For all my time spent in Europe, whether as a student, magazine editor or freelancer flitting from one country to the next, it was the Riviera coastline rather than the great culture capitals that lured me whenever I could slip away. Over the years I’ve been fortunate to spend countless hours (probably too many) at seaside towns and villages perched along the great Mare Nostrum, as the Romans called their Mediterranean. Or more precisely, its watery patchwork of seas, gulfs and bays that, for me, reached from the Lérins Islands, off the coast of Cannes, to Puglia’s tip-of-the-Italian heel, Santa Maria di Leuca. There were also a few detours to European Atlantic beaches, like Cascais and Estoril, along the way.

Despite the many years of coastal wanderings, I never had the chance to visit what’s often considered the archetypal Riviera resort, St. Tropez, a former fishing village that rocketed to fame close to 70 years ago thanks to the Bardot-Vadim movie And God Created Woman. I was eager to add it to my roster of sunny places where my time had been spent, perhaps not always productively but always quite happily so. And that was regardless of whether the destination was a tiny village that made me feel like the only non-resident in town (because I usually was) or an established coastal city where it was too easy to get lost among the tourist and cruise-ship crowds.

Many Mediterranean resorts, at least the ones I’ve been to, offer some version of la belle vie, which in spirit at least, give a nod to the enduring legend of St. Tropez. Starting in the 1950s, the town created a breezy template for a post-war mix of sophisticated yet casual glamour that persists to this day. What could I expect on this first trip? Would I encounter the classic Tropézien rhythms of beach-centric days punctuated by long lunches (and equally long dinners), and, for the most resolute fun-seekers, nightclub stints that usually wrapped up as the sun rose? Perhaps not in October, when I’d chosen to visit. Beach days would likely be numbered, but the temperatures were slated to be in the ’60s and low ’70s, and there were lots of sun icons on the weather apps. Would I come across a still-crowded town (October is the new June for astute travelers, right?) or a place ready to roll up the sidewalks for a nice long winter sleep?

As one of Europe’s perennial high-wattage getaways, it’s not surprising that the “laissez les bons temps rouler” vibe seemed to begin as soon as I entered the town. The first shop I noticed on the drive in from Nice was a cave à vin with a promotion for the posh sparkler Dom Pérignon in the window. With that initial retail shout-out, I wondered if I would be met with unbridled revelry when I headed into town that evening. But no, I came across something far more appealing. The harbor area, the enduring epicenter of St. Tropez, was busy, but not overwhelmingly so, reflecting a town that had shifted into lower gear, but was not ready to pull down the curtain on summer.

There was just enough bustle, too, at the restaurant where I had dinner, Marcellino, on Quai Jean-Jaurès, which was so close to the harbor you could wave to the yachties on the boats a few meters away. The food here was Mediterranean/Provençal with strong Italian influences, a not uncommon combo in St. Tropez as I would soon learn. The ties between the two regions date to the 15th century when families from Genoa settled in the area and fortified the town. St. Tropez’s flag took its red-and-white colors from the Republic of Genoa’s standard. The town’s name came from its patron saint, St. Torpes, who was from another Italian maritime heavyweight, Pisa.

In St. Tropez, you’ll find a lot of Italy. For someone who is part Italian, this made me feel at home a little faster than I usually do in French destinations, excepting Menton, where I’d hop across the border for a swim and spaghetti alle vongole in Balzi Rossi. La Ponche, the Old Town and St. Tropez’s former fishing quarter, could be cloned from an ancient hamlet in Liguria. It follows a centuries-old blueprint—a compact district with stone houses drenched in sun-faded peach and lemon tones, narrow winding streets (called caruggi in Liguria, ruelles here), and a Baroque-style church, Église Notre-Dame de l’Assomption. If you feel like you’re in a maze as you walk through La Ponche, that was once the point: to confuse any invaders storming in from the sea.

There are no worries about rogue corsairs popping out from behind a corner in La Ponche these days, only clusters of tourists, but at this time of year the area had mostly returned to its native rhythms. The nearby beaches, La Ponche and La Fontanette, were empty save for a few determined sunbathers and locals out for a morning walk. (You can swim in St.Tropez in October if you like seawater on the cool side. I don’t, but in the afternoons it was warm enough for a dip in the pool at my hotel, Villa Cosy.) As you walk through La Ponche near lunchtime, beware. As in Italy, it’s common to have your taste buds shift into high gear by whiffs of garlic drifting from the windows of home kitchens or from one of the few restaurants in La Ponche proper. Most bistros are located near the port.

The majority of shops are found outside La Ponche, too, along the streets reaching down to and near the harbor, where there are various local, artisan and luxury boutiques. These provide ample retail reminders that St.Tropez plays out in more than one key. (The top international brands cluster on the Rue François Sibilli and around the Place des Lices.) There were good, end-of-season discounts, but marked-down linen pieces seemed less urgent to buy in October than they might have in June.

