The island by bicycle

“No cars were permitted on the island and most people who passed were on bicycles: dented, clicking, cumbersome machines of uncertain vintage, used by countless people on countless holidays.”                                            The Sea Garden

Hiring a bicycle on Porquerolles is a must. It allows you to cover so much more ground than if you walk everywhere, and adds to the sense of childhood adventure that includes rocky coves, forts on tiny bay islands and shaded paths that always lead to another vista of the sea. You could take a boat, of course, but then you'd miss out on one of the most sensuous aspects of this lovely place: the fragrance.

“Scrubby evergreen bushes released a strong scent of resin and honey; forests of pine gave way to gentle south-facing vineyards. The path was quiet, disturbed only by the ululation of early summer cicadas.”

 

 “The bicycle tyres crunched on small sandy stones as she followed the trail between green oak and pines: the Aleppo and the parasol pine. She spotted an arquebusier, a strawberry tree, and pulled off the path to have a closer look.”

 

As Laurent de Fayols writes to Ellie in the novel, the island has a wild and romantic quality. It was bought at the beginning of the twentieth centuty as a wedding gift to his wife by a man who had made his fortune in the silver mines of Mexico. It was one of three small specks in the Mediterranean known as the Golden Isles, after the oranges, lemons and grapefruit that glowed like lamps in their citrus groves.

There are few reference works in English that offer information beyond superficial facts about the island, and those I did manage to find were old. The best was published in 1880, by a journalist called Adolphe Smith. Here is his ‘description of the most Southern Point of the French Riviera’:

“The island is divided into seven ranges of small hills, and in the numerous valleys thus created are walks sheltered from every wind, where the umbrella pines throw their deep shade over the path and mingle their balsamic odour with the scent of the thyme, myrtle and the tamarisk.”



 

It's not all easy going along the cycle paths. They start easily enough, then you find yourself pushing through carpets of pine needles, then sand and rock. There are some vicious inclines, and exhilarating descents, with the wheels sticking in ruts and slithering on smooth stone. But it's worth it to emerge in quiet, lonely places like the Calanque Oustaou de Diou on the south side, below.

No one was there, and we decided against a swim because when we looked carefully, the shallows were full of small mauve jellyfish - meduses, as the French call them: Medusas, after the Greek Gorgon monster with the face of a woman and hideous hair of snakes.

We hopped back on our bikes and pushed on, until we found a lovely beach for swimming and snorkelling within sight of the Fort du Petit Langoustier.

 

Though this is the place where I'd really love to swim - how you get down to it safely is another matter. It's a sharp drop off the cycle path, and probably really is one for reaching by boat. Next time!

Auberge des Glycines

 

Welcome to Porquerolles! The pink oleander blossoms tangle with palm fronds on the dockside. It's hot - very hot. And it's crowded in high summer, but many of the throngs of people in the lane are making their way back to the mainland after a day on the island. There are only a certain number of hotel beds, and if you're not staying in one of them, or in a private house or apartment, then it's back on the ferry for you.

 

We made our way to the far corner of the Place d'Armes, where the Auberge des Glycines (The Wisteria Inn, isn't that lovely?) sits in a quiet shade-dappled spot. It's an old-fashioned hotel in the very best sense: three-star, not grand luxe but country stylish and atmospheric. The kind of place I remember as a child, on long car journeys down through France. To get to our room we went through the courtyard, set for dinner that evening.

We definitely struck lucky with our room: cool and very spacious, with lovely touches of Provencal style.

We headed out, the temptation round every corner before we even got out of the Auberge. Who wouldn't want to take a seat here in the shade and try a Kir à la Figue?

 

 

We did have dinner here on the first evening, and it was delicious, full of imaginatively presented seasonal vegetables and beautifully cooked fish. The local Porquerolles rosé was excellent too: pale and fruity, sunshine in a glass.

