WHY YOU SHOULD VISIT THE RIVIERA VILLAGES.

Welcome, everyone, to the sun-drenched shores and pastel-hued panoramas of Cassis, nestled like a gemstone along the glittering necklace that is the French Riviera. But before we dive headfirst into this Mediterranean marvel, let us first chart our course, for even the most anticipated of journeys must begin with an hour or two of planning. For those of you with a penchant for the scenic route—or perhaps an aversion to the indignities of airport security—fear not, as Cassis is just a leisurely train ride away from the bustling metropolises of Marseille and Toulon. Simply board the sleek TGV at Paris's Gare de Lyon, sit back, and prepare to be whisked away on a journey through the picturesque Provençal countryside, where vineyards stretch as far as the eye can see and sunflowers nod and wink in silent approval. But should the songs of the open road prove too tempting to resist—and who could blame you, with the promise of impromptu picnics and roadside vistas aplenty—then by all means, rent a car and embark on your own odyssey along the winding coastal roads that lead to Cassis. Just be sure to pack a sturdy map—or better yet, make sure Waze is installed on your IPhone (other brands are available) as the abundance of speed cameras, narrow streets and labyrinthine alleyways of this ancient village have been known to frustrate & confuse even the most experienced of travellers .

First, a bit of background for those who may not have had Cassis on their radar, as we approach our destination, let us pause for a moment to reflect on the storied history of this charming enclave. Legend has it that Cassis was founded by the Phocaeans, those intrepid seafarers of ancient Greece, who sought refuge from the rough seas in the sheltered coves and tranquil harbors of this idyllic coastline. And though the centuries have brought conquests and conflicts aplenty—most notably the brief but tumultuous reign of Julius Caesar, who famously declared Cassis to be "the most charming of all Gaulish villages"—the spirit of resilience and joie de vivre that defines this community has never wavered. Fast forward through centuries of sieges, skirmishes, and the occasional invasion by pirates—because what Mediterranean paradise would be complete without a dash of swashbuckling adventure—and we arrive at the modern-day Cassis, where the only marauders are those on the hunt for the perfect seafood platter. But enough with the history lesson, for we have arrived at our destination, and the delights of Cassis await! As you wander the sun-dappled streets and mingle with the bronzed beauties and jet-setting sophisticates who call this village home—or at least their vacation home—be sure to take note of the myriad architectural wonders that dot the landscape, from the ancient Romanesque church of Saint Michel to the elegant Belle Époque villas that cling precariously to the cliffs above the harbor.

Now, let's talk cuisine. The gastronomic delights that await you in Cassis! From freshly caught fish served with a side of sea breeze to decadent pastries that practically beg to be photographed, this little slice of Riviera heaven is a culinary cornucopia. And fear not, friends, for even the most discerning palate shall find satisfaction amidst the plethora of cafes, bistros, and Michelin-starred restaurants that line the cobblestone streets. But I digress. I came not merely to feast—but to explore! And what better way to do so than by boat? Yes, my friends, prepare to set sail on a nautical adventure worthy of the most intrepid of explorers (or at least those with a penchant for sunbathing and Champagne). Whether you opt for a leisurely cruise along the coastline or a thrilling excursion to the nearby Calanques—those rugged limestone cliffs that plunge dramatically into the crystal-clear waters—you're sure to be treated to views so breathtaking, you'll forget all about the exorbitant price of your boat rental.

Of course, no trip to Cassis would be complete without a bit of culture—or at least a half-hearted attempt at it between sips of rosé. Fear not, for this quaint village boasts its fair share of historical landmarks and cultural attractions. From the ancient Château de Cassis, which looms ominously over the harbor like a guardian of bygone eras, to the charming Musée Municipal, where you can brush up on your knowledge of local history between bites of pain au chocolat, there's no shortage of opportunities to feel vaguely cultured before returning to your sun lounger.

And let us not forget the beaches! The beaches of Cassis, where bronzed bodies mingle with the occasional nudist and sandcastles stand as monuments to our fleeting existence. Whether you prefer the bustling atmosphere of Plage de la Grande Mer or the more secluded shores of Anse de Corton, one thing is certain: you'll spend far more time debating which swimwear to put on than actually swimming. And speaking of the harbor, dear reader, let us not forget the beating heart of Cassis—the bustling port where fishermen ply their trade amidst a cacophony of seagulls and sunbathers vie for the perfect spot on the quayside. Here, you can while away the hours watching the comings and goings of the local fishing fleet, or perhaps charter a boat of your own and set sail for the nearby Calanques, those rugged limestone fjords that have inspired artists and poets for centuries.