One shop that’s a must, regardless of the season, is Rondini, which crafts the classic local takeaway, Tropéziennes, the flat-sole, strappy leather sandals made famous by Brigitte Bardot. This artisan atelier, which also makes a variety of leather products, was founded in 1927 by Dominique Rondini, and flourished well before the town’s jet-set era. (The writer, Colette, was an early client.) Alain Rondini, whom you can meet in the store, runs the business today, the third-generation family member to do so.

While fragrance is not an ancestral craft in St. Tropez, the town does lie in Provence, famous for its lavender fields and bounty of scented products. Olfactory branding is not uncommon at local beach clubs or in boutique hotels; you can even test your neophyte (or non-existent) perfumer skills at a fragrance workshop. I attended one by Maison S-T, trying to power my way, Nutty-Professor style, through what seemed like simple ingredient choices for a custom fragrance. But my selections needed a bit of “curation,” to describe my fumbles euphemistically, from one of the on-site fragrance pros, so I did end up with a scent that I was happy to take away with me. Unlike many travel purchases which seem so right in situ but like mistakes once you get home, my personally mixed floral fragrance has been one of my most practical souvenirs and has held up well over the last 11 months.

To get a sense of old St. Tropez you head to La Ponche, but to better understand the town’s fabled allure, you linger in Vieux Port. The transformation of the village’s humble old harbor into a mega-yacht haven followed a Riviera narrative that’s played out elsewhere along the French and Italian coasts, although here it was especially fueled by cinematic myth.

Once fishermen’s houses lay right on the water. Now these former maisons de pêcheurs sit back behind the quays that form the seaside promenade. But clusters of their old boats, les pointus, still bob in the harbor near the yachts and continue to be used by a handful of fishermen who ply their trade in the gulf. Along these waterfront quays you’ll come across such entrenched people-watching spots as Café Sénéquier, dating from the late 19th century. In earlier times you might have sipped a noisette alongside Matisse or Picasso, or during the 1950s with the Nouvelle Vague crowd.

I saw no celebrities in October in St. Tropez, but there was plenty of activity in the marina, perhaps a holdover from the town’s early fall regatta, Les Voiles de Saint-Tropez. Or maybe it just came from the boat owners hoping to eke out a few last balmy days on the sea before winter hibernation. Even if you don’t own a boat, you can feel part of the harbor action if you dine quayside. At Bòu (which means fishing net in Provençal), a seafood spot at the western end of the promenade, you get up-close views of the yachting scene. The staff here seemed especially determined, with their unflagging good cheer, to make sure we were having a good time. Across St. Tropez the restaurant teams appear to be trained to do just that, and in off-season they have more time to indulge you. At Les Halles, a hopping food hub (with DJs and live music on weekends) at the other end of the harbor, there’s even a designated Happiness Manager to keep things lively. (See the official site of the Saint Tropez Tourist Office for information about events and festivities throughout the year.)

Most coastal towns deserve a look-at from the sea, a chance to take in the invaders’ view, so to speak, to get a sense of the long-ago isolation and vulnerability of these once remote settlements. Even with all the billionaires floating about, you can rent a charter reasonably, especially in shoulder season, or book a regularly scheduled tour on the Le Brigantin II, a family-owned excursion boat, to see St Tropez’s coast. A glide on the water typically takes you past such landmarks as the Citadel, a fortress built to ward off Spanish invaders, and Canoubiers Bay (aka Millionaires’ Bay) along the coast of Les Parcs de St. Tropez, a gated community for the very rich. The seaside terrain is gentler than at Cap d’Ail or Cinque Terre, so perhaps less dramatic, but the open expanses let you absorb the transcendent Tropézienne light that so mesmerized painters who came to the area. By October, it has been largely freed of its summer glare and intensity, just as St. Tropez has.

© 2026, Catherine Sabino.

The post The Subdued Shine of Off-Season Saint Tropez appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

From December through March, while grey is the predominant color of the skies of northern Europe, the coastal roads on the Côte d’Azur in southeast France burst into a Kodachrome blur of neon-yellow flowers wedged between a brilliant blue sky and the turquoise Mediterranean.

The mimosa, a hardy Australian acacia, was first introduced to France by the explorer James Cook, who presented the seeds to the future Empress Josephine. But mimosa madness didn’t take root until the late 19th century when the northern aristocrats wintering on the Riviera brightened their holiday villas with this cheery foreign flower that stubbornly stuck to its Australian blooming schedule.

The Côte d’Azur remained a winter destination until the advent of Brigitte Bardot and the bikini turned the region into a summertime fantasy land. More recently, with the goal of reinvigorating winter tourism, several towns in the Var and Alpes-Maritimes regions have banded together to form La Route des Mimosas, the Mimosa Route, 80 miles of bright yellow horticultural heaven between the medieval village of Bormes-les-Mimosas and the perfume capital of Grasse.

