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Ah, Cassis. I can’t think of a more beautiful coastal town. Much like my home in the Black Hills, this is a popular tourist destination, so despite a population of fewer than 7,000 residents, a visitor will get the impression of a busy city, especially in the downtown along the water, where boats are docked and restaurants and bars lure you in. Following our Sainte-Baume adventure last year, Clarissa and I hopped the train to Cassis, then snagged a bus that dropped us within walking distance of our apartment rental—a lovely little place from which we could go downstairs to the grocery store, stroll down to the port to visit the shops and cafes, or wander to the beach. All of which we did while there.
I don’t think I’ll ever feel the need to return to Paris again. Not to say I think it isn’t a lovely city—it is—but rather because I’ve found that cities seldom make my heart sing. I love visiting from time to time, but it’s a challenge for me to feel the freedom that I do when exploring less urban areas. When it comes to France, for me, there ain’t nothing like Sainte-Baume and Cassis.
Arriving at our apartment rental, we dropped off our stuff, snagged a quick change of clothing and off we went to the beach… with just a little bit of walking to get there.
Now at this point in my life, you may know that I’m a forest and mountain kind of guy, but once upon a time, in the distant past of the 90s and 2000s, I was all about water. I wanted nothing more than to live on a boat and SCUBA dive all day every day. My life has changed, as have my tastes, but I still love the water. And especially the waters off the Mediterranean Coast of Southern France.
Welcome to Provence
For a lot of people, Paris is synonymous with France, but much like Chicago isn’t indicative of Illinois as a whole, neither does Paris define France. When it comes to Provence in southern France, of which both Sainte-Baume and Cassis are a part, it has a cultural identity that differs distinctly from Paris and the north. There’s a great historical influence of Mediterranean civilizations—like the Greeks, Romans, and Moors—which led to a more diverse cultural mix that’s still evident when you walk the streets today.
Paris is, of course, a hub of French art. It was a center for avant-garde movements, like Impressionism and Surrealism. Museums like the Louvre are at the heart of art culture, but many of the great French artists that you recognize—Van Gogh, Cézanne, and Henri Matisse for example—were drawn to and inspired by the sunny, rural environment, colorful landscapes, and vibrant light found in Provence.
Spend a little time in southern France, and you’re likely to hear regional languages like Occitan and Provençal, alongside French. But just as the English spoken in Chicago differs distinctly from that spoken in Texas, I think the French language spoken in Provence has a distinct flavor, tone, and rhythm. In an era of homogenization, I think it’s a bit refreshing that the south holds onto linguistic diversity as part of its identity.
The food is likewise distinct: the Mediterranean influence is apparent, with a focus on seafood, olive oil, fresh veggies, herbs like rosemary and thyme, and regional wines. Dishes like bouillabaisse, tapenade, and ratatouille are common on menus across the region.
My first exposure to these differences came way back in 2001, when I took my first trip to France. Most of the visit was spent in Paris, but an overnight train ride—during which I stayed up all night talking to an Englishman named Guy—took us to the beautiful city of Nice. There was a little exploration, but the majority of the time I can recall was spent on a lovely, white sandy beach.
The trip was organized through my high school, so there were a number of rules and regulations we were expected to follow. Including returning to our hotel by curfew. But that night in Nice, as a few of us rushed back to our hotel, racing the clock to beat curfew, I heard someone call my name from a table outside a restaurant. It was Guy, who invited us over to the table and poured us copious amounts of wine, which we thoroughly enjoyed. We arrived back at the hotel past curfew, expecting reprimands from our French teacher. Instead, she joyfully spoke to us about our day in Nice and I got the distinct impression that perhaps she too had a few glasses of wine herself. Whether she had or hadn’t, I think she also understood the magic of time and place better than any of us teenagers did.
