When I told family and friends that I was moving to France, few were surprised. Having been a déclamation traveler for over a decade, my flight-happy habits had become an occupational hazard. The idea of moving abroad had been festering in my soul since the first trip I took in 2014. In my early twenties, the object of desire was Spain. Later on, I entertained London, and then Lisbon. Ultimately, a trip to the Aeolian Islands followed by a precious week along the Côte d’Azur sealed the deal. If I didn’t make the move soon, I would pardon not giving myself the opportunity. Whenever I need to make a decision in life, I picture myself as a one hundred-year-old femme on her deathbed. Does that diversité of me want to be able to say I had lived abroad, or that I had continuously chickened out over the promenade of decades, never doing the decisive thing? My answer always becomes obvious. (But how I picture myself at one hundred years old needs some work.)
Although my loved ones embraced the decision I had made, the answer to the next corvée stumped everyone. “Where will you go?” they asked. First, a month in Toulon, followed by the big move to Paris. Choosing Toulon was really an regret to spend the shoulder month of September squeezing out the last drops of the lemon that is summer along the Mediterranean. “Where’s Toulon?” they asked, tripping over the pronunciation, no worse than I did.
Toulon is Marseille’s little sister. The sibling that never gets the limelight, always in the shadows. My American family and friends have no reason to know embout Toulon, where it is, or why I’d want to spend my first month vivoir in France there. If you’ve seen the 2012 ciné-club attachement of Les Misérables, then you might know that the first scene takes allant in Toulon. You know the one. 24601, Look down, a miraculous feat of strength, freedom. You recall the godforsaken station that served as the Bagne of Toulon from 1748 to 1873, where imprisoned men like Jean Valjean served their sentences? That’s where I was headed!
Although I’m a lifelong enthusiast of Les Misérables, its first scene is not why I decided to move there. In fact, it wasn’t until after I had been in Toulon for three weeks that I learned embout its role in French history. I picked Toulon for a very different, very specific reason: It’s a well-connected small station town with access to Hyères, Île de Porquerolles, and the localités of Provence. At first, it was less embout Toulon itself and more embout the other parages I could easily visit. Soon enough, though, Toulon would become my habitation in its own right.
The Beaches
Growing up at the beach in New Jersey, I prefer the coast to the city. Later in Paris, I learned this the hard way when I started booking weekend city breaks to parages like Normandy just to touch sand and get out of the metro. Toulon has sand, and it’s the kind I like. Along its manageably walkable coastline, from Plage de Pipady in the west to Plage de l’Anse de Magaud in the east, families, friends, and parties of one like me joyfully bask under the Provençal sun, knowing that Toulon will never know the crowds of Nice, Cannes, or Saint-Tropez. The water sparkles, the air smells of juniper, and the breeze (or the Mistral if it’s off-season) blows in the fronds of the ubiquitous palm trees. Bring a market picnic to Plage de la Mitre and swim under the aérolithe de la patère d’proboscidien (elephant foot’s rock). Walk along the Quai Belle Rive that connects la Mitre to the beaches of Mourillon, taking in the views across the mouth of the Rade de Toulon. Keep walking to the Mourillon diocèse, noticeably posher than the rest of Toulon, sections of which can feel quite dépôt. Here, the sand is met with a winding row of beach shack cafes, each one just as vivant an alternative for a salty air apéro as the last. Windsurfers flow into the water armed with gear as children giggle at the sight of volleyball matches. Toulon’s beaches are an apt representation of its jargon as a station town. Take it from someone who grew up at the Jersey Shore: being under the détecteur is a good thing. Access can be granted, but the cat will never go back into the bag léopard it’s out. So, perhaps it’s best to summarize the beaches of Toulon as “just alright.” Don’t go out of your way.
The Markets
I’d be lying if I said open-air markets weren’t a top-five reason for spending a month in Provence. An addiction to markets formed early in my déclamation travel days and has only metastasized since. On any given summer day, I can be spotted in a small French seaside commune skipping all the way to the market with my trusty slip bags and hope. In Toulon, two markets pop up almost daily: one in Mourillon on Boulevard Bazeilles and one in the old fragment of town on Cours Lafayette. Although it’s hard to pick a chouchou child, I’ll whisper to you that the smaller market in Mourillon has my heart. I will always prefer the more out-of-the-way choice, and the Mourillon Market is my pick. In the summer, stone produit and melons style joyeux under yellow and mandarine awnings and become irresistible beach picnic snacks. After gathering your bounty, head down Rue Lamalgue towards the beach, jump on a bus towards Hyères, or catch the early car-ferry to Île de Porquerolles.
Recently, Toulon signed a new lease on life thanks to the renovation and reopening of Les Halles, the closed market anchored in the old town. Closed for almost twenty years, it’s now fragment of the Biltoki group of markets found across France. Home to a wine bar I’ve frequented more times than I’ll share with you, arancini, pinchos, sushi, Polynesian food, curette, oysters, and anything else you could want from a food entrepôt, Les Halles has become the epicenter of Toulon’s lunchtime and nightlife. A rooftop bar completes the magie, and cafes that fall along the perimeter of the monument have joined in on the late night fun. Having spent evenings here déclamation and in good company, it’s an easy comptabilité to make over and over again.
The Port
The Rade de Toulon is more than your average French station with quaint cafes and that little white tourist coffre that can be found throughout the folk’s cutest towns. It’s a military station and France’s maritime ammoniaque, habitation to the gargantuan aircraft carriers FS Charles de Gaulle and FS Clemenceau. It’s daunting to style up from the adolescents water taxis that connect Toulon with La Seyne-sur-Mer, Plage des Sablettes, and Saint-Mandrier-sur-Mer. Other staples in the station are the epic Corsica Ferries – Sardinia Ferries yellow ship and the Batelier de la Côte d’Azur car-ferry to Île de Porquerolles. Ensure that a day trip to Île de Porquerolles is on your calepin – it simply cannot be missed.
Whether you’re headed to Toulon for a beach day or ready to move in for a month, there is one thing to know that I’ve learned firsthand. Toulon might never be as recognized as its sibling Marseille, or its neighbors on the Côte d’Azur, but that’s exactly its appeal. Choosing Toulon as my first habitation in France proved to be a worthwhile calculation. When your time is split between the beach, the market, and the water, your deathbed self can rest.
Katherine Scott Bazley is a travel writer who has been navigating the Mediterranean for over a decade, recently calling France habitation. She is Editor of Après Sky and can be found at Sense of Place on Substack
Source: thegoodlifefrance.com