Another look at places Off the Beaten Path in France brings you the small island of Saint-Honorat, a 15-minute boat shuttle from the little ferry port of Cannes and home since the 5th century to a community of wine-growing monks.
Just 1.5km long and 400m wide, the isle is a doddle to cover on foot in a short visit and, despite its popularity as a serene haven from the Croisette, crowd-free and relaxing. It might even work for you if the bustle of its larger neighbour, Sainte-Marguerite - see this report from a previous visit which even inspired a little Salut! competition - just seems too much.
We crossed the island from the disembarkation point along one of the two footpaths, initially wooded but then dissecting the vineyard with its sign warning that only monks are allowed to enter. I recall encountering no more than two or three other visitors.
The clatter of plates and human voices indicated that lunch was being served to the devout inhabitants - 30 Cistercian monks - as we approached l'Abbaye de Lérins, a simple, uncluttered place of worship. Visitors eat at La Tonnelle, a restaurant beside the boarding wharf, from an adjacent snack bar or at picnic tables dotted around the island.
Ancient stone chapels appear at intervals along the path that hugs the coastline, along with the remnants of Napoleonic cannon ball ovens. Saint Patrick reputedly studied here, but was never known to bake a cannon ball.
From the top of the ruins of the fortified 15th century monastery, the views out to sea and back to Cannes and the Alps are stunning. This goéland clearly agreed.
Some choose to visit the island on Christian retreats. The only sign of the world you've come here briefly to escape is the congestion of yachts berthed in the narrow waters separating the Saint-Honorat from Sainte-Marguerite, and the chatter of their occupants. Ahead of us was a long drive along the Corniche, on a busy weekend for the Côte d'Azur, but we might otherwise have stayed a lot longer.
The night before, we've been in Juan-les-Pins, ostensibly for the jazz festival. The big show , Santana were the night's big attraction at the open-air Pinède Gould, a few minutes from the beach. Tickets were not only expensive - I saw up to €150 quoted - but sold out, with only standing room at €50 a head still left. We joined scores of people in the standing room on the wrong side of the high fencing and heard the last 15 minutes of so of the band's show.
It sounded a lot better than the last time we caught them. That was in Dubai and we endured a grim first half with far too much between-songs babble from Carlos Santana before leaving. I enjoyed what I heard in Juan-les-Pins, though someone must tell which branch of jazz they represent.
There was a saxophone, keyboards and vocal duo at the New Orleans Jazz Bar and Batanga and the Subprime, playing Afro-inspired funk on a bandstand, both free, in the Petite Pinede once Santana were done. I longed for the traditional jazz I've heard on the harbourfront in Bristol and at the Ealing jazz-in-a-park festival.
At least I cannot say I was ripped off, and dinner at the water's edge beforehand was sublime. But the difference between Juan at the start of high season, with the added lure of a festival, and les Îles de Lérins is like that of le jour et la nuit. Chalk and cheese.
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