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| French Bread fresh from the oven |
Market in St Tropez - selection of saucisse
3000 Euros - and counting....
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| Fishing Boat in St Tropez |
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| St Tropez, a compact village in a bay |
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| Chien Francais in St Raphael |
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| Beach Promenade in St Raphael |
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| St Raphael Cathedral |
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| Memorial to Bonaparte's Egypt Victory |
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| The Alps on a rare clear day, as seen from the ship anchored off St Raphael |
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| 365 kinds of cheese - at least - France at its best |
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| ELegant antique wooden yacht tied up in St Tropez |
Just a quick Note:
The blog postings are random, not in sequence of actual itinerary...
24 April 2012 Saint Raphael, France
Gales on the Mediterranean...if one has never seen one in this particular sea, one cannot imagine the confused seas which mount to incredible heights and form an ever moving alpine sea scape. There is not enough fetch in the entire Med to create a decent soft long swell of even waves all travelling in the same direction. Landmasses, Islands, steep cliffs all stop the motion of the waves, which are reflected back into the sea to crash against incoming waves, and the whole mess creates a veritable boiling cauldron of not so azure blue sea with whitecaps like Triton's horses jumping every which way, and foamy crests racing like careening chariots and colliding against each other. Well we got that on our departure from Rome and journey to France.
Saint Raphael, our next tendering/anchoring port in France, was an iffy proposition because of turbulent seas and high winds, making tendering operations questionable. Skilled Captain Gunderson placed us in the middle of St Raphael Bay and kept the ship's engines running to position her as a windbreak.
Off we went to the shores of France, to the same port, where young Napoleon Bonaparte returned from his Egypt campaign. Ironically, Le Petit Corporal was dispatched to Elba later from this same Port.
St Raphael is one of the most southern outposts of La Provence, sheltered by the coastal Massif de Esterel and the tree covered Massif de Maures. Cannes and Monaco lay tot he East, and St. Tropez and Grimaud to the West.
Saint Tropez is only an hour away by ferry, and three hours away by car (in summer traffic). As no other convenient transport was allegedly available, I hopped on a ferry in exclusive use for Prinsendam's transfer participants (94$ return). A clear day, the snow-covered peaks of the French Alps rose above the Massif de Esterel in the distance.
Saint Tropez surprises by it's small compact size, perched on a promontory at the end of a graceful and expansive bay. The shore is lined with marinas, where the 'more than a couple of million dollars a piece' yachts prevail, all tied up stern to, with anchors dropped into the fairways (if there are any). Of course, there are the usual pleasure fishing boats and a whole fleet of commercial fishermen as well, the latter supplying the numerous restaurants with their 'plat du jour'.
An exclusive selection of early twentieth century wooden racing yachts about 50-70 feet each, with brass work lacquered to high gloss or hidden under non-scratch protective material, lined the main-marine-stretch in front of the sea promenade. Artistically maintained boat-wives lent a sumptuous adornment to the ever so luxurious cockpit arrangements.
An ex-Club Med five masted cruise ship swung at anchor, and super-sized snowy white floating gin and champagne palaces several stories high and as long as a city block, overshadowed the low slung antique yachts.
St Tropez is of course one of the more exclusive of playgrounds for the uber-rich and uber-famous, as well as uber-has beens like Brigitte Bardot, who still maintains one of her villas here.
However, it has preserved some down to earth level appeal, as creperies still offer delicious paper-thin pancakes drizzled with Grand Marnier for 4 Euros, and some oh-so-trashy-but-stylish t-shirts are affordable for the plebeian crowd, who invade St. Tropez to the tune of 70.000 a day in summer time. Mercifully it is pre-season (but Mistral Time, the gale creating weather forces) and only a few thousand permanent residents and a relative scattering of tourists stroll the small crooked streets and back alleys.
Boutiques of the rarefied kind cater to customers who drop several THOUSAND Euros for a little haute couture number without batting an eye....and the stuff looks gorgeous!
