Provence comes to us these days in soft focus, a voluptuous playground for the
cultured. It’s light and lavender, luxury and licentiousness — and, glory
be, this isn’t entirely false. The region has, after all, been a playground
ever since the Romans scattered theatres and arenas about the place.
When the popes showed up in the 14th century, poverty and chastity were
scarcely key obsessions. And, from certain angles, Provence exudes
sensuality still. Walk amid the warmth, colour and rounded shapes of any
village market, then sip a pastis before lunch heightened by herbs and wine.
You’ll understand the need for a siesta, not necessarily taken alone.
But there are, of course, other realities, born of hectic history and
geography. Away from cultivated centres, the land grows rocky, reckless and
elemental in the turn of a hairpin. Basic lives have been lived tough since
the days of the Ligurians.
Many still are. Despite what you’ve read, Provençal villages remain
overwhelmingly Provençal, held together, as for centuries, by family,
farming and feuds around the fountain. Foreigners from the chattering
classes are, at best, bit players. Provence is, in short, anything but a
theme park of itself.
So, let’s get cracking. We’re driving from Nîmes to Nice, both
served from Luton and Liverpool.
FIRST AFTERNOON
Out of Nîmes airport and onto the motorway for a hop across the Rhône to
Arles, the most Provençal town of all. It’s fierce of sun, colour and
festivity. Dump the car and wander first to the extraordinary Roman arena —
though, if there’s a bullfight on, I’d avoid it. Last one I saw there was a
duff abattoir show. Then wander some more, easing yourself into southern
street life.
Have a look at the Roman theatre and the glorious cathedral doorway, then
you’ll need a drink. Head for the central Place du Forum, and the Café la
Nuit, restored to roughly the way it was when painted by Van Gogh. The
artist, incidentally, disliked Arles, largely because the locals thought him
bonkers. They remain a forthright lot.
Now onto the D17, via Fontvieille, towards Les Baux. The plain rises
alarmingly to the Alpilles, a chaos of limestone crags and ravines evidently
thrown together by angry gods. Stop short of Les Baux at La Cabro d’Or (00
33-4 90 54 33 21, www.lacabrodor.com; doubles from £100 in low season, £121
high), an outpost of civilisation amid incipient wildness. Dine there,
overlooking the gardens; from £42.
DAY TWO
Up betimes to Les Baux before the rest of the world arrives, as it does daily
in summer. The 11th-century citadel grows organically out of its crag, one
of the fiercest around. Here, medieval seigneurs entertained themselves by
chucking prisoners hundreds of feet onto rocks below. If you’ve left it
late, you’ll be tempted to do something similar with the throngs of fellow
visitors. Don’t. Though over-rich with tourism, the village — built onto,
and into, the rock face — remains dizzily atmospheric. And the views from
the wrecked castle at the top are stupendous.
On through the perturbed landscape to St Rémy, where rich folk hole up —
Princess Caroline of Monaco among them. The sinuous old streets are a lot
more charming than that suggests. A good coffee stop before skirting
Cavaillon and heading, via Robion, into the Luberon.
Take the winding road up to Gordes, which is as desirable as a village can be,
and doesn’t give a fig. From the hilltop, it unravels with stone-built
integrity utterly resistant to trends. And just up the road, Sénanque abbey
stands aloof, serenely Cistercian.
Roll round to Roussillon, where ochre mining has sculpted the earth into
canyons of red and gold, before nipping up the north side of the Luberon
mountain to Bonnieux. Over lunch at Le Fournil (Place Carnot; from £18; book
ahead on 04 90 75 83 62), you’ll reflect that you have, as yet, seen nobody
more famous than yourself. The Luberon is real hill country, in the grip of
forces stronger than celebrity.
Drive through Apt, following signs for Manosque, until the tiny left-hander up
to St Martin-de-Castillon. You’re approaching the Lure mountain and
hard-core Provence: rocky, rising and increasingly remote.
Stroll the beautifully perched Simiane-la-Rotonde before continuing to Banon,
base for Provence’s best goat’s cheese. Wait, though, until Limans to buy it
— from the Corbons at La Pourcine farm.
Nearby, Forcalquier curves round its hill, a market-town haven from
surrounding ruggedness for centuries. Take advantage, have a drink, then
move just out of town to the Charembeau country inn (Route de Niozelles; 04
92 70 91 70, www.charembeau.com; doubles from £48, B&B, in low
season, £54 high), a lovely old converted farmstead. Eat up the road at the
Bistro aux Deux Cades, in Niozelles; from £16.
DAY THREE
A light breakfast, for there’s stomach-lurching ahead. First, cross the
Durance River and the Valensole plateau, via Valensole itself, to Riez. In
July, this is lavender central, waves of it rolling to the horizon alongside
fields of grain. Overseen by proper Alps, the ocean of gold and blue fills
the senses with a sort of dramatic purity.
