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Cruising the French Rivera
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Rogues
The life
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By Warren Swil Most Southern Californians probably believe a trip to the French Rivera at high season is far to expensive to contemplate. But there is an unexpectedly inexpensive and surprisingly effective way to see and enjoy everything this unparalleled stretch of world-famous coastline has to offer. It simply takes some thinking outside the box. Virtually all the historic places one might wish to visit in Monaco, Cannes, Nice, Antibes and St. Tropez are either at or close to the harbors in these ancient port cities. Also, all the nightlife, entertainment and hundreds of restaurants are either in or surrounding the harbors. So from an efficiency viewpoint, it makes sense to visit any or all of these glittering destinations by yacht - wherever you dock you are right in the center of the action - and huge numbers of people do it this way.
Sunsail arranged for us to be met at Nice airport, though they never vouched for the typically French driver who scared the daylights out of the jet-lagged foursome from Los Angeles, Seattle and Iowa on the 40 mile drive southwest to the Sunsail base at St. Raphael. Our vessel, “Jusqu’au Bout du Reve” (which means something about the end of a dream) in the spanking new St Raphael harbor adjacent to the ancient, historical port, was ready for us on our arrival. Spic and span, she came equipped with fresh linens for each of her four cabins, towels, a starter pack of kitchen and toilet supplies for each of the two bathrooms, and a full tank of fuel for our trip. We picked up complimentary snorkel gear dockside, then went shopping at a harborside grocery store for provisions for breakfasts and lunches for the first couple of days. We had planned to eat ashore at different resorts most nights, so did not buy dinner provisions. After stashing the supplies, we explored the stores and about a dozen restaurants in the harbor, picking one that looked as French as possible for our first dinner. As was to be the case almost everywhere we dined, the food was impeccable. Steaks and seafood entrees cost between $15 and $30 (with the Euro worth now roughly the same as a dollar, price comparisons in Europe are easier than ever). The presentation would have made Martha Stewart proud, and the sauces and garnishes -- light and subtle -- were tantalizingly tasty Even after a full meal, one felt satisfied but not stuffed, thanks to the light herbs, spices and sauces that tickle the palate. As we walked around the dock back to “Jusqu’au Bout du Reve” we noticed a crowd sitting on the breakwater. Suddenly, from the other side of town fireworks roared into the air. Oh, we thought, how nice of them to welcome us this way. No, sorry; turns out it was Bastille Day, the French equivalent of July Fourth. Late in the afternoon I lost track of where we were even though my handheld GPS – an indispensable accessory -- told me we were near Antibes. It was really difficult to figure out the coastline from 3 miles out, and only on the fourth or fifth day did we figure out the pictures on the charts provided by Sunsail and find one which matched what we were looking at. So it was more by luck than skill that we arrived off Vauban harbor in Antibes around 6 pm. We hailed the harbormaster, who responded three times in French (we didn’t realize he was responding to us till later) and switched to English only after I got a little miffed and begged him strenuously to do so. This, we understand, is fairly common in France. With considerable angst, we pulled up as instructed to the temporary-mooring jetty and spent what seemed like an hour going through interminable paperwork to get a mooring. The harbor was full, we were told, so the only place to put us was between some huge (100-feet and more) luxury power yachts in the old basin. I was trembling as we approached what we thought was our space. Although I am a certified skipper, I had never done the Mediterranean mooring before. The mooring is a space barely larger than the boat by one foot on either side. The skipper must reverse into it at exactly the right amount of speed to glide smoothly up to the dockside (without smashing into it, although there’s usually a rubber buffer). If you don’t give enough power, you stall and drift. When you hit the dock, a crewman jumps off (or a kindly soul ashore grabs your rope) and you tie up the stern. At the same time, another crewman grabs a rope from the dock, runs it to the front of the boat and pulls up a chain attached to an anchored mooring in the front. It takes exquisite timing to do correctly, and the elements are unforgiving if you don’t. With a totally inexperienced skipper and crew, our first attempt was a total disaster. We managed to get the stern secured, but then the bow started drifting towards the huge, expensive yacht next to us. I was too scared to use the motor, and just watched helplessly as we drifted into and hit the boat to our starboard with our anchor, making a 2-inch gash in its side. The owner was not aboard. At about the same time, someone on shore told us we were in the wrong place, so we cast off the stern ropes and I gunned the engine and motored back out into the channel. The damage, however slight, was done.
