From the late 1920s, the Côte d’Azur became a refuge and a place of inspiration for British and American authors.
The air is chilly this morning. A taunting mistral over Cassis Bay shreds the trees while the sun burns at its zenith. Everything turns blue. Where the sky begins, where the sea ends. The red, green and white shutters are drawn, the city is sweating. On the way to the lighthouse, some passers-by sway, others look at the Frederic Mistral statue as the ships in the distance rest like matches. Chirps, splashes, we hear cups clinking on the terraces. “There were stones there. After breakfast, we sat there in the sun…”. All this creates a pleasant music. The wind is drying on the heights. “We used to go for a walk, climb a straight slope to go to the forest…” Low walls separate the road from the villas. “Red, toothed poppies were blooming everywhere…
Source: Le Figaro
