Viva La France

My skin does not take kindly to being in a warm climate. This is a problem as the rest of me has decided that it would love to live somewhere a bit more warmer that England. Not a hot, steamy, sweltering or boiling hot part of the world. Most of Africa and places like Texas, Turkey and Tasmania are out of the question but a warm, sunny and bright climate with gentle breezes and seductive nights would be ideal. So you would think. But my awful skin finds even a moderate 25c unbearable. The blues skies, sunny days and siestas of the South of France are the stuff of my dreams but my skin literally behaves horribly in the sun. As does my hair which turns from relatively straight hair, behaving as I dictate, to a mass of curls. I never look like me in sunny places, especially if they have a soft water supply, so in order to avoid a pink, blotchy and fluffy haired reflection it seems I am destined to live my life in cloudy rainy England dreaming of a cultured, civilised and free existence living on the Med.

The apartment in Aix en Provence was stunning. Situated on the Rue Du Opera it was beautifully decorated with 3 large double bedrooms which meant we got a bedroom each, all en suite. The apartment had a gorgeous terrace overlooking the terracotta roofs of the surrounding buildings and the cathedral. Although the first morning was cloudy the rest of the week  was sunny from first til last and was perfect for breakfasts of croissants and bedtime drinks of chocolate.

Each morning one of us would shop for breakfast which we would eat while deciding where we would visit that day, Marseilles, St Tropez, Ventabren, Carry-le-Rouet or, my personal favourite, Cassis.

This was my second visit to this area of France and I noticed a few changes. Marseilles was still wonderful, St Tropez was still overrated but the exchange rate is very painful and the cost of everything was shocking (except the wine thank heavens!) I was saddened to find that the toll booths had  moved with the times and were now aautomated as I missed the 'Bonne Route' from the people who used to man them. Even gazole was expensive.

The trouble with my skin is that, unlike my travel companions, who were able to sit in the sun for hours, without much protection, I had to be creamed and covered and shaded. It is a shame that the burka has been banned in France because I would happily wear one if it meant that I would be spared prickly heat, hives, mosquito bites and sun burn. However I think that even if I was able to sit on a beach for hours I would be bored stiff, even with a good book, so I was happy to leave my sun worshipping friends and explore. The calanques of Cassis are stunning and well worth a visit.

There is also a satisfying feeling being able to negotiate tickets, timetables and itineraries on your own with very little French. There were surprisingly few English tourists around. The other visitors tended to be French, American, Canadian and German. As ever I had the urge to return, alone or with my grandson, to explore further the many beautiful places in this part of the world. To drive from Calais to Nice stopping off in little towns and villages along the way would be wonderful. Maybe one day. When the pound has recovered a little against the Euro.

Although the South of France is truly stunning I think England's coastline could certainly give it a run for its money. Combe Martin and Lynmouth in North Devon, Dartmouth in South Devon and the Juassic Coast of Dorset, Cornwall's St Ives, Newquay and Penzance are every bit as stunning as Nice and Cannes. And I rarely get hives in England. But what the South of France has is a J'Ne Se Qua that England lacks. It has a freedom, a 'devil may care' attitude that is refreshing to an oppressed Londoner. It has style. A quintessential essence that enchants. It is exotic and confusing. Sophisticated. And it is probably worth the itching that  a visit in the summer results in.