Arrivant sur le toit à Villefranche-sur-mer
Just outside of Nice, the train barrels into a long stretch of underground tunnel and emerges at the Villefranche-sur-mer station. The track presses up against the hill as we come to a stop. Sea glistens far below on one side. On the other, rock tunnels, stone walkways, fuchia flowers, and sprawling green plants climb up and up the steep hills. There’s a freshness that can be felt, as if the formerly flawed life slipped off in the tunnel and we emerged new in Villefranche-sur-mer.
It’s a tiny, old train station and it’s not necessary to enter the building to exit. I can follow the path up to the bridge over the train tunnel into the town built right into the hill.
Villefranche. Frank town. Open, honest, what you see is what you get. I think it had more of a meaning of “free town” back when it was named by Charles II, Duke of Anjou. To encourage business, the name Villefranche indicated that the port was free from taxes and fees. In 1388, it was part of the Duchy of Savoie, one of my favorite lands in the world with roots in my family history.
I skirt the hill overlooking the harbor, la rade, a naturally deep little bay of the Mediterranean, so stunning that I stop to gaze more often than walk.
A town built into the rock of a hill is such a different thing. It doesn’t spread before you in a weaving of streets and urban congestion. It presents a narrow entry and allows you to arrive slowly, surprises around every bend, buildings pressed together in yellow, gold, rosy shell pink with turquoise shutters and reddish-tiled roofs. The cobbled pedestrian streets occasionally open to reveal broad steps to the sea below. Turn your head, and the wide steps also go up to the next level of the town.
Villefranche-sur-mer is distinguished by its levels. The Old Town level is the one just up from the sea. From there, the broad steps lead to la Place de la Paix, a bit of a little square with a bakery, butcher shop, grocer, and a restaurant. The next level is the Octroi along the Basse Corniche road that connects Villefranche-sur-mer with the other towns and cities of la Côte d’Azur. Along with its stores, restaurants and shops, the Octroi has a beautiful area of gardens and sculptures where various kinds of markets are held. The tourist office is next to the gardens and there’s even a miniature golf course and an outdoor sports stadium for soccer games.
The Octroi is not the final level. The hills continue up to residential neighborhoods with pedestrian stairwells guiding the walker up and up to le Col de Villefranche, which means “the neck of Villefranche” because it isn’t really the highest point, but it connects to it. The very top is le Fort du Mont Alban, a 16th century stronghold that towers over Villefranche-sur-mer, providing stunning views all along the coast.
Down on Villefranche-sur-mer’s second level, Old Town, I find rue Volti. The woman I emailed to reserve the apartment for two weeks asked if I’d like a taxi from the train station, but I didn’t see the need and I’m glad for the experience of walking the short distance in such a beautiful place. I imagine most people arrive with luggage and the walk proves challenging. I’m glad once again for the freedom of a light backpack.
The sign for the street rue Volti comes with some history. It says: Rue Volti, sculpteur 1915-1989.
Antoniucci Volti was born in Albano, Italy in 1915. His father was a professional stonemason who brought his family to Villefranche-sur-Mer in 1920. He studied in Nice, won awards for his works of bas-relief, a kind of sculpture with a slight projection from the surface, usually a wall, and pursued his career in Paris. There’s a Musée Volti of his works in a building at la Citadelle Saint-Elme. Unfortunately, it’s closed during November. It’s the off season. The break. Villefranche-sur-mer is hit hard by tourists, most arriving by cruise ship. November is the welcome reprieve when it is blissfully not crowded and the people you see are mostly locals. That’s the plus side. The downside is that a number of things are closed. I will have to come back.
Approaching the address at the agreed time, I see Shelley, the cheerful and brilliant property owner, watering plants and speaking with locals in rapid-fire French in front of the building where I’ll spend the next two weeks. Originally from the Northwest of the United States, Shelley fell in love with France at the start of the second millennium, and made a number of investments in one of its most touristed areas. She makes a point of getting to know her guests, even reading a great deal of my website before I arrived. A lifelong learner curious about the ways people live, Shelley greets me with questions about what it’s like to meet a bear in the wilds of Alaska and live in a place cut off from a road system. It’s so unusual and delightful for a host to be this interested in her guests.
Setting down the watering can and wishing a neighboring local a good day, she unlocks the door to the narrow building, speaking through everything she’s doing to help me succeed in doing the same on my own, and guides me up the stairs to the apartment on the roof, sur le toit.
It is so beautiful, including the final twisting, tiled steps, and so well decorated, that I’m pretty sure I gasp out loud. There’s a living room, reading area, books on the shelves, a kitchen with a large wood table, a television, a stereo system with music available, and a little office nook where it is possible to make calls overseas. She’s thought through such details as a basket to use when going to the local market and a little self-made guidebook for the area. The art hanging on the walls, and in some cases above them, is made by local artists in an effort to support their work. There is a little laundry nook, wash only. To dry clothing and towels, she shows me how to hang them over the bars outside the bathroom window above the pedestrian street rue Volti. And there are all sorts of different kinds of lights everywhere to adjust to create and change just about any mood. What an incredible interior decorator Shelley is!
Two windows face down the hill to the sea. They open up and there is a cushioned seat built right into the wall so that I’ll be able to sit right there at the window, right among the roofs, the pigeons, and the backside of the church façade and its belltower. Incroyable!
There will never be a living space I love more than this.
Left to my own devices, I walk the broad steps up to la Place de la Paix and find a little tabac bar that stays open all day with à la carte food items that can be ordered anytime. It’s my first clue that Villefranche-sur-mer didn’t become part of France until 1860. Hearing some Italian on the street nearby is the second. There is much of the feeling of Italy. And something else. Something I can’t yet define.
When I return to the rooftop apartment, there is an email from Shelley’s husband, Riccardo. They would like to meet me for coffee the next day at Hotel Welcome just down the steps and next to the water. What welcoming hosts!
I wonder if Shelley ever needs an assistant. Think what I could learn from her!
Next Two Months in France: Excursions au bord de la mer
This is #20 in a series of stories: Two Months in France. Follow the links below to read the other parts of the series starting with the first:
1. Santa Fe Depot Departure
2. Return to the Great Lady
3. Shakespeare and Company Bookstore
4. Paris Stroll
5. Paris – des heures exquises
6. Train to Thonon-les-Bains
7. Château de Ripaille
8. Getting up with the Birds: Lac Léman to Lyon to Lille
9. Navigating to Avignon
10. In the Walled City of Avignon
11. Inside the Rich Ochre of Roussillon
12. Up the Steep Calades to Gordes
13. Retraversant à Fontaine-de-Vaucluse
14. Diving Deep in the Closed Valley
15. Défense de marcher sur l’eau
16. Tout Seul in Carcassonne
17. Théâtre de Poche in Sète
18. Climbing into Vallon-Pont-d’Arc
19. On ne peut jamais revenir à Antibes