August 18, 2019
We held our collective breath as we prepared to unfurl our doctored mainsail. We set the angle of the boom and our wind angle, tensioned the outhaul, and began deploying the sail. Thankfully there was not much wind to complicate the process, and the sail seemed to come out OK! It didn’t look great - a little saggy at the top, and it certainly looked different without the battens. But at least it furled out without snagging, which felt like a victory. It was difficult to gauge if the sail repair had resulted in any loss of performance, as the journey to Cap Ferrat was short and uneventful. We had only about 7-8 knots of breeze, so we motorsailed most of the way up the coast. We rounded the Cap Ferrat peninsula, which somehow made both the gulf of St. Tropez and Cap d’Antibes look casual by comparison - no easy feat! These villas were seriously swank, leaning precariously over the cliffs and seeming to say to all those below, "Yeah, I've got more money than you."
The ostentatious wealth display did not end there. Once around the corner, we were greeted by the behemoth that is Roman Abramovich’s mega-yacht, Eclipse, along with the 8 or 9 security vessels he has circling it at all times. You would have to be pretty ballsy to get within 100 meters of the Russian billionaire and Chelsea football club owner's boat without 007-type security clearance. We joked how we should dinghy over later that evening and ask our new neighbour if he could spare a cup of sugar, though were not sure his SWAT team would appreciate the joke.
While Eclipse and her entourage didn't make for an especially charming introduction to Cap Ferrat, once we headed further into the bay, we found a gorgeous beach tucked behind the lip of the peninsula called Paloma Beach. This is where the more moderately sized boats seemed to be taking refuge and where we would be dropping the hook. Although the bay was busy, we managed to find a spot of sand/weed that looked acceptable and far enough away from other boats not to worry about tangling anchor chains. It took us a few attempts to dig, as the bottom appeared to be more weed than sand, and we weren't entirely sure the first 2 tries if we had dug. Anchoring requires patience (a quality I'm guilty of sometimes having in short supply), as if you are not 100% confident you are well-dug, you won't sleep that night. It seems we may have been a bit overly cautious and in stress-testing our anchor on our second go and drove back on it so forcefully we ripped it out of the seabed. Oh well - if at first you don't succeed, try try again. We seemed to get in on the third attempt, though by now several more boats had entered the little bay, some a bit closer than we would like. We weren't overly concerned though, as we assumed many of these boats were day trippers and we might have the anchorage more to ourselves come evening.
As we looked around the inside scoop of the Cap Ferrat peninsula, we were really impressed with its beauty. It was becoming clear why this little spot on the French Riviera had attracted the rich and famous over the years. The villas dotting the coastline were beautiful, and the whole area, while clearly lousy with money, had more of an air of privacy and seclusion than St. Tropez and some of the other areas along the French coast. As the sun lowered in the sky, the colours that swept across the hills and over the bay coated the place in a very soothing purple light, with the sun reflecting off the faces of the villas as it lowered in the sky. This would be a beautiful place to watch the sunset.
We took an early evening swim off the boat before showering and dinghying ashore to check out the little town of Sant Jean Cap Ferrat. The approach to the beach was interesting, as it shallowed out pretty quickly and there were a few large rocks right where we tried to reach the beach that we had to swerve around last minute. I misjudged the depth when I jumped out of the dinghy to pull us the final bit ashore and ended up in water up to my waist. Excellent - everyone loves going out to dinner in soggy knickers... Oh well, boat life. Once ashore, we stashed the dinghy in a corner of the beach and walked up a steep flight of stairs to get to the road that led to town center. The walk along the cliff looking out over Paloma Bay provided some stunning views of Florence waiting there for us.
It was getting a bit late by the time we got into the little town of Sant Jean Cap Ferrat, which consisted of a small marina (too small for the likes of Flo) and just a few streets. It was considerably smaller than either Antibes or St. Tropez but was perhaps more charming for it. There seemed to be only a handful of shops and restaurants in the town, none particularly fancy, so we assumed that the upper crust likely kept to their villas for the most part. Stephen and I both found it a refreshing surprise that the little town was not in-your-face swanky and expensive. It seemed more low key and genuine in that respect. We sat down at a little bistro at the end of the port called Bistro du Port, and what it lacked in name originality it made up for in the simple quality of its fare. I had just about the best sole meuniere I've ever had, and a huge portion at that, while Stephen had a juicy steak covered in this amazing pepper sauce. The French really do know how to cook meat. We went back to Florence that evening satiated and keen to stay for a couple days to see what else this neck of the French Riviera had to offer.
