Alan Whicker - An Homage

First of all, I would like to direct you to Sparks Spouts for a different, more succinct, take on these events.

In these early years of the twenty first century, the French Riviera has lost none of its allure to the seasoned traveller. The brilliant light, the warm climate, the congenial atmosphere of the local bars. Add to this the great names of St. Tropez, Monte Carlo and La Croix-Valmer, little wonder that it retains its cachet.

To this end, we left the house on an overcast Tuesday morning and headed for JLA on the bus. We travel light and had checked in on-line, so whisking through to passport control past the luggaged hoards was a rare pleasure. The flight passed pleasantly and we were soon descending onto a sun-soaked Nice runway, our car awaiting.

As with any unfamiliar place, an amount of familiarisation is time well spent. We'd stumbled on our home for the week almost by accident, looking for a road to turn back to the village on and finding ourselves only yards from where our hosts were waiting expectantly.

The village itself is quiet and sophisticated at this time of year, perhaps lacking in amenities though. Our first task was to stock up on essentials at the nearby supermarket. We finally located some dog food; Clover (was she named because of her only having three toes on one front foot?) would not go hungry. An on-going and eventually successful search for a fireside carpet would begin here too.

Later that day we strolled through some of the multitude of vineyards on this part of the Cote d'Azur towards the Med. A little too chilly for a swim this early in the year but a superb vista nonetheless. The way back through the vines predicted the first sample of the local viniculture that evening; light, refreshing, unpretentious, cheap white wine is their forté. How could we refuse?

Marseille holds a special fascination to people from other once great seaports; the faded glory, the atrocious traffic, the smell of fish. I made the mistake of letting someone in from a side road and witnessed the fury of the gentlemen in the car behind. By the time our paths diverged, I felt it necessary to reply to his rudeness with a classic gesture.

Once out on the streets, we found ourselves in a thriving metropolis; a bustling 'Old Port', some superb churches (the hilltop Basilique Notre Dame de la Garde is a marvellous backdrop, visible throughout the city) and many tea houses. Breaking our journey in one before a tour of the waterfront and further refreshment in a small bar and we were away. A return visit is a must.

A day of regrouping was agreed for the following day, the hours spent on the roads to Marseille having taken its toll; a trip to nearby Cavalaire our only exertion. A fine seaside town and harbour let us forget the rain for a couple of hours. Our search for a carpet would continue to haunt us, however.

A busy Saturday followed. The short bus ride to St. Tropez dispatched us into a fierce mistral on the only north-facing town on the European Mediterranean coast. Quiet at this time of year and all the better for it, we wended our way past the marina and waterfront stores, tiny alleys and backstreets, up to a vantage point high above; punishingly chilly but with a wonderful view. The return trip to the bus stop took us past the prestige fashion outlets, synonymous with this most style-conscious of towns. A brief stop at the market, a marvellous way of watching St. Tropez at work, and then home.

The early evening lull gave us the chance to sample the atmosphere in some of the local bars. After walking past the first one, empty, the second was both friendly and lively, with an interesting cross-section of customers. I would heartily recommend the Pelforth lager there. One gent finished his drink, left and was then seen riding away on a horse.

Sunday would take us to one of the jewels of this treasured coast. Monaco, Monte Carlo, call it what you will, this tiny principality has a magic all its own; the skaters on the man-made rink gliding serenely to the most incongruous of heavy rock discos, the gargantuan yachts, the high-performance cars revving up before hurtling along parts of the Grand Prix circuit, the iconic casino, the luxury apartments crammed together up the cliff sides, the palace standing stately on top of the hill.

Leaving the place tested my driving skills and patience to the limit. I drove round the same streets what seemed like a thousand times before divining which was the right way, quite something in a place measuring less than a square mile. Back home that evening, fate threw a saviour into our path, armed with the knowledge of where a carpet might be purchased!

A dank Monday morning saw us hot-footing along the coast to the nearest IKEA and our quest was at an end. Later that day, we visited two of the many hilltop villages in the area. Grimaud is the best known, rightly so; an evocative ruined castle sits atop medieval streets surrounding an eleventh century church, possibly built by the Knights Templar. I was surprised to find the door unlocked and went inside to find the place in almost total darkness, a few candles twinkling here and there. Even in the near dark, I could tell that it was something special.

This was more than confirmed after finding a light by the door. Although quite plain, like the exterior, there was an almost other-worldly calm about the place; being alone in there only increased the feeling. Stone from floor to ceiling with tiny windows gives the place a deathly silence that compels you to stop and think about people and events in bygone days. The highlight of the trip, I would say.

Tuesday, our final day there, arrived too soon. A quick trip to Gigaro beach, where we met a man who recognised the pointy hoof prints in the sand as belonging to wild boar, and it was time to leave. The journey home was marked by the confiscation of a bottle of wine at Nice airport by Thierry Henry (possibly a customs official who looked like him) and a flight through pretty murky weather.

Idle Thought : Are you doing your bit for the environment by drinking local wine when holidaying abroad?