The major mimosa action takes place on February weekends when the towns on the route hold their corsos, parades with drum majorettes, local marching bands, and flower-bedecked floats that are planned and painstakingly assembled by village volunteer groups.

This route through the smaller villages is worth following in the summer as well as it provides respite from the crowds in the well-known beach resorts of the Riviera. Even when the mimosa season is over, the gardens and protected nature refuges along this route are among the most exceptional botanical treasures in France even though one botanist’s treasure can be another botanist’s pest, as you’ll discover in your travels along the Mimosa Route.

Bormes-les-Mimosas

The village of Bormes – after enduring the “place-with-all-the-mimosas” epithet for years – changed its name to include the ubiquitous flowers in 1968. And it makes sense: Of the 1,200 varieties of mimosa plants that exist across the world, the latest local plant census claims that 700 different mimosa varieties reside within town limits.

Moreover, the National Conservancy of Mimosa is centered in the greenhouses at the Pépinière Cavatore which nurtures 7,000-8,000 mimosa plants every year. Horticulturist Julien Cavatore waxes eloquent on his family’s specialized knowledge of the Australian acacia. Mimosas, he explains, flourish in the Mediterranean
coastal region although the fickle plants experience difficulties just a few miles (and micro-climates) north in Aix-en-Provence.

“You can’t buy one of my ‘babies’ unless I think you can care for it properly indoors or replant it in an appropriate garden environment,” Cavatore says. Indoor mimosa seedlings must be coddled like a cranky, anti-social houseguests, sequestered in an otherwise unused, unheated room with frequent watering and careful attention to their specific soil requirements.

Therefore, it’s a whole lot easier to connect with mimosas al fresco. The Australian gardens in Bormes-les-Mimosa’s spectacular, three-quarter acre Parc Gonzalez showcase the golden flowers in addition to other exotic plants such as banksia and eucalyptus. For fans of manmade culture, note that architectural jewels such as the 16th-century chapel dedicated to Saint Francis of Assisi (who visited Bormes on his anti-plague tour in 1481) show up in many of the garden settings.

The town’s major non-floral tourist attraction is the Fort de Brégançon, a 15th century military installation designated as a presidential vacation residence since 1968. Rarely used in recent years while running up an annual maintenance bill of 200,000 €, Former President François Hollande opened it to the public in 2013 although his successor seems less likely to relinquish the keys on a permanent basis. President Emmanuel Macron has already installed a swimming pool on the premises and entertained Theresa May at Brégançon for Brexit talks in August 2018. Open to visitors in July and September only. Tickets available through the Bormes-les-Mimosas Tourist Office.

The Domaine du Rayol in Rayol-Canadel-sur-Mer

In 1908, Parisian businessman Alfred Courmes purchased 99 acres of wild beachfront terrain and began to build his personal paradise with a mini-farm, a grandiose villa and an antique-style pergola. After several subsequent private owners, the property was destined to be chopped up for building units in 1974 until several local associations protested.

The environmentalists’ ecological dream came true in 1989 when the land was acquired by the Conservatoire du Littoral, the French coastal protection agency. The Domaine du Rayol, 49 acres of Mediterranean herb-and-pine-scented brush called maquis, is the anti-Versailles. No orderly rows of petunias. No geometric parterres. No fountains with Greek gods. The Domaine du Rayol is a “planetary garden” in the words of its landscaper-in-chief Gilles Clément, as well as a “moving garden” in constant evolution.

The first idea on Clément’s drawing board was a patchwork of regional greenery native to Mediterranean-style climates all over the world. Thus, during the December-to-March mimosa season, it’s hard to miss the bright gold Australian reserve. But there’s much else to see as well as other areas are devoted to graceful Asian ginko trees, Californian chaparral and Jurassic Park-style giant ferns from New Zealand. A remarkable 300-year-old cork tree stands as a gnarled reminder that this region once earned its baguettes-and-butter from the production of wine corks.

Nature lovers should plan for a full day to explore the grounds; there’s a charming outdoor café for lunch and snacks. And the plant life isn’t all on dry land either. Visitors can check out the seaweed too because the Domaine offers summertime wading tours along the beachfront as well as snorkeling expeditions. For the latter, all equipment is provided. Reservations are mandatory through the Domaine du Rayol website. While on that site, see if your plans coincide with one of the tree-climbing Sundays or the summer concert schedule.

Sainte Maxime and Saint Raphael

These side-by-side beach resorts have very different architectural profiles: The most lavish holiday villas in Sainte Maxime are stripped-down examples of Art Deco, whereas the shoreline of Saint-Raphael is dominated by the extravagant, wedding-cake fantasies of the Belle Epoque.