Sant Jean Cap Ferrat is neighboured by a town called Beaulieu-Sur-Mer which we could see at the other end of the bay. It looked lovely, so we decide to spend the morning jogging over to it and having a poke around. The run over was along a quiet pathway that snaked along the waterfront and past a few more choice-looking villas, before dumping us out on a large white sand beach on the edge of Beaulieu. We began our exploratory jog around. It seemed to be more of a proper town than the little village of Sant Jean Cap Ferrat. There were a few beach clubs strewn across the waterfront and behind them a large and grand casino. The town had a general air of old-world glamour and was more along the lines of what we expected from Juan-les-Pins. We wandered down to the marina, which was still too small for a boat Florence's size but larger than the one in Cap Ferrat. There seemed to be a bustling shopping scene in town and a few fancy hotels and art galleries. While well-worth a visit, Stephen and I both preferred her smaller, quieter neighbour, so we ran back along the path to Cap Ferrat and rejoined our boat.
The following day, we learned that like Cap d'Antibes, Cap Ferrat had its own Sentier du Littoral which we were keen to check out. We packed a little picnic and began our hike from the beach along the rocky coast of the peninsula. This hike was perhaps even more dramatic than its counterpart in Antibes and was such a cool way to explore and really get a feel for the peninsula. We walked around some very narrow paths carved right into the face of the cliffs which dumped us out on another beach on the outward-facing side of the peninsula. Well done, France, for giving this amazing coastline back to the people (and the tourists….). If you want to get a real feel for the spectacular drama of the southern French coastline, I cannot recommend these Sentier du Littoral walks highly enough.
The following day would be our final day in Cap Ferrat before heading on to Monaco. Stephen and my interest was piqued by a little village we could see in the distance perched atop the highest cliff on the far side of the bay. Our research revealed it was the medieval village of Eze, dating back to 1306, that is supposedly a must-visit spot on the French Riviera. It was only about a 20-minute taxi away, so we figured it would be a shame to miss it and that Flo would be OK hanging out on her hook for a few hours without us. As it was a Saturday, we feared the bay might become unbearably busy with other boats dropping their hooks for the day and we worried someone might trip Florence's anchor. Our sailing friend Richard (AKA the Med Whisperer) had told us that when he leaves his boat for a period of time in a crowded bay, he always leaves the keys in the ignition so that in the unfortunate event that he became unhooked, hopefully someone nearby would be able to board his boat to rectify it. He told us this horror story of one night in Ibiza when he'd gone out and returned to his boat hours later to find she was not where he had left her. After a massive freakout and wracking his brain to think what might have happened, he was approached by another sailor who informed him that in his absence, an irresponsible boat had anchored too close to him, tripped his anchor when they left and done nothing to rectify it. This fellow sailor (whom Richard had incidentally helped out of a jam the day before) saw the boat drifting towards the rocks and made the effort to rescue it, boarding the boat and, finding the keys in the ignition, was able to move it safely to another part of the bay and to re-anchor it. From that day forward, Richard has always kept his keys in the ignition when leaving his boat. He said he'd much rather risk a stolen iPad than returning from a night out to find his boat on the rocks. This cautionary tale stayed with us, so we decided for the first time to take his advice and to leave Florence's keys in the ignition. As we dinghied away and Flo shrank in the distance, I had some regrets, especially as we saw a couple snorkelers circling her more than a few times checking her out... I'm sure my fears were totally unfounded, but it was still a little nervey. When would you ever leave the keys of your car in the ignition? I guess maybe if you had parked on a hill and feared the emergency break might give? It's hard to come up with a comparable land scenario...
