Sur la Côte d’Azur
Yes, we made it to four decades of marriage. It sounds like a long time and, for many, it is, but for us, life together flowed along without too much turbulence. We cataloged an array of indelible family memories, including our annual ski vacations, but this one, marking our 40th, warranted greater consideration and planning.
Could we cajole our three adult sons and their significant others, plus two grandkids to break from their impossibly busy lives to join us for a week in the region where we spent our honeymoon? After many months of nudging, we finally prevailed, made easier, no doubt, by one son’s plans to attend a wedding nearby and the other two with business in London the following week.
Planning
The planning for a week on the Côte d’Azur in southern France and specifically, in a private villa on Cap d’Antibes began in earnest in the fall of 2023. As with all our vacations, my wife and I took it upon ourselves to research flights, accommodations, local transport, restaurants, and cultural attractions. No travel agent needed. First order of business: lock in our flights since June is the start of vacation season on the southern-most coast of France.
Fortunately, our preferred carrier, Delta, had a non-stop from JFK →Nice. Not inexpensive, but I’m glad we grabbed two “comfort plus” seats seven months in advance on what would be an over-sold flight. Next up: where to stay. There is no shortage of real estate companies offering short-term rentals (“locations” en français) — VRBO and Airbnb among them.
We set our sights on Cap d’Antibes, the storied peninsula east of Nice and west of Cannes just 20 minutes from the Nice airport. Over the years, many bold-faced names were seduced by the charms of this special place on the Côte d’Azur, including Bridget Bardot in the 1950’s, Liz Taylor, JFK, Audrey Hepburn, and Bono. Among the notables with residences there: Pablo Picasso, Albert Camus, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Henri Matisse, Winston Churchill, Pierre Auguste Renoir, Aldous Huxley, Paul Signac, Queen Victoria…
Like the East End of Long Island, the Côte d’Azur drew many artists who were captivated by the sublime light illuminating the land and seascapes. But I digress.
We passed on VRBO and Airbnb, and turned instead to one of the agencies with many listings in the area we sought. Carlton International offered three villas that could accommodate our group of four couples, two young children, and a nanny. By December, we narrowed down our choice to two: the first, just 15 minutes à pied from Juan-les-Pins, and the other 25 minutes walking to old Antibes.
I was determined to stay in Juan-les-Pins, having an indelible memory of visiting this picturesque village on the Mediterranean after graduating from college. It was there where I struck up a conversation on the beach with an American expat in his 50’s who relocated there after 25 years of commuting from Great Neck to the city on the LIRR. (I still aspire to live this man’s life. Let’s see what the November elections bring.)
As mentioned, June begins to get busy in this part of the world. And because we let our home rental decision lapse into the new year, the real estate agent informed us that the Juan-les-Pins home was no longer available during the week we wanted it. We quickly locked in the other villa near Antibes. Fifty percent down, the other fifty percent due 30 days out with a 10,000 euro security deposit. We were not happy we lost that first location, but it’s all relative. We are now confirmed for what promised to be a most memorable family holiday.
Touchdown
We arrived in Nice at 8:30 AM on a Saturday and made our way to the National/Enterprise car rental counter, which I booked months earlier using the Hopper app (at a significant discount). Our Peugeot 508 (when in France) allegedly could accommodate seven passengers, but that’s sans baggage…five with. We also had reserved two 125cc two-person Honda scooters from Booking Bikes in Juan-les-Pins. Everything was done online and via WhatsApp. For the scooters — the preferred mode of transport there given the extreme paucity of parking — helmets and gloves are required to be worn by both driver and passenger.
With my #2 son and his girlfriend on our flight, the four of us navigated our way to the villa to drop off our luggage and then off to the Marché Provençal to stock up. We emerged with local fruits, vegetables, cheese (Saint Agur and Brie) of course, and some homemade green olive tapenade with lemon before the twice-weekly market shuttered at 1:00 PM. Parking wasn’t easy, as were the narrow streets of Old Antibes especially with a vehicle this size, but we landed a spot in Port Vauban.
Juan-les-Pins and Les Plages (the Beaches)
Just ten minutes by car to Old Antibes, our villa had an expansive terrace with a magical view across the water of the charming and historic town. Juan-les-Pins (pronounced “one less pins” by Google Maps) was nothing like my memory of it. The town was much more developed and frankly a bit honky tonk. Even that idyllic beach I remember was nowhere to be found. It was replaced by a string of contiguous and crowded private beach clubs with restaurants that charged beachgoers anywhere from 25 euros to 75 euros a day to rent a chaise lounge and umbrella (un transat et un parasol). Beach towels (serviettes de plage) also could be had for eight euros/day. No thanks.
Even the storied Plage Keller — at the high end of the pricey beaches — was underwhelming and had a restaurant maitre’d with an attitude. Et mon français n’etait pas si mauvais. Fortunately, my oldest son discovered the family-friendly, purportedly five-star Cap d’Antibes Beach Hotel early in the week with its private beach (Les Pecheurs) and heated pool. Transats were $35 euros/day. We brought our own towels. An added bonus: the hotel’s outdoor “resto” Baba, offered a first-rate Mediterranean menu. The one-star Michelin “resto” Les Pecheurs was also part of the hotel.
