Leg 8: Cassis and Les Calanques

Person A: Are you the kind of person who, prior to going to a new place, does a whole pile of research? Do you type in things like, “The best things to buy in Paris,” or “ What is the best restaurant in Toulon?” Do you make lists and read endless blogs by digital nomads who somehow manage to make vanlife look elegant? Have you absorbed so many images of where you want to go, memorized all of the Park4nite potential spots and when you get there you go, “Huh. That’s it?”

Person B: Or, are you the kind of person who says, “we’re going to Cassis cuz it reminds me of jam or Ribena” and when you get there you think, “holy crap this is amazing and holy shit, where the hell am I going to stay?”

Or, are you Person be Complicated: Me, I kind of hover between the two and I’m frankly getting tired of reading how wonderful or uh-mazing a place is, and all the incredible things you can do there but only if you have endless money to pay for tourist sites, parking and campgrounds. I do research, look for places to stay, empty the chemical toilet, get water and so on. I do sometimes type in, “what is the best thing to buy in (enter place name)” and end up down the rabbit hole of choices and online hotel bookings.

And other times, I just want to get there and make up my mind for myself. Discover a place on my own terms, through my own set of special rose-coloured glasses. We all see what we want to see, focus on what interests us, and filter our experiences based on our mindset. So, read on, knowing that my experience may not have anything to do with yours. But it’s still freaking cool, anyway.

Toulon

We left wine country and spend a few days in Toulon visiting my old host mother from when I lived in France from 1984-85. It was good to see her but we were so tired and in need of doing laundry and she was quite busy too. We spent two nights there, wandered around Toulon and then left. It was lovely to see her after over 20 years (I’d visited once when they still lived near Versailles) and I am so grateful for the fact that I have stayed in touch with the family after such a long time. They are generous, loving and wonderful people and I will forever be grateful for the time I spent living with them at the tender and stupid age of 18.

We said our goodbyes and drove off to Cassis.

We spent a night on the side of the road in Bandol and then went straight to the only campground available in Cassis. It’s super hard to squat for the night anywhere else and we wanted showers and a place to leave the camper that was safe while we went hiking. 

Les Calanques

Ok wow. Basically they’re rugged limestone fjords with the most incredible turquoise waters. We left the campground and walked for about 45 before we actually hit the trail head to go down to the water. If you have any kind of physical weakness or disability, this isn’t the hike for you. It’s a challenging hike.

We had to clamber down very tricky rocks and ever since I broke my arm and have had hip problems, I’m afraid of falling or wrenching my hip. So I go slowly, but all these young bucks literally run down the rocky path. I don’t mean like little pebbles. Boulders and friable rock that skids and slips. It’s treacherous, but apparently, people all around me were going super fast and not having any issues. Whatever. I got down safe and sound, sweating. 

Then I looked up. We were right at the very bottom of a ravine with soaring cliffs and coastal pine trees towering overhead. It smelled like pine essential oil, dust and salt. We finally made it to the ocean and I stopped in awe at the sight. There were only a half dozen people at the beach which made for a lovely contemplative rest. It was just about noon and the sun was almost gone from the inlet, highlighting half of the water to a glowing, clear turquoise you only see in overly enhance travel photos. The water really is that gorgeous.

I sat down on the pebbled beach, changed into my swimsuit and immediately regretted not having brought my swimming slippers. I do not understand how people walk on those rocks. Every step really fucking hurt, but I was sweaty and in need of a dip so I braved my tender feet and stepped into the water. I ended up literally laying down knee-deep because of the pain in my feet and swam out towards the sunny part. 

The water was refreshing and there were tonnes of fish swimming around. There was an adolescent American boy screaming his lungs out through his snorkel as he paddled around looking at the fish. He surfaced and yelled at the top of his lungs, “ MOM!!! MOMMMMMM! There are fish here!” He was so excited and so loud, and I watched as discreet French families smirked at each other and rolled their eyes. “ Americans. Typical.”

I never knew you could scream underwater.

I thought he was funny and cute and so in the present moment. I slowly tread water, willing my eyes to gulp in as much of the scenery, rocky cliffs, sunshine and clear water as absolutely possible. As I slowly paddled back to the beach, I felt a wasp-like piercing sting on my arm. OW! Fuuuuuck! What the hell?

As I got back to the beach, the pain in my arm was eclipsed by the searing pain in my feet as I failed miserably at an elegant exit to the beach. Ursula Andress would be shaking in laughter in her grave if she’d seen me. Bond girl, I am not. More like Lurch.

I finally, hop-groan-stumbled back to my towel, plonked down and immediately the burning pain in my arm reared back up. My husband looked at it and said, “ Oh! You were stung by a jellyfish!” Apparently it was a cute little purple thing that packs a punch and fortunately for me, the pain didn’t last more than a few days and the three inch long red trace on my arm lasted about a week. Who knew?

By then the beach was packed, the sun was long gone and we had to do the trip in reverse order meaning climbing all the way back up. But wait! There’s more. My husband also had the grand idea of actually walking down into town, so off we trooped, me cursing silently at having to hike straight up, then walk straight back down only to then have to walk straight back up the hill to the campground. I needed a drink.

By the time the cold beer kicked in and stabilized both my mood and blood sugar level, we had to climb all the way back up to the campground where I vowed never again to walk.

Go. Do the hike if you’re fit enough. If not there are some easier trails but be careful of the parking lot at the trail head as apparently there are people who break into the cars.

Go early in the morning and get out before noon. Wear hiking boots, take lots of water, a snack, a sun hat, your water shoes if you’re a barefoot wimp like me, and your swimming costume. Ha! I like saying that because it’s British English and it’s cute.

Ps. Don’t put on sunscreen and then go swimming. It kills the fish and coral and little critters in the ocean.

Next time I’ll talk about something that kind of totally sucks; cruelty to animals in the name of tradition. I’m talking about bullfights and we are off to the Camargue to go see one. Lord help me, I’m going to go to a bullfight.

Bisous.

Dana