Oh, Aix-en-Provence, you saucy minx. I had such high hopes for you. You are so very fetching, bursting with cafés and markets and shopping and captivating fountains. Le Cours Mirabeau and Cézanne and sunflowers and all those ubiquitous lavender sachets. But also, no parking and outrageous prices and drunk, obnoxious international students (like, 40,000 of them) and no children. There, I’ve said it. There are no children in Aix. Like, not a single one. Find me a child in Aix and I’ll find you a North Shore mum with no Lululemon.
After the whirlwind that was September, we were all feeling a little travel weary and were looking forward to our month-long stay in Aix. The plan (oh…hee hee hee…the PLAN) was to find a French tutor for the kids, get into a routine, catch up on schoolwork and lounge about in the warm sun of the South of France for the month of October. And the Gods laughed….
As it turns out, our ‘quiet’ Airbnb was not so quiet. But only at 2 or 3 or 4 am. During the day, it was fine. Apparently, the 40,000 students like to sleep (or go to school?) during the day. Kinda like vampires. But at night…whoa Nellie. Those kids can rock out. Which meant basically no sleep for us for 14 nights straight until one final all-nighter pushed us over the edge and we bailed. Hell hath no fury like a sleepless me. I even got angry in French (and let me tell you, there’s nothing scarier than Franglish vitriol coupled with lack of hair product). We were released from our contract faster than you can say ‘Scaramouche’ and then it was a quick exit from lovely, loud Aix-en-Provence.
For the two weeks we spent in Aix, however, we managed to caffeinate sufficiently to allow for quite a bit of schoolwork. We rented a car and took advantage of Aix’s pole position in Provence to go on a whole whack of day trips. We also did boring, regular stuff (groceries and laundry and dictée, oh my) and that was thrilling in its own way. As in, ‘hey, we’re in France and Mike’s at the chiropractor’. Ok, maybe thrilling isn’t quite the way to put it. For Mike, at least.
Our first foray beyond Aix was a visit to Cassis, an old fishing village renowned for its surrounding vineyards and its proximity to the Calanques. I’m a sucker for those touristy-places – hey, there’s a reason they’re filled with tourists. Because they’re amazing and beautiful and charming and so, so, so French. Cassis is no exception.
It was early October, the sun was shining, the Mediterranean was warm and clear. We wandered around, the kids and Mike swam and then we took a boat ride into the Calanques – fjord-like inlets carved into the coast with the most jaw-droppingly beautiful water. Crazy gorgeous.
The early October weather was so warm that we spent a lot of time on the coast. We tried a bunch of different beaches, from Bandol to St. Cyr-sur-Mer and les Lecques. My favourite was Port D’Alon – a stunning calanque reached after a hike through a forest. This is the land of magical unicorns.
We hit up the beautiful Luberon region and visited Lourmarin and the hill top town of Bonnieux. The children and Mike endured a visit to la Musée de la Boulangerie (hey, it’s school and bread all wrapped up in one. How bad could it be? Ahem… Answer: pretty bad). “Well, at least it had a really nice, free bathroom”, piped up ever-the-optimist Lucy.
A few more day trips to places near and far. To the Camarque near Nimes – a sort of Wild-West-meets-Africa-meets-France experience. We rented bikes and watched cowboys and bulls gallop down the streets of tiny Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer and then spent the afternoon spotting wild white horses and dozens of pink flamingos.
But alas, we scuttled our remaining two weeks in Aix after too many nights spent awake listening to drunken Freddie Mercury wannabes. We left town and headed east along the Cote D’Azur a few days ago and have since been cozily ensconced in the hills beside Saint-Paul de Vence. Not too shabby, actually. We’re smack dab in an olive grove with pomegranate trees, quiet nights and off-season rates.
We’ve spent the last few days visiting the walled village of Saint-Paul on the recommendation of good friends. It’s unforgettable – tiny, cobbled streets filled with art galleries, fromageries, and boho-chic everything else. It’s also the former home of both Roger Moore and Chagall, fyi. It’s a labyrinth of alleys and we got lost over and over again. I loved it. We also did a fantastic ‘accrobranche’ course nearby and today visited the Riviera for a little glitter and glam.
So where to next? We’re are trying to sort out a PlanB with these bonus “wildcard weeks” when we had expected to be settled in Aix until the end of the month. We are spoiled for choice, we know, but looking forward to seeing where the wind blows us. Stand by.
Miss you all. Jxoxo