The ‘real’ Provence
The South of France is often dismissed as expensive and over-developed. It is neither, says Richard Hare, who offers tips on the lesser-known destinations and avoiding high costs
Expensive and over-developed? The south of France is neither if you know where to go
France’s south-facing Mediterranean coastline can be divided into three sections. From the west, starting at Grau d’ Agde, through Sète to the Rhône, the Catalan coastline is flat with the hills of Languedoc and the Massif Central blue and inviting in the distant haze. Sandwiched between the large and bland marina developments are some gutsy no-nonsense harbours.
Moving east from the Rhône to the Rade (bay) de St Tropez is to immerse yourself in ‘real’ Provence/Cote d’Azur territory.
Why real? Well, at the risk of sounding twee, it’s pretty. Here, visiting yachtsmen will find destinations that inspired Med voyages back in the heady days of the Earls Court Boat Shows. With few non-French tourists, an abundance of free anchorages, set against classic Med landscapes – some rocky and brutal, others green, soft and wooded – most in crystal clear water. Ashore, umbrella pines, olives, date palms and tamarisk abound.
East of St Tropez, development intensifies rapidly along the Riviera, as do the crowds and motor yachts, many of them enormous. Jet skis are everywhere. This is not to say there are no pleasant places to visit – Antibes, Nice, Villefranche, Monaco and Menton, for example. But they are busy. During high season berths must be pre-booked. So, it’s no surprise that we opted for the Sète to St Tropez section.
Marseille Estaque
Keppel was launched at Navy Service, Port St Louis, on 15 June bound for
Marseille. After a bumpy motor out of Golf du Fos, we found both yacht clubs in Marseille old port full due to a regatta, so we headed north for Marseille Estaque, at the end of the industrial port.
We spotted a sheltered anchorage behind an outer mole. My wife, Janie, was suffering from her customary first-dayback-at-sea sickness, so we were relieved to see an alongside pontoon just inside the harbour. More commonly, boatfolk have to moor bow- or stern-to.
Set against a backdrop of jagged rock pillars, Estaque is low-key but pleasant.
The Capitainerie (harbour master's office) was closed for the weekend so we entered the clubhouse bar. Inevitably, everyone had watched us moor up and we were relieved to learn we hadn’t made a balls-up of it and that we’d be fine to leave Keppel where she was.
We had a problem though – security at the Société Nautique Estaque Mourepiane meant we could not get in or out until Monday when we'd have a key. As for the ablutions, we didn’t have a code. Hmmm.
A friendly man gave us the loo code and explained that we could access the complex through the Nautilus bar/ restaurant, which functions as a sort of air-lock. The wonders of local knowledge!
Three nights were spent at MarseilleEstaque ($27/night on Keppel’s 9.6m basis) and Fi Greig, a regular crew, joined us via Marseille airport.
Several restaurants offer sensible formula menus and local wine by the pichet. There’s also a small supermarket.
Suitably rested it was time to press on. The sunny forecast was to last for the next eight weeks.
La Ciotat
We aborted our plan to anchor overnight in a cove just east of Cassis. Horrid swell, much of it caused by the endless heaving of tourists to and from the calanques (fjords). Cassis is an expensive harbour. Half a century ago it would have been charming, but no longer. As for costs, forget it – it cost Keppel $32/night way back in 2004!
We pressed on to La Ciotat, to the official anchorage north of the new marina and anchored in 7m crystal clear water above excellent holding. The wind died and it became swelly, a problem that returned when we revisited a few weeks later.
The following morning we entered La Ciotat old harbour. There was plenty of space to pick up a lazy line. Reminiscent of Kyrenia in Cyprus, La Ciotat is colourful, and naturally sheltered, with an evening market around the harbour. The beautiful town offers many budget-priced family waterfront restaurants and bars, a small supermarket and a daily veg’ market. With water, shore-power and ablutions included, $27 seemed very reasonable.
I was to return here twice during our cruise and we discovered Calanque de Figuerolles, a 20-minute walk from the harbour and ideal for a dip followed by lunch at the shady, welcoming café with excellent baguettes and salads for $5-6.
On this first occasion we spent just one night at La Ciotat. Continuing eastward, with a lunch break in the cove at Port Alon, we settled at anchor tucked behind Ile
des Embiez. It’s sheltered here. We anchored east of the marina channel, where it is shallow and rocky. Not ideal, but in 2.5m of water I didn’t worry. It would be easy enough to dive down and free any chain snags. It was a quiet night, had it been changeable I would have gone to the adjacent island marina. The following day we sailed to Sanary-sur-Mer, backtracking about an hour westward.