Crossing to Porquerolles

 

Here it is, the ferry to Porquerolles island. Forgive me if I'm hopelessly enamoured of the South of France, but isn't this quite the most glamorous ferry boat you are ever likely to see? The light scintillates even on the dock at La Tour Fondue (the melted tower) at the end of the Giens peninsula, a narrow spit of land that dangles from Hyeres.

 

   "A hundred years ago the ferry boat was summoned to the mainland by smoke signal – the fire of resinous leaves and twigs lit in a brazier outside the café at the end of the Presqu’île de Giens."



                                                                           from The Sea Garden

 

The tower itself, one of the many old forts that dot the landscape, looks golden in the afternoon sunlight as the ferry eases out into the blue, blue sea.

 

   "The engines thrummed and the boat nosed out into sea glitter and salt spray, then powered up to full speed."  

The crossing only takes fifteen minutes, and the boat really does go fast once it gets underway. Yachts and sail boats skim across the blue alongside, and anticipation rises. I love islands, the way they are cut off and self-contained, and Porquerolles, with its paths through pine forests and beaches in rocky coves, seems the perfect size for exploration.

     "Oleanders and palms waved a sub-tropical greeting from the quayside"

"The white and steel needles of the marina extended out to the ferry dock. A warm breeze rang with clinks of metal rigging. This shore felt far more foreign than the one they had left, as if the sea voyage had crossed much more than the few miles of the strait."

 

 "From the dock she could see pale beaches and low verdant hills berried with red roofs. The fort above the harbour punched up a fist of stone through green trees." 

Porquerolles

 "The sea nibbled at bone-white sand. She stood alone, lost in thought, where shallow ripples nudged shells into lace patterns across the beach."
from The Sea Garden

I am so looking forward to going back to Porquerolles for a few days this summer. The island insinuated itself into my imagination when I discovered its beauties a few years ago, and forms the backdrop of The Sea Garden. This time I want to take far more photographs than I did last time, and sail over to the other Golden Isles - and swim in turquoise sea again. In the meantime, here are a few illustrated extracts from the book. 

   "It was a wide, dusty square dominated by a church with a distinctly Spanish look. Three sides were edged with eucalyptus and the canopies of restaurants and shops. She made her way round, moving slowly from pool to pool of harsh light and shadow, towards what looked like a hotel at the far end." 

 

"In the morning sun, the Place d’Armes was an empty white expanse. Activity was confined to the shops and cafés under the trees. Ellie bought a guide book and a large scale map from the nearest tabac and sat on a low wall in the shade to open out the map. When she couldn’t locate the Domaine de Fayols immediately, an unwarranted spike of panic rose. But there it was, marked on the southern rim of the island, close to a cove and a lighthouse. Until then she had had only the word of Laurent de Fayols that the place would exist when she arrived." 

    "By ten o’clock she was waiting outside the hotel. No cars were permitted on the island and most people who passed were on bicycles: dented, clicking, cumbersome machines of uncertain vintage."

 

  "Where the path split, the beach was signposted, Plage d’Argent. The scent of pines, intensified by a dense heat, mingled with the unmistakably salty tang of the shore." 

 

  "Neither of them spoke. The driver kept his eyes ahead. Scrubby evergreen bushes released a strong scent of resin and honey; forests of pine gave way to gentle south-facing vineyards. The path was quiet, disturbed only by the ululation of early summer cicadas. She craned around eagerly to see what plants thrived naturally, sitting up tall on the seat.

   "It was a wild and romantic place, Laurent de Fayols had written, the whole island once bought as a wedding gift to his wife by a man who had made his fortune in the silver mines of Mexico. One of three small specks in the Mediterranean known as the Golden Isles, after the oranges, lemons and grapefruit that glowed like lamps in their citrus groves."

 

Six days to go...

 

Six days until The Sea Garden is published in the United States, and the nerves are kicking in. It's always the same, each time a book is sent out into the big, wide world. Some readers will like it, some won't. Some who like it the most will stay the quietest, while those who didn't will be ferocious in letting others know.

