (soap).
Sandi regrets not buying this fabulous dress and even-more-fabulous shoes: form and function—perfect for travelling. We might have to go back and get them.
The Église St-Jean de Malte.
Santons (Provençal for “little saint”) are small, hand-painted terracotta nativity scene figurines produced in the region of southeastern France. In a traditional crèche there are 55 individual figures representing various characters from a Provençal village such as the scissors grinder, fishwife, blind man and chestnut seller.
No French crèche is complete without a French impressionist painter.
Marseille is a rich, pulsating port city bubbling over with history, cutting-edge creative spaces and hip multicultural urbanities. Since Greek settlers came ashore around 600 BC, waves of immigrants have made Marseille (now France’s second largest city) their home.
Marseille’s maritime heritage thrives at the vibrant Vieux Port (Old Port), where fresh-off-the-boat catches are sold each morning. A feast of world cuisines, shops, music and cultural celebrations ensure the pace never slows in this busy city, where the mistral wind blows.
The operculum of a shell called ‘Rough Turbo’, found on Mediterranean shores, symbolizes the eyes of Saint Lucia. Wearing one is said to keep the evil eye away and favour luck.
Sandi chooses this one to take home as a souvenir.
We start the day by snagging a coveted spot for breakfast on the portside terrace at La Caravelle.
From the Vieux Port, we hike north up to the fantastic history-woven quarter of Le Panier, dubbed Marseille’s Montmartre as much for its sloping streets as its artsy ambience. In Greek Massilia, it was the site of the agora (marketplace), hence its name, which means ‘the basket’.
During WWII the quarter was dynamited and afterwards rebuilt. Today it’s a mishmash of lanes hiding artisan shops, ateliers (workshops) and terraced houses strung with drying washing.
In the heart of Le Panier is Centre de la Vielle Charité, built as a charity shelter for the town’s poor.
Marseille architect and sculptor Pierre Puget (1620-94), designed the stunning arched sienna-stone courtyard.
Breathtaking Cathédrale de la Major stands guard between the old and ‘new’ ports with a ‘stripy’ facade made of local Cassis stone and green Florentine marble.
This was one of the largest cathedrals built in Europe (some 135m/443ft. long) in the 19th century. It has mosaic floors and red and white marble banners.
We tried for over an hour to get into the national Musée des Civilisations de l’Europe et de la Méditerranées and finally gave up on the long queues and went for lunch.
Everywhere you go in Marseille, you see the opulent, domed 19th century Romano-Byzantine basilica occupying Marseille’s highest point, La Garde (162m).
Built between 1853 and 1864, the Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde is ornamented with coloured marble, murals depicting the safe passage of sailing vessels and superbly restored mosaics.
The church’s bell tower is crowned by a 9.7m gilded statue of the Virgin Mary on a 12m-high pedestal. Bullet marks and shrapnel scars on the northern facade evidence the fierce fighting of Marseille’s Battle of Liberation (August 15-24, 1944).
The hilltop gives 360-degree panoramas of the city’s sea of terracotta roofs below.
Built by Napoléon III for his empress, Eugènie (who is reputed not to have like it and seldom visited), the Château du Pharo is now a private centre, but the surrounding gardens, Jardin du Pharo, with their magnificent views are open all day.
Originally cooked by fishermen from the scraps of their catch, bouillabaisse is Marseille’s signature dish. True bouillabaisse includes at least four different kinds of fish, and sometimes shellfish. It’s served in two parts: the broth, rich with tomato, saffron and fennel; and the cooked fish, deboned tableside and presented on a platter. On the side are croutons and rouille (a bread-thickened garlic-chilli pepper mayonnaise) and grated cheese, usually gruyère. Spread rouille on the crouton, top with cheese, and float it in the soup.
And finish it off with a flaming Grand Marnier soufflé. Gotta love the French.
We’re heading out of the old port past Fort St-Jean (founded in the 13the century) aboard the Frioul If Express boat to Château d’If.
Past the Palais du Pharo.