Sanary-sur-Mer
Sanary was another ‘chocolate box’ Provence town. Like all the places we visited, large motorboats cannot be accommodated. There were many lateen-rigged classic fishing boats.
At $38 a night it was expensive but that may have been due to the music festival that coincided with our visit, a regular event in late June, with live bands, rock, blues, jazz, and folk soloists tucked away in plazas and narrow streets. We were really pleased to have experienced it.
There is a large sandy beach to the east of Sanary and plenty of yachts at anchor in the bay, outside buoyed bathing zones.
St Mandrier/Toulon
We departed Sanary the following morning and tucked into a favourite anchorage on the east side of Cape Sicie by lunchtime. Strong winds were forecast so we anchored overnight in the sheltered
Rade de Toulon at St Mandrier-sur-Mer, outside the marina.
Although it’s tight, I’ve always found room to drop the hook. Depth must be considered here as our anchor once snagged seabed rope and a 4.5m duck dive was needed to connect a tripping line. That said, the St Mandrier anchorage provides almost all-round protection. Water taxis to and from Toulon cause annoying swell but stop at night and do not resume until about 7am.
The following morning we entered Toulon’s Darse Vielle marina to meet Sue and Edwin. Toulon is convenient for crew changes as the TGV runs from here to St Pancras. Singles are about $100 but one of my later crew chums bought a return for about $130, excellent value indeed.
There is a lot more to Toulon than the discouraging post-war 1960s architectural blight along the waterfront. Erected with understandable haste after the devastating war bombing, a string of restaurants at ground level are an antidote to what is built above.
Immediately behind this redevelopment, old Toulon retains its old Mediterranean magnificence. There is an extensive daily street market and a huge supermarket just outside the marina. Toulon is a charming, inexpensive place to visit by boat, do laundry and re-provision. Berthing fee was $27/night, all in.
Porquerolles, Hyere islands
Keppel remained in Toulon for a second night to give Sue and Edwin a chill-out day. The following afternoon we motored the short distance back to St Mandrier for a gusty but sheltered night at anchor.
We then sailed to the main island of the beautiful Iles de Hyere, Porquerolles island. I have previously anchored in the small bay, west of the harbour. This time we ventured east to one of the two large sandy bays, Plage de la Courtade, and wow, how much better they are.
State-owned, strict conservation and military use mean that this group of islands are pristine. There were few, if any, motor vehicles. It is most definitely a place for walking and snorkelling. From our anchorage, a small beach provided access to the town.
Le Lavendou
After exploring the other large bay we departed for a four-hour passage to Le Lavendou. We spent three nights here ($27/night) to touch base with a cousin.
Like Sanary, palm trees abound and colour-washed old building facades are adorned with Venetian shutters.
There is a beach adjacent to the marina but Edwin and I walked east around the rocky bluff to a bay for a swim and a cold beer at one of the beach bars. Lavendou has plenty of affordable restaurants and some rather more refined ones, plus nearby small supermarkets and laundries.
Port Cros, Hyere islands
After re-provisioning at Lavendou the wind was set fair for a cracking reach south to Port Cros – one of the two anchorages on this smaller Hyere island, also called Port Cros. Again, strict conservation applies and moorings are set out for visitors.
Conservation has paid huge dividends here too: while snorkelling, I saw huge schools of fish, bream mostly. They were so fearless I could probably have reached out and touched them.
Ashore, there are restaurants and bars. Apart from the fort on the headland and the small careful development around the quay there is little other development, just a hamlet and anchorage on the other side.
Port Grimaud
We turned eastward towards Port Grimaud in the Rade de St Tropez. Sue and Edwin were waxing lyrical about it.
I was sceptical. I was wrong.
Our lunch-stop was an idyllic umbrella pine-clad cove on the west side of Cape Lardier. There is a larger bay further north that Janie and I used previously, also good. We motored east of the cape and anchored at the north end of Baie de Bon Porte below Cap Camarat. It was a remote cove, spooky with an isolated dwelling immediately above us.
The following day was sunny and bright (what else?) so we entered the Rade de St Tropez, ignored the famous place and pressed on to Port Grimaud. Here the visitor feels like a child in an architectural sweet shop. Berthing was $40 a night, but well worth it. Fair priced restaurants were in abundance. A dinghy tour is a must.
Anse du Gau
It was time to return westward towards Toulon for my next crew change. En route we anchored again, for one night, in the cove west of Cape Lardier and motored to Le Lavendou where we parked on the reception pontoon for a few free hours to do some shopping. That night we anchored in the sheltered Anse (cove) du Gau, south of Bormes les Mimosa – a good spot for swimming and a quiet night afloat with negligible swell.