We were moored in the old
harbor of Vauban, surrounded by ramparts dating from a few years BC,
when Antibes was a Roman outpost. It was just drenched in history. A
short walk along the dockside and we were in the old city – a
thriving, crowded nightlife district, our first introduction to the
fabulous resorts of the French Rivera. We had a wonderful dinner -- entertained, free, by a sidewalk jazz band -- and then tried drinks at a few different bistros. While we were walking along the promenade, an obviously well-oiled woman with a crowd of men jumped up from her seat, approached me and said, “American?” I hardly had time to answer when she dropped to her knees and pulled down my white socks (which were mid-calf) and rolled them down to my ankles. “This is the European way,” she said, glancing back at her friends at the table, who were howling with laughter. I was so taken aback I just cracked up laughing too, gave her a big hug and sent her back to her friends. From then on I wore my socks as anklets. After anchoring and settling in, an ice cream vendor clad only in a thong approached in a little power boat. We bought ice cream form her and found out we were still about 5 miles west of Monaco, so we weighed anchor and motored the rest of the way, sailing into Monaco Harbor around 6 p.m. Mooring in Monaco was slightly different; we had to drop our anchor in the middle of the harbor, then back into the dock. Fortunately, there was not another boat within 20 feet, so there was plenty of room for error … which I did not even need. I learn fast, even under pressure: our mooring was right in the heart of downtown Monaco, and as we maneuvered into it a small crowd of about 12 people gathered to watch … a common practice, I am told. Luckily, I did just fine, and we glided up to exactly the right spot at the perfect speed, and were soon secure. Later that evening we made it up the hill to the casino, but by then it was so late all we did was play the slots before going for a late dinner (yes, it’s wonderful how late Europe stays open) and back to the boat. We decided early the next morning to stay an extra day in Monaco because there was much we wanted to see and do. We climbed the hill to the royal palace in time for the noon changing of the guard (totally unimpressive, compared to Buckingham Palace), then took a tour by tram and saw the entire 2 square mile principality in about two hours. Then we split up; Robert and Greg toured the palace, Elizabeth went to the aquarium and I went to write my postcards. That evening we went back to the casino and actually went inside. What a marvelous place, just like in the James Bond movies; if you miss everything else, this is a must-see on a trip to the Rivera. Built in the late 1890s, it is well worth the $10 admission to just enter and look at the ornate frescos, crystal chandeliers and gambling tables trimmed in leather. The gambling chips started at $20 (the most expensive we saw was $100) so unless one is a well-heeled, inveterate gambler, it is advisable to just watch instead of play. We sailed out of Monaco fairly early the next morning, and enjoyed a wonderful day of gentle breezes which blew us all the way back to St. Honorat (the island just off Cannes) by late afternoon. We anchored in a gorgeous cove, and went ashore to look at the monastery and castle, the only things on the island. It was quite enchanting, especially the signs requesting us to be respectful and silent if we encountered any monks. We spent a fabulous evening aboard “Jusqu d'About de Reve” anchored a few hundred yards offshore, cooking dinner, eating al fresco on deck, and sipping French liqueurs as we watched a gorgeous sunset and the twinkling lights on the shore. It was a full moon, and we spent several hours above decks just enjoying the ambience. Some of the crew slept outside that night. When we awoke, the wind had shifted 180 degrees and we were facing northwest. This should have been a clue that the weather had changed – the wind had come up to a relatively strong 25-30 mph. I had had considerable difficulty figuring out the weather forecast (which originated in Monaco) because of the thick French accent, even though it was in English, and this morning I did not catch that a Mistral was in the forecast. As we were to discover later, most locals stay in port during a Mistral, which is a strong and extremely variable wind from the interior. In our case, ignorance was bliss. We set out for a long day of sailing, our destination the Hyeres islands, some 40 miles to the southwest. At first, the wind was sufficiently strong for us to be sailing at about the boat’s maximum speed of 8 mph, so we thought we would cover the distance quite easily. However, after about an hour, the wind died out completely. We started the motor, but within about 15 minutes, the wind was back –- from a totally different direction. It had swung through about 90 degrees, and was now coming from the southwest … from directly where we wanted to go. Naturally we had to adjust our course, tacking from southeast to northwest as best we could, and we had to furl up the jib to avoid being overpowered, because the wind had become really strong, more than 30 mph at times. I noticed during the day there was very little traffic on the water (compared to Sunday, when it was as crowded as the 405 freeway -- it was a pleasure) but only later did I find out why.
Just as we were ready for lunch, the wind again died to nothing. We ate while adrift. The timing was perfect. Just as we finished lunch, sure enough the wind came up again … it had swung back 90 degrees to the northwest, so we had to adjust course again. It was fairly exhausting sailing in these conditions – hard work, but fabulous exercise – so shortly after lunch I began reexamining our destination for the evening and realized we were too tired and too far away to make it to the islands. Instead we headed for a small village called Cavalaire sur Mer, which you will probably have difficulty finding on any map. It turned out to be a lovely, relatively new port with just 5,000 residents but 10 times as many tourists, and a summer concert in the late evening which we enjoyed from the deck of our boat. As I checked in with the harbormaster, I asked if we had indeed been sailing in a Mistral, and this was confirmed. Our last full day afloat, we left port late – around 11 a.m. – and headed for St. Tropez. The wind was back to its regular southeasterly at 12-15 mph, so we spent a good six hours tacking back and forth until around 6:30 p.m. when we were still some seven miles from St. Tropez. We motored the rest of the way, dropping anchor outside the port around sunset. What a fabulous medieval city St. Tropez is. All the nightlife is centered around the really ancient port, and we had a fabulous, last-night-of-cruise dinner dockside, then spent some time on the ramparts and later at a sidewalk café listening to music till the wee hours. After less than five hours sleep, we were all up and not-so-cheery around 6 a.m. for the two-hour stretch back to St. Raphael, where we had to return our yacht by 9 a.m. My final mooring, with the shore crew from Sunsail watching intently, was a work of art. It was the tightest reverse turn I had to do on the trip, and I judged it so sweetly the yacht just glided up to the berth as if drawn in by a magnet. A round of applause, please. It was a fitting end to a fabulous sail. |
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