Exploring Cassis
But let’s return from our brief temporal journey to 2001 Nice and find ourselves in Cassis, and 2023, once more. The beach we walked along was mostly fist-sized rocks—rounded smooth by the constant motion of the waves pushing them up on shore, then pulling them back out again. With a little walking, we did manage to find some sand and made ourselves at home.
After some sun and a dip in the cool Mediterranean waters, we strolled back to our apartment, got cleaned up, bought a few groceries at the shop downstairs, then strolled along the Port de Cassis, where the harbor’s piers were lined with boats. Some were small fishing boats, others were clearly tourist attractions—likely taking visitors to the various calanques in Cassis. I enjoyed marveling at the beautiful wooden sailing vessels moored there. That old bit of me that wanted to live on the water floats to the surface, just a little, when I see beautiful sailboats.
Port de Cassis also acts, in many ways, a bit like the downtown center of Cassis. It’s packed with restaurants, bars, wee shops, and cafes. We found ourselves in a restaurant with a decent view of the water as the sun set. Because we were right on the coast, fresh seafood was inexpensive and abundant. Also, delicious. I ate a lot of mussels—served by the potful—pulled daily from the sea.
I washed it down with an Aperol Spritz, which I know is made with Italian wine and bitters, but on a personal level, I think of it as quintessentially French. In my defense, Aperol takes its name from apero—French slang for apéritif—so it was easy for me to make the mistake. I first had them when Clarissa and I went to Paris in 2016, and my mind and heart have associated them with France ever since. And hey, if we hopped in one of those boats and sailed around Cap Cépet near Toulon, then headed east, we’d land on the shores of Italy’s Etruscan Coast… So what’s a little geographical error when it comes to the emotional latitude and longitude of a cocktail?
Cliffs and calanques
An early night gave way to sleeping late. We packed a lunch and set out for another hiking day, but before we hit the trail, we had a very important stop to make—La Tarte Tropézienne Pâtisserie for a baguette to complete our lunch, and some croissants and pain au chocolat for a late breakfast.
With our supplies loaded up in our backpacks, we walked through town until we reached the Cliffs du Calanques trail in the Parc National des Calanques, a national park outside of Cassis. But before I talk about the trail, let’s take a brief side trip into the geology classroom so that, if you’re presently unfamiliar, you’ll learn what a calanque is—because I sure as shit didn’t know before this trip. Calanques are a specific kind of landform that exists where the sea meets the shore. These narrow, steep-walled inlets dot the Mediterranean coast, particularly southern France. Formed mostly of limestone or dolomite, the cliffs tower above the beaches—leaving some vertiginous drops to the clear, bright, turquoise-colored water below. They’re beautiful, and we were set to hike to three of them that day.
The Cliffs du Calanques trail begins in town, just inland from Port Miou, the first of the calanques that we would view that day. It’s the largest we hiked past, with lots of boats at anchor, including more incredible sailboats. Port Miou quickly expands and deepens, so clear light water soon gives way to the darker blues of the sea.
We enjoyed our croissants and pressed on, noticing where large slabs had been cut from the side of the cliff, and structures had been cut into the rock. We speculated that at one point this rock was quarried for some use or another, which we later learned was true. Stone was quarried here tracing all the way back to antiquity, but the remnants of what we saw was likely from the most significant quarrying which began in the 19th century.
The pale limestone—known as Pierre de Cassis, or Cassis Stone in English—is strong and durable, resistant to saltwater erosion, and has a distinct aesthetic quality. It was used in the construction of jetties and docks along the Suez canal to help protect the infrastructure. A number of lighthouses along the Mediterranean coast were also made from Cassis Stone, and it was used extensively in the construction of Marseille’s harbor. There’s a persistent story that it was used to make the pedestal that the Statue of Liberty stands on, but it isn’t true. That was actually constructed from concrete and granite sourced from Connecticut, but I don’t know if there are any good stories about Connecticut Stone.
We followed the edge of the calanque, with the Mediterranean on the right and the white limestone cliffs framing the trail. The terrain is rocky but manageable, and the views of the deep blue sea and more boats anchored in the calanque look like an en plein air painting. The sights, sounds, and scents are just shy of intoxicating.
