Beyond Beaches

Our first beach day was just outside Antibes in a place called Juan Les Pins.  An extremely crowded public beach, we chose the posh option and found a private beach with comfy sunbeds and waiters serving coffee....the only way to do a beach.  Much quieter and more civilized we settled in for some serious tanning and people watching, and there was endless sights to see.  I cannot even imagine what the beaches in Nice or St. Tropez are like compared to this relatively middle of the line one, but we couldn't help but giggle amongst the women clad in Christian Lacroix bikinis, puffed up muscle men wearing almost thongs, and excess older flesh on display.   We seemed to be the only sort of normal, English people on this particular stretch of beach, but we did not mind as the kids were content, the wine was fine, and the mussels and calamari were delicious.

At the end of the day we decided to take a boat tour around the Cap d'Antibes.  It was an underwater glass boat we thought the kids would enjoy, and they did.  The blonde French ponytailed tour guide was very informative and knew who owned each villa and private yacht.  We passed the stunning house of the bigwig at BMW (two connecting villas, one facing the sun when it rises, one facing it when it sets), the King of Jordan's villa, the head honcho of Heineken's pad, and the posh Eden Roc Hotel which costs up to 15,000 euros a night and where you have to pay 600 euros a day for a sunbed and 80 euros just to go for a swim!  Our indulgent private beach costs didn't feel so bad now.  

There is a lot of money in this part of the world, almost uncomfortably so, but it is easy to see why everyone flocks here.  The combination of the consistently warm climate with the scenic mountains overlooking the glorious Mediterranean and chic French culture is hard to beat.  The great thing is you can take or leave the chicness and wealthy ducks waddling around town, because everyone is on holiday and looking to relax.  Only the very sad are comparing designer bikinis and flip flops.

Unfortunately many of the 'village perches' are overrun by tourists, but it didn't deter us from visiting places like Biot (known for it's glass blowing factories), Grasse (known for it's perfume factories), and Gourdon, the highest and prettiest village of the Gorges du Loup, a stunning drive that takes you up through the mountains around a gorge with vast waterfalls and terrifying cliff drops.  On the way down we did stop for a dip in the rock pools of the mountain river, a secret spot the locals go to with a picnic instead of the beach.  Though the slippery rocks are lethal, we can quickly see why this nature haven is more appealing than the sandy, heaving beach.

Though the kids were actually very interested in how they make pretty glass vases, and even more in how perfume is made, it was time for a dreaded but necessary kiddy day, so we were off to Marineland, expecting the worst and busiest day of our holiday.  We were pleasantly surprised with a well run marine park that wasn't too crowded and mostly with a little boy who was beside himself with excitement over seeing a real, live orca.  Not only that, he was about to get up close and personal with the dolphins too and it was almost too much to take.   With scenes of Free Willy running through my mind and a heavy lump in my throat I watched the Orca show with completely mixed feelings.  The look on Sam's face was pure bliss, but part of me was wishing he was seeing them in the wild instead of with a blonde American girl standing on the tip of their nose clapping her hands.  I'm sure they are well looked after, and the show was truly fantastic, I was only moved by this unbelievable relationship between man and beast, and the smile on my son's face.

We were truly entranced by this part of the world, and feel especially lucky to live in such a diverse and beautiful country.  Even after the 930km drive home to Paris we resolved to go back there and see all those places we missed, namely Cannes, Nice, and St. Tropez!!  Ah well, it was the village perches and a big fishtank which were more fascinating for this family, those bigger cities can wait, I don't think the Lacroix bikini bunnies are going anywhere soon.

Cote D'Azur

From the lush green vineyards of Provence we have made our way to the slightly more tropical Cote D'Azur with it's palm trees, glamorous beaches and red, sandy cliffs.  After a horrific drive on the worst day of the year for traffic, we finally make it to our villa in Valbonne.  The sound of les cygales are less intense than in our remote farmhouse stationed high above the village of Faucon.  In a weird way I kind of miss that remoteness.  Just hearing the odd car or motorbike is distracting after the solitude of Merindol, but it is still fairly peaceful and quiet.  