 

Either way, the novel won't come to life until a reader starts reading the words on the page and joins in the creative process by allowing the sparks to reach the imagination, to form pictures and soundtrack in the mind. It won't be exactly what was in my mind when I wrote them, but that's the magic of reading: when we read, we make the scenes suggested by the words personal to ourselves. With any luck, the experience will take you to somewhere you never thought you'd go to, touch you emotionally or unsettle you in the delicious safety of your chair in a the sun.

 

All I can do is to give you some pointers to the background, like the picture above of the garden at the Grand Hotel du Cap Ferrat, quite rightly considered one of the most beautiful hotels in the South of France, "a tranquil retreat amid secret gardens and fragrant pines". It's the blue, blue sea beyond that gives it that edge of excitement and cachet. The fictional Domaine de Fayols on the island of Porquerolles in the first section of the novel has just that quality, though hidden under dilapidation. 

 

The light and the colour of the sea is captured in this picture. The turquoise seems unreal, but it isn't. 

 

When night begins to fall, the setting sun still casts unexpected patches of brightness, while leaving secluded corners unexpectedly dark. If you want to take that as a metaphor for the mood of the book, please do. 

 

 

Then there's the water, with its effortless evening glamour: shades of lilac and texture of chiffon. 

 

The Sea Garden is on blog tour very soon with TLC Book Tours running through into July. And it's no good any writer telling you they don't care or even look to see what readers are making of their work; I wouldn't believe them if they did, because a book without a reader's reaction hasn't fully come into existence.

Opening scene

On the southern coast of mainland France, the Presqu’île de Giens is a ribbon of land dangling into the Mediterranean. At the end of the single road that reaches the sea is a beach and a simple café, a small ferry terminal and places where cars must be parked; they do not cross.

White sails dance across a blue infinity. A line of parked Vespa motor scooters stand by the picture windows of the café and, below, children play on a strip of stony beach. On a low rocky promontory over the water, La Tour Fondue sits squat and defensive: The Melted Tower. It slumps on its half-hearted crag, trailing rock roots through the shallow sea.

When a ferry arrives from one of The Golden Islands, the empty expanse between the café and the harbour buildings fills with movement and colour. Late in the afternoon, the crowds surge from the boat, bags bumping. Day-trippers. There are surprisingly few other travellers for the five o’clock return. Without a hotel booking for the night, no-one could can stay on the islands.

A simple ticket office and a stroll up the gangway on to the ferry. The sun is still fierce on bare arms and heads. Three miles across the water is a small paradise of pine trees, sandy paths and the clear peacock blue of the sea: Porquerolles.

  The island lay in wait, a smudge of land across the water.

                                                                                        

Clear blue water

 

With the receding of the flood water here in Kent (not without a few dicey moments in the past week; thank you all for the caring comments on the previous posts), it's time to think about the blue crystal waters that surround the French island of Porquerolles. This is the Mediterranean setting for the opening section of The Sea Garden.

 

With the novel due for publication in the summer, both in the US and the UK, I thought I would start offering little tasters as I did for The Lantern in the run-up to its launch. Indeed, that was the purpose of this blog when I started it three years ago: travelling hopefully in the South of France to give a sense of its background and entice readers to give the book a try.

 

Here, then, is the rocky south coast of the island, where the land fissures into narrow inlets known as "calanques". The water is the bluest you can imagine, pooling into turquoise at the feet of the cliffs. There is fabulous diving and snorkelling, all shot through with dazzling light. You won't see it there in real life, but this is where I planted my garden by the sea.

 

  The grounds ran down to the sea, through wind-twisted pines, crumbling rocks and the unexpectedly lush green of the bushes and trees that held fast to every scrap of earth. On a cliff to her right was the lighthouse. Now she understood the way the house sat on its land, with the open sea to the south and the rocky bay of the Calanque de l’Indienne to the south-west.  

                                                               From The Sea Garden