France as a rule is a laid-back country where they like their two-hour lubricated lunches and take violence to the streets against initiatives such as the government’s current plans to raise the retirement age from 62 to 64. Their relaxed approach to life is never more evident than on the Mediterranean coast. Much as I detest the disruptions caused by the rail strikes (see the rant from 2018 here): https://swmartin74.wordpress.com/2018/04/04/derailed/ I have come to realise the depth to which the French cherish their lifestyle, and the horror with which they perceive any attempt to re-programme this fundamental part of their DNA.
Our 4-day break in Sanary-sur-Mer was timed and intended to capture some of that essence. Simply put, we resolved to do as little as we felt like. Easy to do when your apartment is 150 metres from the Mediterranean Sea, the walk interrupted only by a labyrinth of shopping lanes where it seems every second shop is a world-class patisserie.
When not sitting reading or in my case sketching or scribbling, we spent a lot of time wandering. This took in the excellent daily farmer’s market and walks east and west of town. To the east lies Six-Fours-les-Plages. Unlike Sanary, which is fronted by a crowded marina, Six-Fours is a series of long, flat beaches of compacted sand shelving gently to the water’s edge. Palm trees, kite-surfers, bathers and sun-baskers abound in this idyllic vision of a Mediterranean beach resort. On the way we earmarked a beachfront seafood restaurant for a special dinner later in the stay.
Round to the west of the main café district we followed a gently rising stepped path with expansive views back to town. At various points stone plinths displayed colourful frescos of the ‘Stations of the Cross’ typically found in catholic cathedrals. We saw the significance of these when we arrived at the top of the walk, finding a beautiful 16th-century chapel, Notre-Dame-de-Pitie perched at the top of a further flight of stone steps. Further on an alley of steep steps led down to the seafront, Which I climbed during a run later that evening (there were 105 steps in all).
On this walk we also checked out the Tour de Sanary-sur-Mer, the remnant of a 14th century fort. Maureen took one look at the steep winding rickety staircase scaling 6 floors to the rooftop battlements and said, yeah, nah. She found a shady seat while I heroically scaled said heights and took a few pictures for my troubles.
In France champagne is comparatively cheap, so it would have been rude not to honour gallic culture by partaking. So for the night we dined at the beachfront restaurant previously earmarked, we kept a bottle of Compte de Lavigny in the fridge. Using a method first employed on the night of our 30th wedding anniversary in Paris 2018, we drank a glass each before dinner and two after. The dinner itself was a highlight of our stay in Sanary; a 24-degree evening looking straight out to the Mediterranean, and two meals of sublime seafood fresh from those mythical waters.
We had decided that a boat trip on the Med would be nice, but the prices, and the promise of thunderstorms later in the day put us off. We instead installed ourselves near a nautical expo tent by the waterfront, reading and watching the boats come and go.
Eventually I noticed a pattern, of small groups of tourists being taken out on the water by men in similar uniforms to the ones conducting the nautical displays. ‘I will check what the story is with the boats,’ I said to Maureen. After a conversation conducted in poor French on my side and non-existent English on the part of a woman in the tent, I returned soon after and reported, ‘I have organised us a berth on one of those boats … I think.’
And so it was that we were taken on a pleasant 20-minute boat ride on the Mediterranean for free.
Speaking of language difficulties, I inadvertently flirted with an 80-ish Frenchwoman in the stairwell of the apartment building when I mistakenly greeted her as mademoiselle rather than madame, much to her amusement. The same woman was again in the stairwell as I lugged a heavy suitcase down the stairs on the last morning. My manly display of strength drew from her an ‘oh la la’ and a string of French which, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, I took to be in admiration.
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