I walked to the village of Valbonne this morning which was much prettier than I expected.  Along the walk I peered into the gardens of many villas, all seemingly abandoned apart from the glistening, obligatory pool.  Strangely, in the middle of a high grassed field there stood a white plastic table and four white plastic chairs, as if the horses themselves were having a garden party with various inhabitants of the meadow.  There happened to be an antiques market in the square and down the charming little streets.  I so wanted to buy something but feel far too naive about buying antiques.  There was a small, heavy iron which looked old, and a bit of a dangerous weapon, but had no price and i was too scared to ask.  

We go back in the evening 'en famille' and the square has a decidedly different feel.  Gone are the quaint antiques among the tables and chairs in the outdoor brasseries, and it is heaving with overly tanned, even some crisp, mostly English people looking for somewhere to eat.  One side of the square is obviously more busy than the other, one restaurant catering more to children than the rest.  We are lured in as well and end up waiting for a table next to the presenter Alice Beer and her two cute twin girls.  She comments on Ruby's Ariel Barbie who's gold bikini top has fallen off leaving her topless and we laugh.  I pretend not to recognise her whilst Tom makes googly eyes at me.  We eventually sit down to a great meal, brochettes de la mer and lasagne for the kids, and the square soon turns into a circus, complete with clowns doing shows and selling bright helium balloons.  Nowhere, it seems, is immune to the tourist trap.  I cannot deny we enjoyed people watching here, and almost recognised a few more faces but weren't confident enough to speak to them, they just all looked 'familiar'.  As we were leaving the French were all rolling in, just beginning their evening.  At least it wasn't completely English...

Pont D'Avignon

Once hosting 22 arches, it was built over 8 years at the beginning of the 13th century when Saint Bezenet laid the first large stone himself, alone.

Sign Of The Times

Playing harp and texting friends in Avignon

Resting after a long climb up to the Count's Castle at Vaison

Vaison La Romaine

The bridge leading up to the old town and castle with monument carved into the wall to remember the floods

Provence

We are staying in Northern Provence, in the Vaucluse area (which means 'closed valley'), and the term describes accurately where we are situated, nestled amongst large foothills and various lush vineyards, with a small mountain overlooking our farmhouse complete with Roman castle ruins, and the larger Mont Ventoux in the distance. Mont Ventoux gets its name from the french word for wind which is 'vent' as apparently it is very windy at the top. During mistral season the wind is massively strong at the top of the limescale mountain. This was also where the sport of mountain climbing was born. The writer Petrarch went up with his brother in 1336, and according to historians, this was the first recorded experience of anyone climbing a mountain simply for pleasure. It takes around 5 hours to walk to the summit of Mont Ventoux, but not so energetic travellers will be relieved to know a road has been built to the top as well. According to Eyewitness Travel Guides, until 1973 there was a motor race on the south side of Ventoux, to the top. These windy and steep mountain roads are often included as a challenging stage of the Tour de France as well. Not sure if we will make it up there even by car with our carsick prone family.

We are staying in a remote restored farmhouse near the hamlet Merindol-des-Oliviers, a place where there really doesn't seem to be much happening. The sound of 'les cygales' (crickets) is overwhelmingly loud when we arrive, but you soon get used to them. Then, sometime in the early evening, they all of a sudden just stop, and it's a relief when you can once again hear yourself think. The view from our outdoor terasse is exceptional, short green trees in perfect sandy rows paint the landscape in soft mounds, with the larger white topped summit of Ventoux in the distance. We are virtually hovering on a cliff, and have warned the children not to venture too far. We go on a few adventures which basically lead us from vineyard to vineyard, and Noah becomes obsessed with taking pictures of grapes, and some very good ones too. Gail and I are determined to find our way up to the ruined castle on the hilltop overlooking us. We start our incline hoping to be in the right direction and half an hour and a bit of luck later make it there, to the 'Vieux Ville'. It is slightly eerie, with a miniscule graveyard across from the ruined castle, covered in scaffolding and quite unwelcoming with it's 'Interdit' signs on the door. Strangely there is a lone motorhome parked on a ledge alongside the castle, and a mailbox at the start of the path leading to the ruin. As we walk along we see there is work underway here as well, with signs of 'private property' and 'danger'. From what I could read of the French historical signpost in front of the castle, 7 strong men performed its demolition in 1700 something, for a reason unknown at this time. We did not dwell there long however, as soon as I mentioned that it felt like we could be in one of those weird horror movies, with this lone camper van luring us in from our naive curiousity, surely hosting some crazed serial killer waiting for stupid tourists like us to wander slowly uphill to a demolished and relatively unimpressive castle..... we were outta there!

