La Cote d’Azur, Autrement. Or, A Different French Riviera Than the One You Know
We rolled into Le Lavandou sometime after dark, but still in time for dinner. I’m not sure what time it was. It was the Wednesday before American Thanksgiving, and we’d come to the coast for sun and something a little different while we had time off work. The town after dark looked like a ghost town. But, it was November, so that was to be expected.
The summer crowds long gone, we knew better than to expect much to be open, so we’d reserved dinner at our hotel. A dinner we enjoyed with the hotel owner’s family dog quietly sneaking away from his table of 5 and over to ours to see if he could bum any handouts (dogs can always tell suckers from a mile away, and we are both just that).
The next morning, we happily realized we were not the only people venturing to or remaining on the coast in November. There were others staying in our hotel, enough folks were out at one of the boulangeries with us to show us that it was, in fact, NOT a ghost town, and a walk down the coastal boardwalk showed restaurants open for coffee and soon to be open for lunch. It was sunny, cool, and lovely.
The boardwalk along to coast at Le Lavandou on a nice, sunny, late fall day. There were people and restaurants around, just outside the frame.
Our pace for the day was leisurely. We would enjoy our boulangerie cappuccinos and breads (pain au chocolat, pain au raisin, saucisson brioché, or in english: chocolate croissant, a raisin pinwheel situation–although that barely does it justice, and basically an elevated pig in a blanket with puff pastry) then we would meander up the coast towards Sainte Maxime and Saint Tropez.
I know St. Tropez is FAR from la cote d’azur, autrement. It’s probably one of the most iconic places on the coast with Cannes, Nice, and Monaco. But stay with me (and remember it was November!) Anyway, I wanted to see it when it wasn’t crowded, and boy did I get my wish.
St. Tropez was our first stop and both what I expected to find and not at all. It had all the trappings of an uber-expensive, well-known, high-end tourist destination: an old stone port with nice boats, shops like Hermes, Versace, and Missoni for those yacht owners, and at least one mediocrely-rated, dramatically overpriced port-side cafe (we didn’t eat here, but we did look at the ratings and menu online).
The weird thing was that all of the shops–those aforementioned plus most others–were all closed for the season, with cheery little signs that said they’d reopen in May or June. And there were practically no people around except us and few fishermen, boaters, and people working boats or buildings. Now this, in November, was a ghost town. I’m guessing very few people actually live here on a full time basis.
The major perk, though, was that the resident wild peacocks had free range of the streets. They were certainly the highlight of our time there.
Ruling the roost in St. Tropez.
Given what we saw, and what we knew to anticipate in the summer, we ticked this one off the list for good and continued on to Sainte Maxime, likely never to return to ole St. Tropez unless we ever need to spend a small fortune on a new Missoni dress.
Sainte Maxime was much more our style. And surprisingly busy. We’d chosen our lunch destination well, and we knew it immediately. A small, seaside town with lots of little restaurants, and small, windy streets that people swoon over when they think “small French coastal village”, Sainte Maxime was the perfect setting for our Thanksgiving-but-make-it-French lunch. We had seafood, tons of bread, and didn’t split dessert. It was fantastic. We strolled the small port and cute streets to walk off lunch and soak in some sun before heading back to the car, which we’d parked for a steal at 2 euros for multiple hours, somehow.
Since it was on the cusp of winter, that meant the days were short. We wanted to get to Bormes-les-Mimosas before it got dark, and we’re glad we did.
Part of town, the petanque court off to the left, and a light, smoky fog settling over the chilly sunset in Bormes-les-Mimosas.
The stunning sunset views from this little village overlooking the Mediterranean Sea along with the smell of firewood rising from all directions (remember, it was chilly) was nothing short of storybook. Like other places, many shops were closed, but there were some still open and the local residents were busy with their petanque well past sunset. Definitely not a ghost town.
For dinner we figured nearby Hyeres would have plenty of options, and I guess it did, but we weren’t really feeling the vibes. So, we decided to take our chances back in Le Lavandou for dinner. It was about a 50-50 split on what was open vs. closed, and we found a good pizza place where we got dinner, and once again, 2 desserts. I said while walking either to or from dinner that night that Le Lavandou and Sainte Maxime would be ideal summer places for some time away. And as I write this now and consolidate notes, I still agree.
The next morning brought more sun, more boulangerie cappuccinos and breads, and a drive up the coast. We were heading to Grasse. Also commonly on the well-trodden tourist map in the summer almost exclusively due to perfume, in the off season it really feels like a normal town, the Fragonard museum isn’t crowded at all, and there’s not a tour bus in sight. People go to school and work, restaurants are full of locals at lunch, and shops are open and functional. (Also not a ghost town.)
We ate our lunch, went to the Fragonard museum, and picked up some candies before heading down the hills towards Nice. This would be our base for the next two days, and the starting point of our coastal 70km out and back bike ride.
Our first night was a little rough, due only to the fact that I was still dealing with lingering pregnancy nausea and new heartburn to compound the situation. After an ill-fated attempt at dinner that turned into takeout and a trip to a large tree in a really swanky parking lot, we headed back to the Hotel Pam to eat our pad thai.
Saturday brought another sunny day, and since I was determined to do this ride I had a pain au raisin and some coffee and we headed out.
We stopped for pictures of the snow covered mountains already visible over the ocean and paused in a couple of beachside hamlets that seemed more like retirement villages, tbh. But the highlight of this ride was almost certainly Antibes. We stopped to have lunch and a nice walk around, and the small city was alive with what seemed like a good amount of locals enjoying their Saturday on the coast.
Antibes is small enough to feel intimate and plenty big enough to keep you fed and busy.
We carried on, even though we considered sticking around, because we were so close to wrapping up the outbound and Justin had never been to Cannes. And once we got there, we both agreed that Cannes was, well, Cannes. Bigger than Antibes, a city versus town, and bustling. You could tell it was different this time of year but still attracted a certain type of visitor. The yachts were parked in the marina as proof of its status. We strolled around a bit, bought some antacids, wandered through the antique market across from the marina, and started our trek back to Nice, where Saturday night’s dinner was much less eventful and more enjoyable than the night before.
We packed and had breakfast early the next morning because we had one last mission: a long drive up the Gorge du Daluis. We didn’t expect to find so much Arizona-like red rock in France. Unique, pretty, and a long gorge that brought us, eventually, back to Lyon.
The red rocks played very nicely with the teal water in the gorge, which you can peep at the bottom of the image. This is also a great kayaking site!
What we didn’t tell people was that this trip was doubling as a test trip to see if we wanted to go through with a move to the coast. With so many things happening in the world, and in our own lives, and the fact that we’d considered moving down here when first coming to France but ultimately choosing Lyon (a choice we’ve never regretted), we decided we wanted this change, in this season of our lives. It says a lot about a place when you can emergency puke behind a tree at a swanky party in front of people and still leave with fond memories. So it was after this trip, and after the following holidays, that we started the process of a move down to the coast. One that is now complete, and another decision we don’t regret.