Please note that Cap d’Antibes has a good many public beaches, some of which offered chaise lounges with umbrellas at reduced fees. The home we rented, for example, was just an 11-minute walk to Plage de la Salis, but cette plage was BYO chairs, umbrellas, and blankets with only a snack bar for nourishment. Then there was La Petite Plage just across the street, down some small stone steps and as private (and tiny) as they come.
Les Courses (Shopping)
Back to our arrival: after sorting out who would stay in which room, my wife, oldest son and I headed off to the Carrefours Hypermarché, as if the Supermarché was not big enough. A 20–25 minute drive, we arrived at the expansive market, which would give a Walmart Superstore a run for its money. Weirdly, the carts are not free, and finding one untethered was a challenge. Gladly I remembered what they were called in French, “caddies,” which came in handy with the security guard.
We stocked up on bread, milk, and more vegetables, salad, fruit, and cheese. The strawberries (fraises), raspberries (framboise), and blueberries (myrtilles) were some of the best we’ve tasted anywhere — all grown locally en Provence. We also purchased two rotisserie chickens — “fermier,” which were free-range and 80% grain-fed. I finally set out to find my favorite crackers Wasa Fibres (tartines croustillantes), which were discontinued a few years back in the U.S. I snagged the last three boxes on the shelf — a bargain at 1,59€ each.
I should mention that I had spent the last 18 months working to améliorer mon français with one-hour weekly remote conversations (via Preply), an online course or two (Coffee Break French), countless podcasts (Français Avec Pierre), YouTube videos (Guillermo Posé and Français Authentique), and streamed French-language TV series and movies (The Parisian Agency, Call My Agent, and Drops of God to name a few. I wasn’t anticipating this trip. I’m just a mildly obsessed lapsed college French major and aspiring Francophone.
Highlights
On Sunday, my wife discovered a wonderful Catholic church atop a mountain just up the street from where we were staying. Chapelle de la Garoupe or Église Notre-Dame de la Garoupe had a cafe just outside its doors for morning croissants and the like. Here’s a video I took when I went to collect my wife and the Nanny following the service:
Also that Sunday, Hotel du Cap-Eden Roc was the one stop we surely had to make. It was at this fabled hotel where we spent the first half of our honeymoon (notre lune du miel). Staying there today was not an option as room rates, I’m told, start at $8000/night. Instead, we would have a meal sur la terrasse at the Eden Roc Grille on our actual wedding date: June 9. In two 15-minute trips by car from the villa, we transported my three sons, their significant others, and one four-year-old to the majestic property jutting out onto the peninsula. We told our granddaughter that we were taking her to a magic castle. She was all in and didn’t seem disappointed when Cinderella did not appear.
How special to be back at our honeymoon hotel four decades later. We definitely didn’t appreciate this resort as 20-somethings, but we certainly remembered the alluring pool carved out of the rocks and overhanging the pristine Mer Méditerranée. We just couldn’t picture it as an infinity pool back then. The rope swings and ladders were added since our last visit 40 years earlier. Maybe the guest demographic has changed?
The meal, while not for readers of Fodor’s, was exceptional. To have the chance to share it with our family made it even more so. After dinner, my wife and I joined my #2 son and his girlfriend on the upper deck couches for an after-dinner cocktail. Again, this was not for the faint-hearted. My Titos vodka poured over an oversized, Cap-logo’d ice cube set me back 40€, though we did love those Hotel du Cap cocktail stirrers, purchasable for 25€ apiece.
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A Private Chef — If you haven’t figured it out, this part of the world is not only known for its sheer natural beauty, the celebrities who summer here, and the many artists and authors who discovered how nurturing the Cote d’Azur could be to their creativity, but also for the chefs who prepare its locally grown food. It’s a culinary haven with many Michelin-starred restaurants. At my #1 son’s urging, we looked for a private chef who could prepare a meal to serve on the terrace of our rented home. By sheer luck, we discovered Alex Kors via Take A Chef (linked above). He’s Ukrainian with ten years of living and working as a chef in France. (Two big plusses in my book.)
Alex arrived two hours before our scheduled 7:00 PM dinner and got to work immediately. He brought with him all the food and everything he needed to prepare the four-course meal. We provided the plates, glasses, wine, and utensils (les couverts). Here’s the final menu confirmation via WhatsApp:
More than a few of my family members said it was the best-tasting meal they ever had. For me, maybe not the best, but clearly up there when you add the magnificant sunset (le crépiscule) over the water that evening.