The whole area of the Vaucluse is embedded with Roman influence. From the great theatre in Orange and the ruins of Vaison-La-Romaine to Carpentras there is evidence of Roman history and culture. Vaison-La-Romaine is our nearest town, and we feel very lucky to be so close to such a beautiful, historical place. The Roman remains here have been virtually left untouched, it is an archaeologist's playground. The town's origins go back 2400 years alongside the river Ouveze which burst it's banks in 1992 in the worst flood France has ever seen. They have recuperated since then, but remember the tragic day with a plaque engraved on the stone wall above the bridge stating 'Souvenions nous' (Remember Us).

We all make our way uphill in the scorching heat to the medieval quarter of the town. The narrow lanes and alleys provide a labyrinth of lovely terrace houses combined with art galeries, creperies, and ice cream shops. We finally make it to the top (even Ruby who has a burst of energy and nearly runs up the stairs!) and enjoy another stupendous view. The ruins of the castle atop this hill was built in the 12th century by the Counts of Toulouse, and partly reconstructed in the 15th century. Unable to walk around the ruins, we were more taken in by the estates attached to vineyards with pools scattered in the landscape, imagining a house of our own there one day...

The town itself hosts many souvenir shops as you would expect, and the pottery is too colorful to resist. We buy some, along with pretty packets of lavender and herbs de Provence of course, and I am tempted by an expensive Moonstone ring. We attend the weekly market and it is one of the best I've seen in France. With only a few bits of food intended to buy, we end up getting most of the souvenir requirements for home in this bustling place which sells everything from tablecloths to wooden salad tongs made from olive wood to pots of fresh paella. We eventually end up at the poissonerie to get the sought after sea bass I was determined to barbeque and end up paying a huge amount for two very fat fish. The fishmonger however provided us with a bit of a show gutting and scaling the fish, which made it almost worth it. Almost....as the kids and Gail did not eat a bite and I should have just bought one of the fat flippers and saved 25 euros.

Next we visit Avignon, the walled city. I sing the french song 'Sur le Pont....Avignon' the whole way and drive the kids crazy, but I've heard Ruby singing it at school, though she doesn't seem to appreciate it now. The town is bursting with the festive fever of theatre shows, with performers everywhere providing glimpses of their productions and handing out leaflets, the most interesting being 'Les Monologues de Penis', an offshoot of the women's version apparently, but what made it interesting was the naked actor covered barely by a cardboard box handing out the brochures. At least it kept the kids entertained whilst we had lunch.

As ever, entranced by the souvenir shops selling the same ceramic crickets in each one making the same bloody annoying noise (who would ever buy those??), we tear the children away and convince them to have a tour of Le Palais des Papes (the Pope's Palace), for a little bit of culture, forced though it may be. This is a 14th century fortress built by the Popes of Avignon who lived there for 100 years from 1309. Each of us had our own audio guide, even the children, and amazingly the kids lasted more than an hour.

Though it was almost impossible to sleep comfortably and the kids were eaten alive by all sorts of strange bugs, we were sort of sad to leave Les Rouviers. Our regular Boules and Uno games in the evening with the odd disco to Greenday, some strange rapper singing about handlebars, with some country thrown in, made for amusing entertainment. But the Welch's European holiday had almost come to an end and it was time for us to move on....