The Voyages of Lyra

When John phoned up St Tropez they told him they did not take bookings, but if we arrived early there should not be a problem. This meant either arriving just before lunch at around eleven thirty or just after it at two o’clock. Two o’clock seemed the more civilized option allowing us to leave Bormes after nine. John also thought it would give more time for those who were leaving St Tropez that day to have gone. He said we could have a leisurely breakfast out. This turned out to be a mixed blessing. It was the lightest, most delicious omelette I have ever tasted, but then I was terribly seasick even though I had taken my tablet and the sea was fairly slight. I lay miserably on deck while John did all the work. Fortunately the wind was on our nose all the way, so I was not denying John the chance of a sail. The sea grew smoother as the day wore on and John slowed so we did not arrive too soon, which made the motion gentler. By the time we arrived in the bay outside St Tropez I had been sitting up a while and I was fit enough to go out and sort out the ropes and fenders. John radioed in. He was answered promptly, but we were turned away. She was very sorry but there were no more spaces for a boat of our size. She suggested the nearby marina of Port Grimauld. Our German neibours from Bormes had been heading there, it involves a series of lagoons, a labyrinth they described as a little Venice where one needed to take the Zodiac to the boulangerie. Being young and lithe this was an exciting prospect for them, John thought it would be too exciting for us. Climbing in and out of our tender is a challenge best indulged when it does not matter if one gets wet in the process. He thought we would be better off making across the bay to the smaller Ste Maxime, if they would take us. As we set out we could hear the girl in St Tropez on Channel 9 turning others away and she was ‘desolet’ all across the bay. I thought I had left it thirty years too late to visit St Tropez, but as it turns out I was just a couple of hours.

John had me just lift the fenders onto the deck as he plotted a course across the bay, then I phoned Ste Maxime and vented my French on them until they found an English speaker. Yes there was room for us, when would we arrive? About twenty minutes, very good, call on Channel 9 when you arrive. We arrived twenty minutes later and called. A man answered and he and I muddled through all our details again, before he spotted us hovering outside his window and said he would come out. He gestured to us to come in beside the reception building. John turned in the harbour mouth and started to reverse round. We could not see the space and we crept along until finally I thought our space was going to be on the ferry pier, but no, it was an incredibly narrow gap between two big motor yachts. The man was there with a girl in a bright yellow vest top. How John backed into that space without touching either boat was a pure magic. As though Lyra was the night bus from Harry Potter and had sucked herself in to make the gap. The man let the girl take one rope and he took the other. He was clearly training her and we must have made an excellent opportunity as he could tell her what she was doing wrong and indeed what we might have been doing wrong in French without upsetting anyone. As it was it all went smoothly. She had a winning personality and such a warm smile it made the sun come out. I think she had taken my initial phone call and when we went into register she processed us with the help of two more girls, who looked to be on work experience from school. We saw her out in the town with one of them a bit later on as we headed in to explore and she insisted on taking our photo together, coaching us as to how to pose, ‘Lurve, Lurve Lurve’. Our exploration was cut short as John’s had twisted is knee sailing over and it was beginning to complain. Ste Maxime was such a lovely spot we decided to try to stay another night, so he could rest up and headed back to the marina. Our girl was out, but the lady in charge who spoke English was there and explained we could not stay where we were, but could move along the quay, but that would be a more exposed spot. We should have a look and decide. On looking John decided we should try to move on as planned as a big blow was forecast for Saturday and the spot was indeed exposed. We headed back to Lyra to phone round.

Our next port of call was planned to be Juan les Pins, which has a couple of marinas. One was not taking bookings, which after today’s experience was not great news and the other was currently full, they may have spaces if we call back at four. We looked at the map. John said we could try Cannes. This did not seem a bright hope, but he gave it a go. The first number in our book was no longer recognized, but a girl who answered John’s ‘Do you speak English’ with a yes picked up the second number. It then turned out that she was the number for the airport, but it turns out the old Harnett magic does work out here, if he held the line she would contact the harbour master at Cannes for him and make a reservation. She took down the details of our boat name and size and came back on the line with a yes, we had a space reserved for two nights, and John should make contact on Channel 16 when we arrived. In our planning we never even considered trying to book in to Cannes and it is an exciting prospect. Relieved we set out again to make the most of our time here. We bought tickets for the waterbus to St Tropez, it seemed silly not to take a trip across given we had come so close and the journey would give John’s knee time to rest. I let the marinera know we would be moving on in the morning after all. As we were sitting waiting for the boat the girl from the marina office came out looking for us and came across to tell us where the nice restaurants were for the evening, as we had not had time to fully explore. I hope her enthusiasm carries her a long way in her job.

