Cap Canaille and La Ciotat

 The downside of last night’s festivities was that the music pounded until midnight. The upside was that we had ringside seats to a superlative AND EXTREMELY LOUD firework display. From our vantage point it seemed at times as though the entire sky was filled with colour.

I was up early and down to the town to pick up breakfast. Asking in the tourist info yesterday about walking eastwards over to the next town, we were told that on Sundays the Route des Crêtes is closed to cars so that cyclists can enjoy its hairpin bends, and that for walkers there is a shuttle that takes you to the start of the walk following the same route.

The shuttle only takes 8 passengers, and leaves hourly, so we wanted to make sure we were on the first one at 9.10. Particularly as the tourist advisor had told us that the walk to La Ciotat would take around 7 hours. Her normal punters must be octogenarian one-legged hikers, because half that time brought us to the outskirts, and we weren’t rushing.

The Cap Canaille is the hunk of rock directly facing us, captured in our first balcony photo. At nearly 400m it is apparently the highest maritime cliff in Europe. The shuttle took us maybe halfway up that height, and was welcome as the walk would have been slogging up along a road through Cassis’s suburbs. Along the way we passed vineyards producing the white wine we’ve been drinking. You don’t get more local than that.

Once the van had disgorged us we continued the climb on foot, sandwiched between the lazily zigzagging road and the cliff edge, offering fantastic views west over Cassis, and as we got higher, we could make out the entrances to the calanques we’ve explored in the last few days.

The shuttle may have got us part way up, but there was still plenty of leg and lung work to be done, with many ascents and descents of rocky footpaths.

This was a gloriously aromatic walk, as we were often surrounded by rosemary, honeysuckle and lavender, and many other perfumed plants that I don’t know the name of. It was mostly greens but in places we enjoyed ranks of pretty, purple-pink, papery cistus flowers, along with a smaller white variety. There was also a tiny gorse-like yellow flower, amongst others, and plentiful butterflies. It was all just baking in the heat, and giving off these fabulous fragrances.

The long descent into La Ciotat was notable for it old stone wall terraces. It didn’t look like they were being maintained, but from the olive trees dotted around, it was clear that this had been their original purpose.

As we completed the walk quicker than anticipated, we dropped down into Calenque de Figuerolles. This has a different character to those west of Cassis, as the stone is red pudding rock ie stones and rubble held together by not much. As a result, the rock has been eroded into weird shapes. This was our lunch spot, but we didn’t swim as the tiny beach was already very crowded.

The next port of call was the Calanque du Mugel. This is different again, as it jostles up against the industrial port of La Ciotat. The water was shallower, and therefore somewhat less glacial, so I actually enjoyed my dip there.

Another 10-15 minutes brought us into the old port. La Ciotat is quite a bit bigger than Cassis, and we’re glad we’ve ended up where we are. It’s attractive, though, with more of the narrow streets that are characteristic of these old towns, plus a promenade running to the several beaches east of the town.

In addition to the small yachts and cruisers found all over, there were a number of super yachts in dock. Having googled since, it turns out that the town is an international centre for maintaining and refitting these billionaire toys. This has taken over from its previous function as a shipyard for oil tankers. To its credit, it’s also the home of cinema - the Lumière brothers shot and screened their first films there, and it’s also where Pétanque was invented. 

A bus brought us back to Cassis, where we picked up a couple of bits for dinner chez nous.

And now we’re admiring Cap Canaille, vibrantly reddish-ocher in the setting sun, and it feels like, having engaged it with all our senses, it’s partly belongs to us, and as with everywhere in the world that we’ve walked, we partly belong to it. 

Em x