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APRIL 16, 2007
Déjà Vu: A Boy's Vacation In France The author never forgot his trip to the Côte d'Azur. Now his sons have those memories, too The Côte d'Azur conjures images of celebrities sunning themselves on immense yachts. Yet it's also a great place for a family vacation. I was lucky enough to find that out early on. When I was 5, my parents took my sister and me on the most fabulous trip of my life. We crossed the Atlantic on a French ocean liner and sped to the south of France on a sleeper train. There, we spent three idyllic weeks in the little seaside village of Agay, nestled on a picturesque cove at the foot of ragged red peaks, 19 miles west of Cannes. The memory of that summer has always pulled at my heart-strings. We ate fresh raspberries on the patio of our cozy hotel, went paddle-boating in the clear Mediterranean waters, and explored ruins in the craggy hills. I marched back from town with a baguette under one arm and a Tintin comic book under the other, forever transformed into a Francophile. For years, I dreamed of returning to Agay, and when our youngest son, Nicholas, turned 5, my wife, Julie, and I and our two boys set out to recreate that magical trip over two summers. In 2005 we made the transatlantic crossing on the Queen Mary 2 (BW—Oct. 3, 2005). The next year, we flew to Paris for a night train to Agay. Would I find the sleepy, quiet Southern France of my youth? Not exactly, but Agay had changed less than I feared. We spent our mornings on scenic beaches. Our afternoons were filled with museum visits, hikes, and mini-golf. Along the way, Nick and his 9-year-old brother, Charlie, learned a bit of French: "Merci!," "A bientôt!" And they fast discovered the seductions of a good French meal. "Encore de la bouillabaisse, s'il vous plait!" The instant we boarded our night train at Paris' Gare d'Austerlitz, the boys were hooked. Sure, we could have taken a much faster, less expensive TGV train during the day, zipping down to the coast in 4 1/2 hours. But sitting in airplane-like seats held no appeal compared with the romance of pulling out of the station at dusk in our cozy quarters. A first-class cabin (about $200 round-trip per person) is perfect for a family of four. It's not fancy, just clean bunks with sheets, blankets, and pillows. We woke up in a world bathed in brilliant sunlight. Le Relais D'Agay was as I had remembered it: Shady trees, dappled golden sunlight over patio tables. Our two adjoining rooms were tiny ($134 per night for both), but they opened onto a garden. Before lunch, we took a swim, marveling at the red rock Massif de l'Esterel mountains looming behind the hotel. We knew the water would be chilly in June, so we had packed wet suits for the boys. SPOOKY DUNGEON We didn't have to go far for exceptional dining. Half of the hotel patio is given over to Côté Jardin, a top destination for locals, who descend in throngs for such Provençal specialities as tarte à la sardine on the $42 prix fixe menu. Nick wasn't ready for that. Instead, he ordered juicy steak haché and frites from the $13 kids' menu. Whatever you call it, he was happy to see his burger and fries arrive amid all the strange aromas and sights of French cuisine. Charlie, more adventuresome à table, devoured a bowl of soupe de poissons. For dessert, the boys shared profiteroles—scoops of vanilla ice cream in pastry puffs, covered with warm chocolate sauce. Working off such meals was no problem. The local hills are sprinkled with ancient villages, perfect for exploring. One day, we checked out Grimaud, a medieval town lovingly maintained with flower boxes bursting with bougainvillea, and with a Romanesque church tower rising amid the tightly packed houses. We climbed the twisting streets to the ruins and spooky dungeon of an ancient castle at the top of the village. Still in search of the more pastoral Côte d'Azur of my youth, we boarded a ferry for the 15-minute hop to the island of Porquerolles. With no cars on the island, we felt transported back in time. We stayed on the village square at Villa Sainte Anne ($254 per room, including dinner and breakfast), with its charming but simple 19th century dining room. A few hundred yards out of town, the island reveals its beauty: rolling vineyards on one side and enchanting coves on the other. We pedaled our rented bicycles a few miles on a sandy lane to Plage Notre Dame, where we spent the morning beachcombing and swimming. On our way back from the beach, we visited one of the several forts built from the 16th century onward to fend off Barbary pirates, and later, invading Spanish and British navies. One houses a small exhibit filled with cannons and local lore, including the boys' favorite, a skull with a coin lodged in its mouth found in a nearby Roman burial ground. The finale of our trip was an excursion to the remote island of Port Cros, a rugged place with no roads but excellent hiking trails and France's only underwater national park. After an hour of hiking, we picnicked on the beach, then Charlie and I donned snorkeling gear. The water was cold and there were jellyfish, but the scene before us was spectacular: brightly colored fish amid dancing sea grass. The next evening, stretched out on our bunks on the train back to Paris, we talked about the trip late into the night. We haven't stopped talking since. Just recently, before drifting off to sleep, Nicholas murmured: "I miss the Relais D'Agay." I had been missing it for decades. Now we can all miss Southern France together.  By Eric Schine
BW MALL
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