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Le Sentier du Littoral: Another absolute fave for all of us was the 90-minute coastal trail hike starting from Plage de la Garoupe (where Plage Keller is located) to Ellen Roc just past “Billionaire’s Bay,” a name that mystified my wife and me given the abandoned and deteriorating yacht washed up on its shore. Nonetheless, the vistas and topography along that coastline made our rigorous morning workout one of our most memorable ever. Some images captured here:
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Saint Paul-de-Vence — If you’re on the Cote d’Azur, a visit to this artisan town that sits atop a mountain just 30 minutes from Antibes is another must-do. Its narrow streets and alleyways are chock-a-block with galleries, shops, and a cemetery where you’ll find the relatively modest grave of one of the town’s famous denizens (from 1965–1988): Marc Chagall. He wasn’t the only celebrated artisan to savor what St. Paul-de-Vence had to offer.
My #2 son and his significant other joined us (again) for this excursion, which was highlighted by a delicious farm-to-table lunch in a rustic restaurant called Les Remparts that offered open-air sweeping views of the countryside.
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Old Antibes (Vieil Antibes) — As mentioned earlier, we had hoped to stay in or around Juan-les-Pins until our booking fell through. Fortuitously (thank you Padre Pio), we ended up quite near Old Antibes, the city with the Rampart walls, Musée Picasso, the Marché Provinçal, and an array of windy narrow streets perfect for strolling aimlessly (flaner), and the serendipitous discovery that that combination brings.
Barbara and I returned au marché on Thursday to pick up more salad, local plum tomatoes, onions, garlic, fresh basil, mozzarella, fresh pappardelle, and baguettes for a home-cooked meal that I would prepare that evening. We also had a chance to walk through the Musée Picasso and explore the myriad shops in search of indigenous French provincial food and bric-a-brac to carry back. (Wasa Fibres crackers would not be our only souvenir!) Some photos above and Picasso below to give you a sense:
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Restaurant Chez Mô — What would a visit to Cap d’Antibes be without some fresh seafood? After futile calls to get a reservation for eight at one of the better local restaurants within 30 minutes, no less, we called the sprawling seafood place we noticed on the way to Antibes by the marina. Other than the fact that all that calling was good practice for my French, l’hôtesse du restaurant chez Mô said to come right over. She even had a large round, white-table-clothed table waiting for us.
After showing us the freshly caught John Dory and Sole, we ordered. Most impressive was the ability of the waiter to take all of our orders, appetizers (entrées) too, without notating a word. He returned and remembered who ordered which dish. Less impressive (and left languishing on the platter) were the fritto sardines amidst the fritto misto appetizer. He said next time, ask that they not be included. After an unexpectedly fabulous dinner, we walked home together along the water, past La Plage de la Salis, in just under 20 minutes.
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La Guérite — Anyone who has visited some of the well-known French ski resorts will be familiar with La Folie Douce, the après-ski gathering place where loud music, excessive imbibing, and table-dancing collide to create a scene of utter debauchery. La Guérite, located on Isle Sainte Marguerite in Cannes and only accessible by boat, puts all the La Folie Douces to shame.
I honestly don’t know how my #3 son had the foresight and determination to add this capstone event to our week’s itinerary in Cap d’Antibes, but our time at La Guerite turned out to be the be-all and end-all for our family celebration. No biggie that the wind kicked in that day and we couldn’t sidetrack by yacht to Cap Ferrat to swim. He still had the ingenuity to resurrect the yacht to ferry us to the island and a waiting round table in the center of the action. Then there were what seemed to be either Balthazar or Nebuchadnezzar-sized bottles of Domaines Ott rosé wine.
We spied a bachelorette party of young women from Ireland doing shots and an adjacent table of trust fund kids next to them, seriously running up the bar tab. According to my boys, the scene had shades of Southside in its day, Acme, and, more recently, Zero Bond all rolled into one, except multi-cultural and less refined.
Our table consumed two, though I refrained (as the designated driver). My wife, sons, and their partners were soon standing on their chairs, along with the rest of the international crowd, grooving to the DJ-spun half-tunes. My wife and I had to have been the oldest making that scene until we met an attractive, well-dressed woman from New Jersey there with her granddaughter as a gift for her bat mitzvah. She admitted to being 80 years old (!) and was staying at Hotel du Cap. I guess no rope swing for her by that infinity pool.
On the choppy ride back to the marina, my #3 son turned up his playlist and we each had a chance to make some dance moves. (Yes, Dad too, in spite of not being much of a fan of Abba or Queen.)
Post script
The next morning, our #1 and #2 sons had early flights to London (#1 with family in tow), while #3 was headed back to New York. Our flight was a bit later, so we ventured into Nice to find another market, but without success. In retrospect, our villa's unintended location turned out to be the best of the original three options. The villa itself had some practical shortcomings, which I won’t list. The real estate broker tried to explain them as a U.S.-French cultural difference. I was skeptical.
In French terms, I’d say it was the difference between a five-star hotel and a three-star hotel, albeit a three-star hotel with magnificent, over-the-water views of the old city. The property even had its own Pétanque court, a sport that is to the French what pickleball is to Americans. Now there’s a real cultural difference.