A quick and somewhat harrowing taxi journey up the hills of the coast popped us out at the edge of Eze-Village. We wandered up and into its winding streets to explore. This little village was as lovely as described, although it seemed a bit more like a mini Medieval theme park than a real living and breathing place. It was so full of tourists, we felt as if we were on some sort of a group tour. You can walk around the whole town in about 20 minutes, with some nice craft shops and small galleries to pop into. The real appeal of the town are the absolutely breathtaking views it provides looking down over the entire peninsula of Cap Ferrat. The piece de resistance is the Jardin boutanique d'Eze - a large and rambling, multi-level garden built at the very top of the town and filled with hundreds of varieties of succulent plants (think every type of cactus you could imagine). Looking out from the summit and onto the peninsula, we could see all the way across to our little bay off Paloma Beach. We strained our eyes to see if we could make out which dot was Florence. Again, this became an interesting example of the out of sight, out of mind concept: we hadn’t been worried about Flo at all during our visit to Eze until now when we could maybe see her, maybe not. We ended up spending most of our time in the garden stressed out, leaning over the wall's edge, squinting to try to determine which tiny blob in the distance was Flo, if she was still even there. We both regretted having left the keys in the ignition and had nearly convinced ourselves someone had knicked her. When we eventually admitted we were just too far away to see Flo and that we were being paranoid, we decided to snap out of it, to get out of the garden and to have some lunch. We found a little garden and ordered salads, but it was clear both of us were still a little on edge. There was this strange fountain-type thing in the garden as well that sprayed water onto you periodically. I assume it was meant as an attempt to keep patrons cool, but in practice it felt as if someone was just intermittently spitting in your face as you tried to eat, which I don't think helped our nerves.
By the time we ventured down the hill, we both realised just how silly we were likely being. We walked by a Fragonard perfume factory on the edge of town we heard did free tours, so we decided to go for it (and by we, I mean Stephen was kind enough to humour me and come along for the ride). Fragonard is one of the most famous French perfumiers, and I was curious to see how the process worked. We hopped on an English-speaking tour, with only 2 other people on it. A guide walked us through the factory, pointing out the barrels that are used to extract essential oils from various petals and leaves, etc., before they are incorporated into the brand's various perfums, colognes, and soaps. Part of the tour involved a sniff test where we had to guess which of their many essential oils we were smelling. I was wrong on every one (I think I said lavender for all of them because I'd seen on the way in that their signature scent this year was lavender…worth a shot). Surprise surprise, Stephen has quite the nose! I was shocked when he started throwing out guesses like “Juniper,” “Jasmine,” “Verbena.” He nailed every single one. Who are you and what have you done with my football and beer-loving husband?? Our tour guide was impressed and suggested he could begin training as what they call a professional “Nose” - the highest distinction among perfume-makers in the world. Well, if Stephen decides he doesn’t want to go back onto the trading floor post boat life, it appears he has a viable alternative. It would certainly make for more interesting dinner party conversation: "And what is your husband's business? Stocks? Bonds?" "Oh no, mine is a Nose." At the end of the tour, we began to understand why it was free. The tour guide led us into a private salon where she provided samples of their signature scents and deals for buying in bulk. We left with a load of perfume we had no intention of buying, so it seems their ploy payed off. Well played, Fragonard.
When we returned to Paloma Beach, we were relieved to find Florence waiting patiently just as we'd left her. As silly as we knew we'd been to worry, I'm not sure we will be leaving the keys in the ignition again anytime soon - it's not worth the angst! We decided to spend the evening swimming to the beach, which was a decent-enough distance to feel like a work out without being particularly gruelling. We sat on the beach watching the sun set over the bay, thinking how much we'd enjoyed this stop in Cap Ferrat. While it is definitely the high rent district, I think we were both pleasantly surprised by how relatively quiet and charming it still managed to be and was no doubt one of the most beautiful places we'd been thus far. We got an early night in preparation for our departure the following day, which would take us a bit further up the coast to Monaco. The plan was to find somewhere close to Monte Carlo to stash Florence and to have one night out in the infamous party town before continuing on south to Corsica. No moss growing under Florence's hull yet!
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