After a short walk, the trail leads to Calanque de Port-Pin, a small, picturesque inlet with a sandy beach and calm, clear waters. The calanque is surrounded by pine trees, which give it its name. Although we didn’t stop here, it’s is a perfect spot to swim or picnic if you need a rest before continuing on to the more challenging part of the trek: the hike to Calanque d’en Vau.
Calanque d’en Vau
This is a challenging section of trail, because it’s rocky, the trail narrows on some of the tougher spots where you have to step down, or up depending on the direction, and some people are impatient and try to rush through it. More than one tried to push us out of the way. Most of them were prepared for a stroll in a park, not on a rocky trail descending to the sea, and it showed. Have you ever noticed that the people least prepared on a popular trail tend to be the rudest?
Despite this, once getting past the narrower, rockier section, the trail opens up a little bit and continues downward at a more gradual grade. Still rocky, but gentler. Eventually, the path turns and opens up into a beautiful, rocky beach where the calanque meets the water. Here, the water is clear, crystalline, and cold. We switched into bathing suits, took a dip and then laid ourselves in the sun on the round rocks. It was heavenly.
For as many people we saw on the trail, the beach wasn’t exceptionally busy when we arrived—we certainly didn’t have any solitude, but the place didn’t feel packed at all. There was plenty of breathing room.
I haven’t spent a lot of time in or around the ocean, despite younger Wade’s desire to live on the water. I’ve done some SCUBA diving off the coast of Panama City Beach and wandered the sand near Orlando. In my 20s my family spent a week or so in a beach house on the Alabaman coast near Orange Beach where I spent the nights aimlessly wandering the beach as storms miles away flashed lighting in the distant skies and drove crashing waves toward my feet. And of course, there was the aforementioned white sandy beach in Nice. But even in light of my limited experience, of all the times I’ve dipped my toes in the ocean, I think the beach at Calanque d’en Vau is my favorite despite the fact—or more likely because of it—that it was the most difficult to get to.
By the time we had eaten, had a few more swims, and packed up, more people were wandering in, signaling that our departure was happening at just the right time, and we followed the same path back up, skirted the cliffs, and marched back to the trailhead, then through town, and ultimately to our apartment before a dinner of mussels and local beer, followed by desserts from the patisserie back at the apartment.
Fucking lovely.
Calanque d’en Vau—again
Two days later we found ourselves back at Calanque d’en Vau, this time having arrived in a two-person sea kayak, having paddled from Port Miou with a tour group. No less beautiful, and a little less populated, our second visit was every bit as lovely as the first one, though the water was no warmer.
The kayak trip to Calanque d’en Vau was significantly faster than the hike, but both were equally as fun. We did have a slight issue with our kayak: it continually listed to the left, or to port if you’re feeling nautical. This is a bit of a recurring theme for me. Anytime I’m part of a group where we’re using recreational vehicles, you can count on one of them having an issue, and you can count on me being the one to get it.
But this is such a first world problem. “Oh no, the sea kayak on my shoreline tour of the calanques of Cassis veered to the left! Woe is me!” I adjusted our trajectory as we paddled and it wasn’t the end of the world. If nothing else, it meant I earned a second beer and some extra dessert that night. Well worth the effort.
La Plage de l’Arène
Our visits to Port d’en Vau were separated by a free day, a beach day during which we had nothing scheduled. After breakfast at Bar de la Marine overlooking the Port de Cassis, we packed a lunch, and headed to a beach—La Plage de l’Arène. In English, that’s Beach of the Arena, although I imagine we’d call it by the more colloquial Arena Beach.
Strolling among the rocky beach, we rounded a turn, and found just the right spot. We laid out our towels, and lounged for a bit, watching as sailboats came and went across our view of the sea.
