The Villa

Each day at the villa seemed to merge into the next, and a lot of time was spent swimming in the pool, taking trips to the bakery for breakfast, reading books, playing games of 500 or pentanque, eating and drinking… Every day was between 29 and 35 degrees, and quite often that led to an afternoon siesta in the heat of the day. The first full day was a Sunday, and this was all we did, and just what we all needed, and Daniel and Katherine’s last night was spent with more singing, more music, and more wine.

The next day was Bastille Day, and the morning was spent with a farewell to Daniel and Katherine, and then more of the same really. We had heard that there would be a big fireworks demonstration later in the town centre, so decided to have a meal out in town before immersing ourselves in some French festivities. A small French beer brewery that served simple cuisine managed to draw us in, and we took a table in the alleyway outside, before the boys were offered a tour of the brewery (which was really just a basement with a huge vat in it). The girls stayed upstairs and encountered a crazy drunk woman, who insisted speaking at as, not to us, in French, even though we’d said we didn’t understand… we think she was trying to tell us to go and look at how they brew the beer, so gave in and went downstairs, but slightly deterred by the strange smell, the heat, and a general disinterest in beer, came back up and made a job of ignoring her instead.

The meals were a nice surprise, and were simple dishes that were very flavoursome (and no savoury icecream in sight), and the host had excellent English, so was happy to chat with us about where to go and what to do during our time in Draguignan. The town was now converging on the square for the fireworks display, which turned out to be a bit of a fashion display of trend disasters. After the style of Paris, we found many interesting fads well underway through this town. Rats-tails, undercuts on females, a hell of a lot of animal print, and finally, their signature flowing trousers with elastic around the ankle, which became nicknamed the ‘jasmine pants’… Needless to say, there wasn’t going to be much clothes shopping for us here.

The fireworks display was spectacular, and nothing like you’d see in New Zealand, as they were released directly above us, with shell casings flying about in all directions. We were so close that some debris actually made it into my eye, which meant I was left clutching one eye like a freak while trying to see the rest of the show, but a very kind stranger gave me some drops to flush it out with. We really encountered some lovely locals on our way through France.

Mike Robertson (Josh’s friend Andrew’s brother) came over from Nice to visit on the Tuesday, and after buying some lunch goodies in town, we went to what we thought was the train station to collect him. It turns out there is no train station, just a ticket office, and so we finally found out the station was in a nearby village Les Arcs. Even finding a train station is difficult when you have no idea where you’re going… We did make it, and took Mike back for a lovely lunch in the sun, before another lazy day, followed by Josh and I learning some tricks from chef Mike to cook the evening meal.

We left in time to get Mike back to the last train, which turned out to be cancelled (quite the norm apparently, and our first hint at how unreliable some trains can be in Europe…), so we ended up putting him up for the night, more games of 500, and dropping him off bright and early in the morning.

Wednesday was another roadtrip day, and it was nice to be in the air-conditioned car, as it was too hot to lie in the sun, and we needed to keep our shutters closed all day in the bedrooms just to make it cool enough to sleep at night. We took a day trip to Ste Maxime to see the coastline, and although the water wasn’t quite that warm, as it was still early and the clouds hadn’t burnt off yet, we did get to dip our toes into the Mediterranean. That was about it though. We were the prudish New Zealanders who cover up as much as we can while the Europeans are at ease with their topless bathing. Some of them looked as if they’d been in the sun for 50 years (and quite possibly have been), orange, leathered skin and sun-bleached blonde hair.

Catching a ferry to St Tropez, we really didn’t see the attraction. Hoards of tourists packed around incomprehensibly large private launches to ogle the wealthy boaters as they sipped cockatils on the deck. It was incredibly hot on this side of the water, and with our mouths watering, we hunted out gelatos to eat in the shade, while painters sold their art as they worked alongside it on the wharf. We felt the place lacked a lot of character and charm and is possibly only enjoyable if you’re filthy rich and want to flaunt your money about in high-end stores and luxury yachts. After nearly parching ourselves waiting for a return ferry in the intense sun, we drove back to the peace of the villa.

The next two days were filled with tearful departures. Sophie left on the Friday morning, following an early morning drive to Nice airport. After waving goodbye, knowing it might be quite a while before we see her again, we drove from Nice to Villefranche around the coast, to drop off our gear for the weekend (Josh and I were staying at Mike’s apartment there), and to enjoy Chris and Marion’s last day. Josh was driving the windy coastal roads, while I did my best to try and navigate. Leaving Nice, which seemed quite commercial, lined with palm trees, rollerbladers, my idea of what Miami might be like, we arrived in Villefranche – a small village in stark contrast to Nice. A truly picturesque drive, the village is nestled between the windy Cornish road hills, and we were so excited to be staying here. Both of us were starting to feel so much more of an affiliation with the smaller European places than Metropolis cities.

We tried our best to park as close to Mike’s as we could, and ended up on hairpin bends lined with stone walls, jammed between cars. You needed to do three point turns just to make it around the corners, and Josh managed it pretty damn well, whereas I’m not sure I would attempt any of it. By accident we ended up parking a few streets away from Mike’s, and made our way to his street, which is right in the heart of the village, surrounded by restaurants, on narrow pathways that tunnel under buildings.

In need of a swim and food, we all sat down to a lunch of savoury crepes and salads (some of you will be proud to know I now LOVE olives!), and we were off to the beach for our first ocean swim. Amazingly clear water, and warm but refreshing, it was hard to get out, but we dried off under beach umbrellas, before heading back to the car for the drive home.

We bypassed Grasse, the perfume capital, avoiding the concrete highways again, and went out for dinner for Marion and Chris’s last night in France. Finding a cute wee Italian restaurant with lovely simple pastas and pizzas, a very sweet old husband and wife business, we ate outside in the square until dark.