And so to Moustiers-Ste-Marie, backed up into a rock face that has apparently
split under the pressure. It’s an infinitely pretty tangle of vaulted
streets, tiny bridges and pottery shops. It’s also packed. If you can’t
park, take a deep breath and carry on.
You’re bound for the Verdon Gorges, France’s Grand Canyon and one of the most
grandiose landscapes in Europe. Among the most terrifying, too. Take the
left-hand road, up towards La Palud, and almost immediately you are in a
different, ungraspable dimension of geology. The Verdon River has carved out
a chasm that, for long stretches, is 2,000ft straight down from the
cliff-edge road. Nature suddenly takes on supernatural powers. The void is
majestic, but may scramble both the mind and the digestive system, so go
steady — especially round the Route des Crêtes loop.
Along the way, and if the tummy’s still working, stop at the isolated Auberge
du Point Sublime for a simple lunch; from £14. Yards from the edge of the
world, restaurant normality — chips, wine, cruet — seems very strange
indeed.
Shortly afterwards, leave the gorges, heading south for Comps-sur-Artuby. Now
you’re in the Haut-Var, another wild land where medieval villages have
hauled themselves onto hilltops in the interests of inaccessibility.
Bargemon merits a detour for its wriggling sense of refuge, rather than the
presence of the Beckhams’ holiday home.
Further on, the Châteaudouble gorges are gorgeous and hardly hair-raising at
all. They’ll bring you to Draguignan, which I’d skip. It’s time to settle
down. If you want the loveliest chambres d’hôtes in the
area, head for Lorgues and the British-run La Sarrazine (Chemin du Pendedi;
04 94 73 20 27, www.lasarrazine.com; doubles from £52 in low season, £68
high). If you’d prefer a hotel, it has to be the Logis du Guetteur in the
converted fort above Les Arcs (04 94 99 51 10, www.logisduguetteur.com;
doubles from £74 in low season, £89 high). Dine there; from £24.
DAY FOUR
To the seaside! Cut to Le Cannet des Maures and climb the forested ridges of
the Massif des Maures. It’s said the Saracens had their headquarters above
La Garde-Freinet — and, given the remote surroundings, there might still be
a few left. You’d never believe you were 30 minutes from a cornet in St
Tropez (where you may detour, but without me).
I’d pause in Grimaud, another splendid medieval hilltopper, then down on the
coast at Port Grimaud, a 1960s lagoon development with canals instead of
tarmac. I can’t decide whether it’s weirdly charming or completely naff, and
I’d like your opinion.
Now it’s the coast road all the way and, my, it’s grand. Sunlight bounces off
the briny, bathing the world, mountains and mankind in a frankly glamorous
glow. Heading through Ste Maxime, you’ll be exchanging quips like Cary Grant
and Grace Kelly — and no matter that you’re in a Mondeo.
Halt in Fréjus, for the medieval cathedral close and, especially, the
extraordinary cloisters. Then have a drink on the front at St Raphaël before
moving along to Agay and the Côté Jardin for lunch (Rue du 11 Novembre 1943;
from £12; book ahead on 04 94 82 79 98).
From here, the Corniche de l’Esterel is the loveliest seaside stretch of all —
porphyry red rocks plunging directly to the sea and humanity hanging on
where it can. No wonder every other coastline aspires to be the Côte d’Azur.
So Cannes comes as a disappointment. Drive through on La Croisette without
stopping. You can see all its shallow opulence from the car.
Nice, though, is a different proposition: turbulent, certainly, but with style
running more than skin deep. Two hotel options. If you fancy wacky design,
check into the Hi Hotel (3 Avenue des Fleurs; 04 97 07 26 26,
www.hi-hotel.net; doubles from £143, B&B). Or, to do things in the
finest traditional style, treat yourself to the Negresco (37 Promenade des
Anglais; 04 93 16 64 00, www.hotel-negresco-nice.com; from £172 in low
season, £215 high). It’s a monument to the best traditions of Côte
decadence.
Then get out. Walk the glorious Prom, eat in Vieux Nice and revel in a racy
but civilised Mediterranean manner.
Getting there: Ryanair (www.ryanair.com) flies to Nîmes from
Liverpool, Luton and Nottingham; from £25, one-way. EasyJet
(www.easyjet.com) flies from Nice to Belfast, Bristol, Gatwick, Liverpool,
Luton, Newcastle and Stansted; from £24, one-way. Other airlines serving
Nice include British Airways (0870 850 9850, www.ba.com), BMI Baby (0871 224
0224, www.bmibaby.com), Jet2 (0871 226 1737, www.jet2.com), Flyglobespan
(0870 556 1522, www.flyglobespan.com) and Aer Lingus (0818 365000,
www.aerlingus.com).
Holiday Autos (0870 400 4422, www.holidayautos.co.uk) has inclusive car hire
from £118 for the trip period. Or try Auto Europe (0800 358 1229,
www.auto-europe.co.uk), or Hertz (0870 844 8844, www.hertz.co.uk).