The morning market was open, and a couple of hundred open air stalls had spread their temptations: cheese stands with at last 150 of the 365 kinds of cheeses of La Belle France, Les Saucisses were arranged in little attractive heaps of reddish air dried elongated lumps, Les poulets (chickens), lapin (rabbit) and little quails or pigeons were turning on their spits, bowls of multi-hued fragrant olives, stands with cauldron sized pots with simmering Paella, leather handbags, antiques, clothes, laces, bakery and confiterie product, fresh vegetables and fruit, and colourful and fragrant flowers...a feast for eye, ear and particularly nose!
The most pleasant thing to do is merely strolling around, watching, listening and observing....and nibbling a petit crepe avec un peut de Grand Marnier. The sun shone, and the far off Alps had again put in one of the extremely rare appearances far over the horizon, and the wind did not quite make it into St. Tropez Bay.
Back to St Raphael via 'exclusive ferry' which suddenly filled up with non exclusive passengers from shore and ship, who had paid the princely sum of 24 Euros for the return journey. How come? I had just parted with $ 94 for the exact same privilege.
Multiple cross misunderstandings between ship, shore, tours and ferry operators later...one may expect a 'refund'?
St. Raphael is a somewhat more modest version of St Tropez, where one still needs to be rich to live there but at a slightly lower level than in St Tropez. At all counts, condos and houses are priced either at or less than equivalents in lovely Vancouver, which has the distinction of charging the second highest rate for real estate in the entire world.
I wandered around there, dodging the fresh breeze, and finding a side walk bistro which offered a reasonably priced 'Kronenbourg', and watched the world go by.
Next stop Sete, part of the Petit Camarque, land of Rhone delta, fighting bulls and the famous white horses of the estuary, access to Arles and Montpellier...
BUT - plans for excursions along the Canal du Midi, to ancient Carcassonne and various trips to wineries etc were abruptly cut short by Captain Gunderson's dinner announcement: The whole Mediterranean coast of France is battered by gale force winds, and pounded by violent seas as a consequence. Port authorities have closed all anchorages and harbours along the coast, Sete is out.
However, Barcelona is out of harm's way, ergo we will land there instead, gaining an extra day in this intriguing city. Cruising still has surprises, even for the most jaded, whose ranks - I hope - I may never join.
The blog postings are random, not in sequence of actual itinerary...
24 April 2012 Saint Raphael, France
Gales on the Mediterranean...if one has never seen one in this particular sea, one cannot imagine the confused seas which mount to incredible heights and form an ever moving alpine sea scape. There is not enough fetch in the entire Med to create a decent soft long swell of even waves all travelling in the same direction. Landmasses, Islands, steep cliffs all stop the motion of the waves, which are reflected back into the sea to crash against incoming waves, and the whole mess creates a veritable boiling cauldron of not so azure blue sea with whitecaps like Triton's horses jumping every which way, and foamy crests racing like careening chariots and colliding against each other. Well we got that on our departure from Rome and journey to France.
Saint Raphael, our next tendering/anchoring port in France, was an iffy proposition because of turbulent seas and high winds, making tendering operations questionable. Skilled Captain Gunderson placed us in the middle of St Raphael Bay and kept the ship's engines running to position her as a windbreak.
Off we went to the shores of France, to the same port, where young Napoleon Bonaparte returned from his Egypt campaign. Ironically, Le Petit Corporal was dispatched to Elba later from this same Port.
St Raphael is one of the most southern outposts of La Provence, sheltered by the coastal Massif de Esterel and the tree covered Massif de Maures. Cannes and Monaco lay tot he East, and St. Tropez and Grimaud to the West.
Saint Tropez is only an hour away by ferry, and three hours away by car (in summer traffic). As no other convenient transport was allegedly available, I hopped on a ferry in exclusive use for Prinsendam's transfer participants (94$ return). A clear day, the snow-covered peaks of the French Alps rose above the Massif de Esterel in the distance.