Wobbly wheels
It was on the next day the wheels almost came off. We entered Hyere Plage, located where the Presqu’ile de Giens peninsular joins the mainland. At $48/night it was also the worst marina I have ever used, anywhere. I’m going to leave it at that. Suffice to say that I doubt that any of us will ever want to revisit it, although the anchorage outside, with good holding, should not be similarly dismissed.
En voiture
We returned to Toulon for the next crew change while taking a final night at anchor off Porquerolles, the best possible antidote to Hyere Plage. This crew change involved a day’s overlap so with John and Liz Mills, cruising club friends from home, we piled into Edwin’s car to explore the Presqu’ile de Giens peninsular, which is not the easiest place to visit by yacht.
West towards Marseille
After an excellent-value formula dinner on Toulon’s waterfront, Sue and Edwin commenced their drive back to the UK.
My new crew and I departed Toulon marina for the convenient St Mandrier anchorage. During a lunch stop on the west shore of Cape Sicie, we swam and sunbathed in the sizzling heat, listening to cicadas. We then had a stiff, enjoyable beat westwards for the shelter of Ile des Embiez, pleased that our Golden Hind 31 was not left standing by much more modern boats doing the same route.
With strong wind forecast ‘later’ we left at 0900 and motored in flat calm the four hours to La Ciotat old port.
Tucked into this sheltered ancient natural harbour, we relaxed around the port for three days, walking to Calanque de Figuerolles for swims and lunch, witnessing a record-breaking high dive into the harbour, or so we were told. A fine place to be ‘holed up’.
A lull in the wind before an incoming
Mistral enabled us to half sail/half motor to the Frioul islands just off Marseille.
The cafes and bars around the north side of the Frioul harbour make a noble job of lifting the atmosphere of this entirely man-made marina constructed by linking two islands. That night the Mistral struck with a vengeance. Frioul is a safe haven in a storm, particularly if Marseille is busy, with friendly and helpful harbour staff.
Marseille
The following morning, the harbour master very kindly yanked us out of our berth and we were away. It wasn’t more than an hour before we motored into the oasis of calm that is Marseille Old Port.
We were allocated a berth at the Societe Nautique de Marseille, Marseille’s finest yacht club in my view. At $25/night we were slap bang in the middle of this iconic city, based at a clubhouse with a floating bar terrace and a pukka ablutions block.
Marseille is a hectic, edgy, sort of place where tradition and cultures rub shoulders. The infamous fish market in the opening scenes of The French Connection remains unaltered. No Popeye Doyle, alas. Certainly there are zones to stay clear of, at night particularly. But those who savour non-touristy destinations love it.
On to Port St Louis
As John and Liz departed via the TGV, I was joined by a new chum, Garry Turnbull. I set a west-bound course for Port Carro for a couple of nights. A poorly-organised marina, currently at least, (ablutions shut, office shut, lazy lines broken). The harbour master asked for $59.60 for the two nights. We said he must be joking, so he suggested $39, and we settled at that.
Messy marina aside I’ve always rather liked Port Carro, situated where Côte Bleu butts up against the Canvey Island-esque Golfe du Fos. It is a good natural harbour for anchoring too.
We set a course eastward for yet another visit to La Ciotat. On our return to Marseille we anchored in a bay close to Cassis, adjacent to the ‘swelly’ one that we had abandoned eight weeks previously. This time it was fine.
Back to Marseille and we availed ourselves of the yacht club facilities. Garry toured the city while I did odd jobs ahead of Keppel’s short-term lay-up.
After two nights in Marseille we visited Port Saint Louis, lunching at the Rhôneside shack that was, for Garry, a highlight of the cruise (see PBO January 2019) and spent two nights anchored in the Golfe du Fos, enjoying evening swims and glorious sunsets. With refineries and other processing plants in the distance, it is bit ‘Thameshaven’ but sheltered from swell.
Keppel was lifted out onto the hardstanding at Navy Service yard at Port St Louis . She had a month of her annual tariff to use up and I returned home.
A new winter destination
With Janie, I flew back out to Nimes in September. We had two and half weeks to move Keppel from Port St Louis to Aigues Mortes, a 13th century crusader city, 4.5km inland up from the coast.
Built by Louis IX as a base to launch his ill-fated crusade, it is located east of Montpelier on Canal du Rhône a Sète (PBO March 2010). Aigues Mortes is delightful and perfectly placed on the canal network for a passage westward next year back to the Atlantic via the Midi and Garonne canals.