We swam a bit, ate our lunch—complete with a small bottle of wine—and I searched for sea glass. After I found a few pieces, I found myself a little obsessed with finding more, and I simply couldn’t stop looking for it, much to Clarissa’s amusement.
Beach days are meant to be lazy, or so I believe, and we weren’t in a hurry to do anything—except search for sea glass, in my case. We enjoyed the relaxing pace of the day, soaked up the sun, chatted, and napped. The two of us often find it challenging to just do nothing, but the waves on La Plage de l’Arène lulled us into contentment, and we enjoyed our hours of resting lazily.
After getting cleaned up in the apartment, we took to wandering once more, this time the streets and alleys of Cassis. Until this point we hadn’t strayed far from the port, but as we looked at restaurants, we wandered just a little deeper into the town, and found beautiful doorways, lovely flower pots, decorative ornaments, and one small, but recognizable pile of dog shit—not the most romantic thing to see, but a bit comforting to recognize that some things are the same no matter where you are.
As the sun set, the night cooled, and we began to look for a place to eat dinner more earnestly. We hadn’t had a bad meal in Cassis, and lots of restaurants had appealing menus on the window… But nothing seemed like exactly what we needed. And then we happened upon this tiny pizza place along a small street—La Girandole, or The Pinwheel in English—we decided that was the spot.
It had cooled off, but a few pizzas and a couple of beers from Marseille, on a small table lining the wall of the street in the dim glow of street lamps, and I was a happy fellow. There’s nothing like a delicious pizza to put me in a state of cheer.
In the U.S. we’d call La Girandole a hole in the wall, but I think in southern France it’s just a restaurant, and I love that.
Our final night in Cassis
The following day was the aforementioned sea kayaking trip to Port d’en Vau and a few sea caves along the way. That evening was a slow paced one, giving us a chance to soak up one last night out in Cassis before we had to leave in the morning. Once more we enjoyed some Aperol Spritzes while sitting outside a bar, followed by espresso outside a cafe. Then one last dinner—once again mussels, because I knew it would be a long time until I could get a fresh pot of them again—and then watching older gentlemen play boule in the small court next to the Port de Cassis, as we licked our dripping ice cream cones. Despite the fellow tourists that moved around us, we could instantly see the slower pace of life still in place among the residents, which quickly spilled over into many of the visitors. Namely ourselves.
After all, what use is there to rush through the day when you’ve got sun, water, good food, and a little afternoon entertainment. It helps, I admit, that we were on vacation and I found myself with no clock to punch, no deadlines to meet, and nowhere in particular to go by any particular time.
And yet… even the men and women that call this place home seem to live more slowly than folks do back home. Of course, I was an outsider looking in, with starry eyes and poor French speaking skills, but I’m a bit of a people watcher. And I watched. I watched as they served food and drinks, and as they ate food and sipped drinks. I looked on as they brought their boats into port and as they sold things from their shops. Even the hustle and bustle in the patisserie each morning seemed to be more relaxed than the hustle and grind culture that I’m used to.
Is this just part of life in Provence? If so, I want little more than to be more Provençal myself.
Homeward bound
The next morning we packed our bags, took one final stroll along the Port de Cassis and down narrow streets. The air was cool and crisp, and a gentle but insistent breeze—definitively autumnal—reminded us it was time to go. Time to go back to the apartment to collect our bags. Back to the stop where the bus would pick us up and ferry us to the train station. Then back on the train to Marseille, the plane to Madrid, and then flights to Chicago and Sioux Falls. And finally, back in the car to drive ourselves west to the Hills once more.
Home, with the boy and the beasts in tow. Where our house, jobs, and life were waiting for us.
There was a lot we didn’t do during our time on the coast—like visiting Cap Canaille, the highest sea cliff in France, or staying a night in the medieval chateau turned luxury hotel Chateau de Cassis—but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to return for another sojourn in southern France.
Until then, there’s a nice bar in downtown Rapid City that makes a pretty great Aperol Spritz.