Both towns provide a large choice of Provençal boutiques. During winter, many local pastry shops stock mimosa-flavored chocolates produced at the artisanal candy workshop “La Muscadine” in Sainte-Maxime. Like Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine, they taste like Riviera sunshine on the tongue. If you miss the mimosa season, console yourself with Muscadine’s chocolate creations flavored with lavender, violet, and rose petals.

Mimosa continues to delight tourists, florists and perfume companies (more later) but every splash of yellow at the Massif de l’Estérel nature reserve in Saint Raphael is regarded with fear and loathing by the Park Service. It turns out that mimosa, like most things in life, has a dark side.

The reserve, a hiker’s dream, dominated by dramatic red cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean, has become an anti-mimosa battleground. Mimosa may be notoriously picky about its climate and soil preferences but, like Goldilocks, when it gets what it wants it takes over. “It’s an invasive foreign plant that crushes the local flora. Cutting, uprooting and burning simply encourages it to spread,” explains Forest Ranger André Frey. Mimosa is Nature’s Nietzsche: what doesn’t kill it, makes it stronger.

The Estérel Reserve, a haven for native Côte d’Azur pines, thyme and sage, offers a variety of walking tours and bike, VTT and even motorcycle treks are available. Information is available through the Saint Raphael Tourist Office.

Tanneron and Mandelieu-La Napoule

In August 1986, fires destroyed 12,480 acres of Riviera forest and the hardest-hit area was the Tanneron Mountain. During mimosa season, that hill is now entirely and breathtakingly golden in winter; the traditional Mediterranean brush is nowhere in sight, which is worrisome to many botanists. Tanneron can therefore be seen is either a glorious symbol of flower power or the scary incubator of yellow peril. It all depends on what side of the botanical barricades you’re on.

Just a few miles away, Mandelieu-La Napoule takes most of its golden color from the Palme d’Or (The Gold Palm) at the nearby Film Festival. A bedroom community of Cannes, Mandelieu is more international than the previous towns on the route and has its own Michelin-starred restaurant, L’Oasis.

Nevertheless, it hosts its own folkloric corso (the 2019 theme was Marco Polo complete with dromedaries) which parades right past the 14th century chateau lovingly restored by American artist Henry Clews Jr (1876 – 1937) and now open to the public. There’s a distinct fairy-tale aura to the castle—the stone inscription over the door reads “Once Upon a Time.”

Grasse

Surrounded by fields of blossoms, Grasse is the fragrance capital where mimosa (and roses and jasmine and violets…) are distilled into tiny bottles of money. Last year, it gained listing to the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage register for its floral savoir-faire in the arts of perfumery.

Mimosa is one of principal scent factors in Amarige (Givenchy), Paris (Yves Saint Laurent), Champs-Elysées (Guerlain), L’Eau d’Azur (Occitane), Masumi (François Coty) and Moment Suprême (Jean Patou).

Fragonard, established in Grasse in 1926, simply calls their mimosa scent Mimosa. At present, the Perfume Museum in Grasse offers limited exhibits while under renovation. All the more reason to head to Fragonard, which has its own museum (yes, there’s a relation to the painter) and workshops (reserve ahead) where visitors can get a chance to make their own fragrance.

Planning Your Trip

If beginning the Mimosa Route in Bormes-les-Mimosas, Toulon-Hyères is the closest airport and Toulon and Hyères are the closest TGV stations. If starting in Grasse, Nice is the more convenient choice whether arriving by train or plane.

Information on planning a trip to the areas covered by the Mimosa Road is found on the official tourist sites of the department of Var, the Côte d’Azur and the Mimosa Route, in addition to those of the towns mentioned in this article.

Fancy four-star options are thin on the ground at present but they’re in the works: The Belle Epoque-style Grand Hotel of Bormes-les-Mimosas (ca 1903), is currently under renovation and construction is slated to begin on an all-new luxury hotel on a hillside overlooking the old town of Grasse.

In the meantime, profit from charming (and bargain-priced for the Riviera) options such as the Café du Progrès in Bormes-les-Mimosas whose casual restaurant serves some of the best home-made tapenade on the coast as well as lush plats du jour such as minced lamb pastilla. The cozy inn above the restaurant has a small but refreshing pool.

One pays extra for the waterfront views at the venerable Excelsior Hotel in Saint Raphael, but more dramatic scenery is offered by city-side rooms that overlook the remarkable Roman-Byzantine Notre-Dame de la Victoire Basilica, built in 1883 from the region’s pink sandstone.

The Café de France in Sainte-Maxime has been run by the same family since 1852. Directly across from the town’s small but lively fish market, it’s a great place to sample daurade (sea bream) in butter sauce with a side of black rice topped with white truffles. There’s live jazz on winter weekends.

© 2019, Corinne LaBalme

The post Winter on the Riviera: The Mimosa Route appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.