Past the pretty fishing cove of Vallon des Auffes, crammed with boats.
Immortalized in Alexandre Dumas’ classic 1844 novel Le Comte de Monte Cristo (The Count of Monte Cristo), 16th century fortress-turned-prison Château d’If sits on the 30-sq-km island, Île d’If, 3.5km west of the Vieux Port.
Political prisoners were incarcerated here, along with hundreds of Protestants, the Revolutionary hero Mirabeau, and the Communards of 1871.
Cruising back into the Vieux Port.
Offering jaw-dropping panoramas, the Route des Crêtes (Road of Crests) wiggles 16km along the clifftops from La Ciotat to Cassis.
Nestled at the foot of a dramatic rocky outcrop crowned by a 14th-century château (now a hotel), the little fishing port of Cassis is all charm, hence the enormous crowds that pile into it Vieux Port, play on its shingle beaches, visit its terraced vineyards and sip fabled white Cassis wine.
The town’s name comes from the Roman Carsicis Portus, meaning ‘crowned port’, so christened for the rock Couronne de Charlemagne (Crown of Charlemagne), which is visible from far out at sea.
Twelve estates producing the Cassis appellation wines ribbon the hillsides and the fruit of their labour is found in abundance here.
Moules-frites (steamed mussels and fries) and rosé seaside watching the sun set over Cassis with your love... parfait.
The guidebook said the hilltop village of Les Baux de Provence was a ‘must-see’ so, despite our having to backtrack two hours, we determine to get there. We start to make our way through the narrow cobbled streets, past the colourful pottery shop.
Past the nougat man.
We pay the entry fee to the castle, outfit ourselves with the audio guide headset, and begin the tour when all of a sudden Tim says, “We've been here before”. Oops. He’s right. It was two years ago—see our post here, “Southern France Rocks, Part 1”. A rather unfortunate senior moment, or three. There is a silver lining, however.
We didn’t have time to see the high-end sound and light spectacular, Carrières de Lumière, the last time but now we do. It’s an odd, strangely thrilling attraction in the chilly halls of a former limestone quarry. Gigantic projections illuminate rough cave walls and floor, accompanied by oration and swelling music in that overly dramatic way the French so love. The show—on Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and Raphael—shows famous images in new ways.
The other part of the silver lining is that Sandi can now get the pottery chicken she spotted two years ago and has been clucking about ever since.
See and be seen St-Rémy de Provence has an unfair share of gourmet shops and restaurants—in the spirit of the town’s most famous son, prophecy-maker Nostradamus, we predict we’re going to like it. The jetset wanders the peripheral boulevard and congregates at place de la République, leaving the quaint historic centre strangely quiet.
This lovely, talented lady entertains us with spirited French folk songs while we enjoy lunch en plein air in the square.
With Sandi’s birthday quickly approaching we head south to celebrate in style in St. Tropez and check into Hôtel Le Mouillage, overlooking Bouillabaisse Beach.
The owners have a flair for interior design.
Pouting sexpot Brigitte Bardot came to St-Tropez in the ’50s to star in Et Dieu Créa la Femme (And God Created Woman) and transformed the peaceful fishing village overnight into a sizzling jet-set favourite. Tropeziens have thrived on their sexy image ever since: at the Vieux Port, yachts like spaceships jostle for millionaire moorings, and infinitely more tourists jostle to admire them. Like Tim.
A grisly legend provided St-Tropez with its name in AD68. After beheading a Roman officer named Torpes for becoming a Christian, the emperor Nero packed the decapitated body into a small boat, along with a dog and a rooster who were to devour his remains. Miraculously, the body came ashore in St-Tropez un-nibbled, and the village adopted the headless Torpes as its saint.
The smell of jasmine is intoxicating and perfumes the air all over Southern France.
It's market day. Let’s check it out.
The bakery (and café currently under renovation) La Tarte Tropezienne, is the original creator of tarte Tropézienne, and the best place to buy a slice of the local speciality.