Alas that trip is now off. Coronavirus means Keppel won’t going anywhere for at least 12 months... Quelle bummer.
West, into Catalan France
As we made our passage west of the Golfe du Fos we left behind the soft landscape and pastel-coloured architecture associated with Provence and the Côte d’Azur and entered Catalan France, a region that feels more like Spain. Paella and Taureau (bull meat) are staples on the menus, and sangria features on many wine lists. Plus fighting arenas aplenty.
Here, the flat delta landscape of the Rhône morphs onto to the equally flat and coastline of Occitanie, and eastern Languedoc. The hills of Languedoc and the Massif Central shimmer in the distance.
Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer
With a brisk northerly blowing and an alarming low temperature of 19°C, Keppel, well-reefed, blasted out of the Golfe and reached effortlessly across flat sea in a lively Force 6-7 offshore wind. It was a six-hour passage to Ste-Maries-de-la-Mer where we were offered a berth on the
waiting pontoon in Port Gardian. With heavy rain forecast for the following day – the first day in three months of cruising – we were anxious to knock off at least half of our passage to Keppel’s winter destination.
A massive, fort-like church is visible offshore long before anything else. Ste-Maries is a pilgrimage town, named after Mary Magdalene and Mary Jacobe (sister of the Virgin Mary), who arrived in little more than a tub without oars or sail, along with other biblical characters. They were cast adrift from the Holy Land shores, so the story goes. And all without a GPS! You’ve got to hand it to ‘em...
The church’s design was intended to scare away Saracen raiders.
Port Gardian is a tight spot more suited to the manoeuvring of small to medium scale motor yachts than long-keel sailboats. Bow thrusters would solve most problems. I raised this over the VHF on arrival and we were invited to go alongside the visitor/reception pontoon. The marina has the finest ablutions block we’ve seen but an expensive $31 tariff.
Pilgrimages aside, it’s a holiday town for French holidaymakers, and not a bad one. The church was well worth a visit.
Anchoring? Not this time but in 2003 we anchored outside the harbour with more than 180° shelter between the harbour mole and a nearby bathing breakwater.
Grau de Roi
Grau de Roi – what a place! Since the little marina up the river has no visitor berths it can hardly be described as yacht-friendly.
To reach free anchoring just around the corner in the river Vidurle, a skipper first has to negotiate the swing bridge, open only at certain times or when a huge fishing vessel demands it. While waiting, yachts must seek permission to use a fishing boat staithe or tie up alongside a moored vessel.
So, visiting this fabulous port isn’t the easiest thing to do although we noticed a small marina just inside the river Vidurle, adjacent to the anchorage. We weren’t too fussed about this as we were travelling up the Chenal Maritime canal to Aigues Mortes and we’d already decided to visit the port via the train service, just a ten-minute trip away.
And so, we arrived in Grau de Roi a couple of days later to celebrate our wedding anniversary over a shady riverside lunch, with Keppel safely ensconced on the visitor pontoon upstream at Aigues Mortes.
Aigues Mortes
Aigues Mortes is like Rhodes old town. At its heart is the main square, packed with quality restaurants. Smarter ones are abundant in the nearby alleys. The setting is idyllic Mediterranean.
This wasn’t our first visit, so focus was very much on our winter lay-up work schedule. A number of jobs could be done while afloat so we had five nights on a town marina pontoon ($19/night, on the five-night rate). We then took an apartment in the old town for another five nights (£305) while working on Keppel on the boatyard hardstanding.
Winter lay-up
Time had arrived for the winter lift-out and we chose Chantier Naval Sirvent, a small family-run boatbuilding and repair boatyard adjacent to, and protected to an extent by, the walled city.
Philippe Sirvent stressed to us that his is a boatyard, not a marina. Clients cannot remain aboard their boats when the yard is closed. With only a rudimentary toilet, there isn’t a shower block. However at $120/month this is reflected in the hardstanding tariff. And there are several hotels and B&Bs at around $55/night, within a 20-minute walk of the yard. When Keppel is returned to the water she will move to a pontoon in the adjacent town marina.
What the yard lacks in marina facilities is compensated for by the high standard of workmanship. Keppel was in safe hands.
There was no need to point out the strong points for the lift-out, the experienced shipwrights already knew. Care was taken at every stage of the craneage process.
Blocking/chocking up on the ground was with two broad iroko wedges each side, not a flimsy arrangement that owners need to rectify if they are to sleep at night during the long winter months ahead, over a thousand miles away.