Saint Tropez surprises by it's small compact size, perched on a promontory at the end of a graceful and expansive bay. The shore is lined with marinas, where the 'more than a couple of million dollars a piece' yachts prevail, all tied up stern to, with anchors dropped into the fairways (if there are any). Of course, there are the usual pleasure fishing boats and a whole fleet of commercial fishermen as well, the latter supplying the numerous restaurants with their 'plat du jour'.
An exclusive selection of early twentieth century wooden racing yachts about 50-70 feet each, with brass work lacquered to high gloss or hidden under non-scratch protective material, lined the main-marine-stretch in front of the sea promenade. Artistically maintained boat-wives lent a sumptuous adornment to the ever so luxurious cockpit arrangements.
An ex-Club Med five masted cruise ship swung at anchor, and super-sized snowy white floating gin and champagne palaces several stories high and as long as a city block, overshadowed the low slung antique yachts.
St Tropez is of course one of the more exclusive of playgrounds for the uber-rich and uber-famous, as well as uber-has beens like Brigitte Bardot, who still maintains one of her villas here.
However, it has preserved some down to earth level appeal, as creperies still offer delicious paper-thin pancakes drizzled with Grand Marnier for 4 Euros, and some oh-so-trashy-but-stylish t-shirts are affordable for the plebeian crowd, who invade St. Tropez to the tune of 70.000 a day in summer time. Mercifully it is pre-season (but Mistral Time, the gale creating weather forces) and only a few thousand permanent residents and a relative scattering of tourists stroll the small crooked streets and back alleys.
Boutiques of the rarefied kind cater to customers who drop several THOUSAND Euros for a little haute couture number without batting an eye....and the stuff looks gorgeous!
The morning market was open, and a couple of hundred open air stalls had spread their temptations: cheese stands with at last 150 of the 365 kinds of cheeses of La Belle France, Les Saucisses were arranged in little attractive heaps of reddish air dried elongated lumps, Les poulets (chickens), lapin (rabbit) and little quails or pigeons were turning on their spits, bowls of multi-hued fragrant olives, stands with cauldron sized pots with simmering Paella, leather handbags, antiques, clothes, laces, bakery and confiterie product, fresh vegetables and fruit, and colourful and fragrant flowers...a feast for eye, ear and particularly nose!
The most pleasant thing to do is merely strolling around, watching, listening and observing....and nibbling a petit crepe avec un peut de Grand Marnier. The sun shone, and the far off Alps had again put in one of the extremely rare appearances far over the horizon, and the wind did not quite make it into St. Tropez Bay.
Back to St Raphael via 'exclusive ferry' which suddenly filled up with non exclusive passengers from shore and ship, who had paid the princely sum of 24 Euros for the return journey. How come? I had just parted with $ 94 for the exact same privilege.
Multiple cross misunderstandings between ship, shore, tours and ferry operators later...one may expect a 'refund'?
St. Raphael is a somewhat more modest version of St Tropez, where one still needs to be rich to live there but at a slightly lower level than in St Tropez. At all counts, condos and houses are priced either at or less than equivalents in lovely Vancouver, which has the distinction of charging the second highest rate for real estate in the entire world.
I wandered around there, dodging the fresh breeze, and finding a side walk bistro which offered a reasonably priced 'Kronenbourg', and watched the world go by.
Next stop Sete, part of the Petit Camarque, land of Rhone delta, fighting bulls and the famous white horses of the estuary, access to Arles and Montpellier...
BUT - plans for excursions along the Canal du Midi, to ancient Carcassonne and various trips to wineries etc were abruptly cut short by Captain Gunderson's dinner announcement: The whole Mediterranean coast of France is battered by gale force winds, and pounded by violent seas as a consequence. Port authorities have closed all anchorages and harbours along the coast, Sete is out.
However, Barcelona is out of harm's way, ergo we will land there instead, gaining an extra day in this intriguing city. Cruising still has surprises, even for the most jaded, whose ranks - I hope - I may never join.