Our master plan was to make a swift passage along the French coast before the season really was underway, so it would be less expensive and so that we would be able to book into the busy marinas. Our delays due to weather had put us about a week behind schedule and we planned to move on each day this week to catch up, yesterday Bandal, today Bormes, tomorrow St Tropez and the day after Juan Le Pins. The plan lasted as long as Bormes les Mimosas, which was just too pretty to resist staying longer, so we have booked in for two nights and plan to spend tomorrow on the beach.

The day had not started well, when our bowline would not come out of the heavy chain. I tugged and wiggled it as best I could and then John came and tugged and wiggled it also to no avail, so we had to radio for the cavalry. A different marinera sped across in the same faded red tender and released us and we were off into a lovely morning. The wind was on our nose all the way, but there were plenty of yachts out for a sail taking advantage of it and tacking across us. John looked at them a bit wistfully and I asked whether he wanted to sail around a bit, but he fancied finishing the passage, which was a relief to me. The little marina here is very attractive wound about with low hills on which palm trees and pines grow together. As soon as John radioed in a marinera motored to greet us and show us to our reserved spot. John asked him for help with the lines and he made it all seem very easy. There are lazy lines here; we never thought we would be so pleased to see the mucky old things. John soon had us tied tight on both sides and we went over to the office to register. John still resolutely avoids saying more than Bonjour and Merci in French, so has taken to having me accompany him to the harbour offices. Since he has done this they have all spoken English and I just stand there like a spare part. At least here there was a lovely view from the tower of Lyra in the marina below, so I took some snaps with the camera.

Around the marina are a few restaurants and bars, but most of them were clearing away as we passed by on our way to the office. In the spirit of exploration and a certain reluctance to be the only customers somewhere John suggested we have a look at the beach. It was just a few yards behind the marina, where the bay bends in and out again, and is just an idyllic crescent of golden sand. There was indeed a bar, fringed with short palms and staffed by the beautiful young. John had a beer and I had a Mojito, I had planned on an alcohol free one, but our barman set off confidently without looking where I had been pointing on the menu. It felt very decadent sitting looking out over the loungers and parasols with our drinks, just come off our yacht. St Tropez is next, but we cannot think it could be as lovely as this and are glad to be staying longer.

In the marina reception at Bandol is a print of a poster dating from before the War. It is of the style of the old tourist illustrations by the likes of Graham Sutherland and John Piper, when they needed to earn money. It shows a group of elegant ladies in cloche hats and tea dresses on the palm-fringed promenade. In the foreground are by brightly painted lanteen rigged fishing boats. A similar boat was bugging us during our attempts to drift alongside the fuel dock yesterday. When we headed out into the town there was a whole raft of these craft and though the fashions may have changed the atmosphere with of the palm lined streets of tall buildings in muted colours with shabby chic shutters seemed unchanged from that evoked by the poster. We two did not present so elegant a picture as we strolled along the prom and then crossed the street to sit in the pavement extensions of a bar. The beer was wonderfully chill and as we sat John decided we needed a break from the boat and took out his phone to look for a restaurant recommendation for the evening. The top of the list had just two stars, the lowest rating John had ever seen. This seemed dire news as the website usually starts with the highest. Then he realized it was the place we were currently sat in. Tripadviser was obviously warning us to leave post haste. I will not name names. The beer was excellent though. John gave up on the internet and we planned to come out and wander round again later.

At around seven thirty that same evening a lot of the bars and restaurants were either in the process of closing or were actually closed. Just off the main street were a couple of restaurants with glass boxes set up across the pavement overlooking the shrubbery along the roadside. We chose the least posh looking and sat studying the menus printed on the tablemats. The waitress thoughtfully brought us over an English translation. One item at the top of the entrees, Antoinette, had not been translated. I had visions of some form of tart favoured by the doomed French queen. We looked it up. Little donkey, ‘our Gracie’ would be horrified. True to the English stereotype we both chose beef.