But our journey is far from over! Beyond the sun-drenched shores of Cassis lie a veritable treasure trove of hidden gems just waiting to be discovered. From the medieval hilltop village of La Ciotat, where time seems to stand still amidst the winding alleyways and ancient ramparts, to the cosmopolitan charms of Aix-en-Provence, where fountains splash and café terraces beckon, the delights of Provence are yours to explore. And, so we come to the end of our journey through the sun-drenched streets and sparkling waters of Cassis. It may just convince you that your next trip may be in this direction. Bon voyage!

All of the images in this post were captured with the Leica Q3 and it’s RAW images (.DNG’S) were processed in Lightroom.

As usual if you would like to leave your thoughts or comments plaese do so in the box below the last image. I do enjoy hearing from you.

Live well!

M.

Arles in Winter: Where Van Gogh Meets Viennoiserie.

Arles. The jewel of Provence, where the Rhône gently kisses the Mediterranean, and where, on a particularly crisp winter morning, I found myself parked adjacent to two long and narrow river cruise boats, both were tied up north facing at the dock. I sat wondering if my car was closer to Van Gogh's bedroom or the nearest patisserie. In its infinite wisdom, the sun had decided to grace those of us up with the birds, casting a golden hue over the town that even the most skilled Instagram filter couldn't replicate.

The streets of Arles at this hour are a curious mix of the sleepy and the over-caffeinated. Artists, those brave souls, are already out with their sketch pads, capturing the light that once inspired Van Gogh to, well, let's say, get overly enthusiastic with his self-portraits. I strolled along the quay, my breath no longer visible in the air, a reminder that while the calendar insisted it was winter, the temperature, hovering in the high teens, seemed to have missed the memo.

In the heart of the town, the scent of freshly baked croissants waged a fierce battle with the aroma of strong coffee. The local boulangeries, those temples of butter and flour, were opening their doors, emitting a warmth that seemed to beckon every soul in Arles. I watched as people, clearly more accustomed to the early hours around here than I, made their pilgrimage for their morning sustenance. There's something almost religious about the first bite of a croissant in a French bakery; it's like a sacrament but flakier.

As I wandered, I stumbled upon the Roman-built coliseum, or as I like to call it, the 'Arena of the Absurdly Old'. It's remarkable to think that this structure has been standing since 90 AD, hosting everything from gladiator battles to, more recently, tourists with selfie sticks. It's a testament to Roman engineering and modern-day marketing. I half expected a centurion to pop out offering guided tours, but it was just a man in a slightly less impressive uniform selling postcards.

The boutiques in Arles are a delightful distraction. Each one is unique, like snowflakes, if snowflakes were made of lavender soap and hand-painted ceramics. I wandered into one, pretending for a moment that I was the kind of person who could nonchalantly buy a €200 scarf without blinking. Sensing my internal struggle, the shopkeeper smiled and said, "It's okay, I too dream of being outrageously wealthy."

Lunchtime in Arles is an experience in itself. The cafes and bistros come alive, their tables spilling onto the sidewalks. I chose a spot in the sun, the kind of place where you can sit with a glass of local wine and pretend to write a novel. The menu was a delightful parade of Provençal classics – ratatouille, bouillabaisse, and something involving snails that I wasn't brave enough to try. The food, much like the town itself, is unpretentious yet sophisticated, like a farmer in a tuxedo. All that to say, after that tooing and froing, I decided to have an espresso and wait to have lunch later in the day.

The streets took on a more leisurely pace as the late morning pressed on. The artists had packed up, their morning's work done, replaced by couples strolling hand in hand and so many dogs, each looking like it had just stepped out of a French film about existentialism and baguettes.

