Ever since I spent a summer month in Grimaud with a French ‘pen pal’, I have been fascinated by Port Grimaud. In 1969, (when I was 15 and fell in love with Chantal) it was still under construction and, it wasn’t finished until 1980. Since then, I have visited several times in various yachts and I always find the place absolutely captivating. Although newly constructed and probably considered by the architectural cognoscenti as an unforgivable pastiche, to my mind it has been designed with tremendous care ensuring (probably at great expense) that every property is individual with varying roof lines, avoiding straight lines and incorporating slips, docks and enchanting bridges. The colours are all pastel with shutters and not an air conditioner in sight. It has a focal square and ‘Eglise’ with numerous restaurants and shops which thrive because there is a vast camp site behind the adjacent beach and the residents pour into the development to spend their money. On previous occasions I have ‘anchored off’ or been moored just inside the entrance but this time, we were escorted into the very heart of the place, following the Capitainerie launch along the maize of canals to a central berth.
We even spotted Harry and Megan waving from a balcony.
Port Grimaud is the French equivalent of Portmeirion and well worth a visit but beware buying `vegetable crisps’ and humus in the market because they are over 50 euro per kg!! I was surprised that the Master or number Six as I will now call him was not pursued by great white balls despite my best attempt to warn Le Capitainerie about his past employment L.
The French fish have defeated me again despite number Six slowing us down but we shall not give up (even if I have to sneak off to the fish market tomorrow before anyone else is awake) so dear reader please keep this a secret. Bye Bye