There’s a certain kind of giddiness I feel when exploring a place that is not only so far removed from the grid of my normal life but seemingly unknown. Slightly off-balance, a bit lightheaded, with a flutter in my stomach that makes me want to simultaneously keep it a secret and immediately post it all over Instagram.
Villages of the Côte d’Azur
Tourrettes-sur-Loup is not the first (second, third, or even fourth) village one visits on the Côte d’Azur, aka French Riviera. A quick Google search for ‘best villages Côte d’Azur’ doesn’t even list Tourrettes-sur-Loup in the top 30, reserving the highest accolades for hilltop beauties like Saint-Paul-de-Vence, Èze, and Gourdon. They are all worthwhile, with their vine-covered vaulted stone houses, flower-filled window boxes, and endless narrow, arched alleys.
Yet, visiting these fairytale villages comes at a cost, especially during the summer months. There are simple tricks to beating the crowds—the early bird catching the worm and all that. But that’s content for another post.
Arriving in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, one of the oldest medieval villages on the French Riviera, at 9 am means no traffic and a prime parking spot. It guarantees an outdoor table at Café de la Place, which overlooks the market square. Many shops are still shuttered, creating an opportunity to linger over coffee and take in the scene, whether spying a Jack Russell terrier curled up and snoozing on a chair or noting the faint scent of lavender in the air.
Until recently, Saint-Paul-de-Vence was my favorite village on the Côte d’Azur. This famous and achingly pretty village was once home to Picasso, Braque, Chagall, and Matisse. It’s easy to sense the impressions they’ve left behind among the cobbled streets and along the uneven stone steps.
Saint-Paul-de-Vence is hilltop heaven, with the restaurant La Colombe d’Or serving as a culinary magnet that draws foodies from near and far. A veritable museum, La Colombe d’Or draws art aficionados, as well. The village showcases high-end art, features perfumes from the nearby Grasse, and offers countryside views that stretch for miles. It has sophistication (and soft cheeses) to spare.
Finding Tourrettes-sur-Loup: A Mini-Solo Adventure
But, just fifteen minutes west, another mountain village lives quietly in the shadow of its flashier, more popular sibling. Earlier, I’d read about Tourrettes-sur-Loup’s understated, slow-paced vibe. I’d scrolled through photos of its raggedy ramparts and Romanesque rooflines. Despite never having heard of Tourrettes-sur-Loup before now, I wonder how I could possibly leave France without visiting it?
A plan starts to take shape. I finish my cappuccino and bid adieu to the sleeping terrier. My kids and extended family head off in toutes directions: Cannes, Antibes, and Nice—places I’ve already been.
For a brief moment, I panic, and consider bailing on my mini-solo adventure. Then I remember that I’m a grown-up, that I’ve been driving for over 35 years, and that the French (who round corners like it’s the final lap of F1) at least drive on the same side of the road as I’m used to.
I plug Tourrettes-sur-Loup into my maps and go.
The 40 Artisans of Tourrettes-sur-Loup
As Google promised, I reach the village in 15 minutes. Parking is easy. Despite it being the end of July, there’s no one here. The quiet is what sparks my initial excitement. Then I catch sight of the village, clinging for dear life to the steep hillside with vines crawling up the facades. The flutter in my stomach intensifies, and I resist the urge to call my family and tell them to stop everything and join me.
The medieval buildings are worn and ragged, as if on the edge of collapse. The village houses are situated around a half-moon-shaped path that forms a natural loop for exploration. Tourrettes-sur-Loup, with just over 4000 residents, is first and foremost an artisan village.
The forty artisans who live and work here collectively contribute to the village’s economy. They are weavers, painters, potters, jewelry designers, leathersmiths, and sculptors. The creativity in the air is so powerful, I can feel it. The smell of croissants coming from the boulangerie is just as powerful.
An Unhurried Life
I meander from boutique to gallery, passing trellis-covered cafés and glimpsing countryside views peeking through the narrow streets. I watch an older man, tanned and weathered with salt-and-pepper hair, carefully repainting his shutters. He may as well be painting the sky; they are the same, unmistakable Provençal blue. His strokes are unhurried and even, with a calm I dare myself to channel when I get home.
Tourrettes-sur-Loup is known for its 15th-century church of St. Gregory, the chapel of St. John, and its annual Violet Festival, held each March. I learn that violets, which grow in rocky terraces and olive groves, have been the village’s main agricultural activity since 1880. I imagine the new life this tranquil village takes on during the spring. How it becomes a vision in violet, emanating soft, sweet, woodsy floral notes.
Today, I’m content to circle and wander—meeting artists and ceramicists along the way. I stop into a mid-century modern furniture shop that could as easily be found in East Hampton. I fall in love with a 1960s sideboard and a set of etched crystal coupes. I duck into local markets where plump ripe peaches sit in neat little rows. Walking without a destination, I have no one to please but myself.
My Favorite Village
Ninety minutes have passed, and I’ve twice looped Tourrettes-sur-Loup. In no rush to get back behind the steering wheel, I stand on the edge of the village and look out towards the verdant countryside, so close to the sea, yet centuries away from the bustle of Nice and Antibes.
I picture the violets struggling to emerge from spaces between the craggy rocks. I think about the villagers who carefully pick them, as they grow in places machinery can’t reach. I listen to the church bell toll and glimpse artists in their studios, working with the focus only someone fully committed to their craft can convey. The outside world is breaking down, but within these walls, everything is okay.
The flutter in my stomach is less intense, but still there. It’s one part longing, and another part pure childlike giddiness. A telltale sign that I’ve found my new favorite village on the Côte d’Azur.