As the sun descended, casting long shadows across the ancient stones, I found myself back at the river. The cruise boats were being prepared for their next voyage by a small Army (more appropriately, Navy) of young men working very hard to make everything ship shape and Bristol fashion. As I drove from the dockyard parking lot along the Rhone to Avignon, I counted my lucky stars. You see, the last time I was here, it was pre-covid, and the river cruises were packed with relentlessly embarking throngs of tourists rolling down the gangways to invade the city as the Romans had thousands of years previous. In reality what I observed back in the summer of 2019, were hundreds of new-age Romans, or as my friend Jaquie puts it, the “salad dodgers”, stumble down the gang plank onto terra firma. As I got further & further out of town, I couldn’t stop thinking about the absurdity of trying to capture the essence of a place like Arles in a few hours or even a 3,000-word blog post.

In the end, Arles is a town that doesn't just sit in the landscape; it is the landscape. It's a place where history and modernity dance a slow waltz, every corner holds a story, and every pastry shop is a potential love affair. As I neared home, I mused that Van Gogh had it right all along – sometimes, the most ordinary places are the most extraordinary, especially when viewed through the lens of a winter morning sun.

SIX MONTHS A YEAR STARTS NOW!

Bonnieux, my adopted home away from home. If you have never heard of it, don't fret – neither had I, until a twist of fate and a slightly misguided sense of adventure (or was it a mid-life crisis?) landed me here. This hilltop Provençal village that seems to have been designed by a particularly nostalgic set of gods with a penchant for puzzles and steep inclines.

You see, Bonnieux isn't just a village; it's a full-blown aerobic workout. I've lost more weight walking to the bakery here than I ever have in a gym at home. The place is perched – and I use that term with the total weight of its gravity-defying implications – on a craggy hill in the Luberon, offering views that stretch endlessly until they bump into some other quaint village or an olive grove that's been around since Julius Caesar was in short pants.

The history? Oh, it's rich. Bonnieux was a big deal when the Popes were in Avignon, probably because they needed a scenic retreat from all that divine responsibility. The old church at the top of the village is so ancient that I half expect to bump into Crusaders or Knights Templar comparing GPS coordinates. And let's not forget the Roman bridges and roads. The Romans, those eternal show-offs, left behind the Pont Julien – a bridge still standing after two thousand years. I'm convinced it’s due to sheer stubbornness.

Fast forward a few centuries, and Bonnieux, like every self-respecting medieval French village, got itself embroiled in the religious wars. Catholics and Protestants squabbling over God's fine print led to some rather spirited town meetings, I imagine. This historical mishmash has given the village an architectural diversity that's an absolute nightmare for anyone trying to pick a coherent colour scheme for their window shutters.

Then came the agricultural revolution, with cherries and olives becoming the stars of the show. The terraced landscapes here are a testament to what you can achieve with a bit of land, many stones, and a complete disregard for your back’s well-being.

The 20th century saw Bonnieux, like a retired movie star, fade a bit into the background. But then, as if in a plot twist, it found itself rediscovered, like an old vinyl record in a hipster's hemp shoulder bag from a “vintage shop.” Artists and writers, presumably tired of Parisian traffic and existential angst, decided Bonnieux was the place to be. Cue the restoration of historic buildings and the revival of those agricultural traditions, now considered quaint.

Today, as a part-time resident and full-time observer, I watch with amusement and a touch of pride as Bonnieux parades its history with the casual elegance of a catwalk model. The streets here don't just wind; they meander with purpose as if to tell you, "Slow down, you're missing the point."

Culturally, the village is a kaleidoscope. It's inspired more paintings and books than a village this size rightfully should. Walking through its lanes, you half expect to stumble upon an art easel at every corner or a writer musing under every tree.

So, why Bonnieux? Why did I, an admittedly eccentric apprentice writer who loves the quirky and the absurd, choose to plant roots here? It's simple. Bonnieux isn't just a place; it's a character in its own right, with a story that keeps unfolding in the most unpredictable ways. It's the kind of place where history isn't just remembered; it's lived in, laughed in, and occasionally tripped over.

In conclusion, come to Bonnieux if you're ever in Provence, looking for a village that combines breathtaking views with a workout regime fit for a Roman legionnaire. Just remember to bring good shoes and a sense of humour. You'll need both.

Don’t get any bright ideas and decide upon arrival that this place would also suit you down to the ground. Don’t let me catch you entering one of the three local real estate agents. I moved here to escape you, so find your own village. No hurry, sit; I can still pour you a glass of Rosè while you study your map!

As always, please leave your thoughts or any comments below. I do look forward to hearing from you.

Live well!

M.

All images were captured with the Leica SL2-S camera and 24-90mm lens.