Sandi’s ready.
It’s re-e-e-e-eally yummy.
Time for a little retail therapy, and it doesn’t get much better than St. Tropez.
The boho look is all the rage.
Sandi wants the white maxi dress in the middle but Tim prefers the yellow, ruffled, mini onesie, front, left.
We compromise and Tim gets Sandi a pair of Les Tropeziennes for her birthday. Every second woman wears them in Provence and now Sandi is too.
C’est bon, non?
Sandi spots another of her favourite French style icons.
Tim is relieved the shops on Rue Gambetta are now closed.
There’s a bit of everything on the menu at always-packed Le Sporting Brasserie in Place des Lices where we decide to have dinner, but the speciality is hamburger topped with foie gras (fattened goose liver) and morel cream sauce.
Sandi’s birthday has arrived and there’s no doubt about how she wants to spend it: sur la plage bien sûr but not before a big breakfast on the terrace of our hotel room.
St-Tropez’ seaside scene is defined by its restaurants (which blanket the sand), and they’re all wildly different. We choose Cap 21 Les Murenes on Plage de Pampelonnne, a divine stretch of golden sand and St-Tropez’s most legendary.
Joyeaux Anniversaire Sandi!
A Thai chicken salad lunch for the birthday girl.
Tim goes for the fish.
Mon Dieu! The water’s freezing!
This is as far as Sandi's going in.
Tim doesn’t mind the frigid waters while he dreams of his yacht.
Tim doesn’t mind the frigid waters while he dreams of his yacht.
Zee adorable French Bulldog likes zee plage too.
We’re now at Salama Morrocan Restaurant for Sandi’s birthday dinner lounging on cushioned exotic furnishings, washing down heavenly-scented couscous and tajine with fresh mint tea and capping it off with lime sherbet.
Don’t try this at home.
Today we’re daytripping and our first stop is Port Grimaud, the so-called ‘Venice of Provence’ which stands on what was a mosquito-filled swamp in the 1960s. Inside the high wall that barricades the pleasure port from the busy N98, colourful cottages stand gracefully alongside yacht-laden waterways comprising 12km of quays, 7km of canals and mooring space for 3000 luxury yachts.
Crowning the medieval postcard-perfect hilltop village of Grimaud which sits 3km inland, is the dramatic shell of the Château du Grimaud, built in the 11th century, fortified in the 15th century destroyed during the Wars of Religion (1562-98), rebuilt in the 17th century, and wrecked again during the French Revolution.
It’s a great place to soak in the panoramic views of the Golfe de St-Tropez.
Back in St-Tropez, about 4km southeast of town is the start of Plage de Tahiti, where we plant ourselves for another afternoon on the beach—a fitting way to end our travels in Provence.
The Mistal’s ablowin’ hard!
En route back to Nice to catch our flight to London we drive the scenic coastal route and stop for lunch in Fréjus, halfway between St-Tropez and Cannes. Settled by Massiliots (Greek colonists from Marseille) and colonized by Julius Caesar around 49 BC as Forum Julii, Fréjus is a quiet place.
The appealing old town is a maze of pastel buildings, shady plazas and winding alleys, climaxing with extraordinary medieval paintings in an episcopal complex wedged between a trio of market squares.
Fréjus’ star sight is Le Groupe Épiscopal, built on the foundations of a Roman temple. At the heart of the complex is an 11th and 12th century cathedral, one of the first Gothic buildings in the region, and a cloister featuring rare 14th and 15th century painted wooden ceiling panels depicting angels, demons, hunters, acrobats and monsters in vivid comic-book fashion.
The meaning and origin of these sci-fi-like creatures is unknown. Only 500 of the original 1200 frames survive.
One of the ornately-carved panels remaining of the large, walnut southern door of the cathedral depicting the Virgin Mary being crowned by angels.
We’ve had a great time in Provence and plan to return again someday but for now our airline tickets read ‘London’, so we’re off to enjoy jolly, old England. Join us there on the next post. Salut!
