Just Back From…Porquerolles

Islanders recognize the “Island” in fellow islanders. It’s an unspoken contract, and it holds true no matter how at odds two people’s islands may be. It doesn’t matter if you’re from Maui, Syros, or Lombok. You could even be from Manhattan… I’ll see the Island in you. And that is exactly how I felt the first time I met locals of the elusive French island: Porquerolles.

Every summer for the past six summers, we board the ferry at La Tour Fondue in Hyères, and almost always we run into a familiar face, also headed for Porquerolles. As we dock at the port (a postcard in itself with its rows of pointu wooden fishing boats bobbing against a backdrop of hilly pine and eucalyptus forests), there is always a moment when I dread having to lug our suitcases and child through the crowds of daytrippers. Almost always (again!), we manage to hitch a ride in the back of a Citroën Méhari. The benefits of being a location-on-repeat traveler.

Funny that Porquerolles is plural. In a way, there are many Porquerolles. There is the obvious, attainable one, crawling with scorched pink Duane Hanson tourists, slurping bubblegum Coco Frio ice-cream and trekking in neon Speedos with CamelBaks. More recently and somewhat less attainable are the cliques of collectors and curators and art dealers, clad in head-to-toe black, who descend upon the island like a flock of crows to Villa Carmignac, a farm (the one you see in Godard’s Pierrot le Fou) turned eye-catching, futuristic subterranean art museum. And then, finally, there’s the more elusive Porquerolles, that which is rustic, simple, and for the American in me, très très cool.

Topless sunbathing at Les Gorges du Loup. Hidden coves and bays that can only be reached by sea. Traditional earthy pink homes with blue shutters suffocating under the weight of the rebellious pink bougainvillea. Lunches that could only be described as lazy. Dinners with the great-granddaughter of the explorer François-Joseph Fournier, who bought the island for his wife Sylvia in 1912. He made his fortune in gold mines in Mexico, which explains the mission-style church on Place d’Armes, the town square. Bottles of the family’s Domaine de l’Ile rosé (since purchased by Chanel in 2019). Walking home from an intimate wedding at La Plage d’Argent, dolled up but barefoot and drunk on more wine and the smell of the eucalyptus trees, mimosa trees, stone pines and cypresses—all planted by Fournier. Golden tans. Cicadas. The warm night air. A game of pétanque on the place du village. Pastis in the shade alongside the old men. Perrier and cigarettes seated at the red tables of the bar, Côté Port.

This isn’t the Mediterranean of nearby Saint-Tropez.

While Porquerolles has been state-protected since the ‘70s as part of the Parc National de Port-Cros, and the authorities cap the number of daily visitors to 6,000 during peak summer, one of the tricks I’ve learned over the years is to travel in the shoulder season. End of May/ Early June marks the first days of summer. The water may be a few degrees cooler, but the island, in full bloom, is a beauty. My favorite months are the end of September/October—l’été Indien—when the beaches have been deserted (try La Plage d’Argent and La Plage de Notre Dame), the water is still warm from the hot summer days, and everyone is tanned and relaxed. That is the time for early morning hikes and sunset runs and unselfconscious naked dips at the secret cove (which I can’t disclose, God forbid I don’t get invited back…).

If you can only make it to the island during summer, you will want to stay a few days, because only when the last ferry departs does the island reveal itself. Book one of only six rooms at Le Porquerollais, a tiny hotel and restaurant (the best in town) centrally located on the town square. Breakfast (included) is had along with the morning papers on the sidewalk terrace under the fringed parasols, or indoors where the decor is reminiscent of an old wooden sailboat. Regardless of whether you are staying here or not, dinner at Le Porquerollais is non-negotiable.

If you are willing to splurge, Le Mas du Langoustier is the island’s grand dame hotel. Opened in 1934 by Sylvia Fournier herself, the Provence-style batisse is set amidst a gorgeous 50-acre estate overlooking Baie du Langoustier. Within the forest are tennis courts and a pool. Nearby are two beaches—one white, one black (referred to as simply plage blanche/plage noir)—that make up two sides of the peninsula. The hotel channels an old-fashioned Riviera vibe and, with its erratic Wi-Fi, feels lost in time. La Pinède, open to outsiders for lunch, serves dishes such as grilled watermelon, plates of ripe tomatoes drenched in olive oil, lobster, and even a frozen pastis parfait.

Speaking of lobster, if you’re in a rental and planning on cooking, head to the port and ask for Pierrot the fisherman. When he hasn’t had a little too much pastis the day before, he returns to shore with dorado, scorpion fish, St Pierre, seabass, ray, and lobster. For seasonal local produce, Les Jardins de Porquerolles, the farmers’ market, is open on Tuesdays.

In June is the Porquerolles’ Classic, a 4-day regatta gathering fifty or so classic sailboats – some of the Mediterranean’s most beautiful. If you hang around the port long enough, someone might just offer you a ride to Italy…. The Porquerolles Yacht Club also hosts the Porquerolles’ Cup, its oldest and most famous race on Whit Sunday. The race consists of a tour of the island. The caveat: each skipper must choose the direction they’ll sail in the day before. The race starts on the beach with all crew members sitting on the sand. When the gunshot is fired, they must swim to their boats anchored several hundred meters away. The day ends with a dance on Place d’Armes with the sailors, locals, and visitors.

My favorite day is always a boat day (it must be an island thing). We head out to the neighboring island of Port-Cros arriving just in time for lunch at L’Anse, some of the best seafood this side of the Mediterranean, and we don’t move from our chairs facing the va-et-viens of the port until late afternoon. There are taxi-boats between the two islands. If you can, stay the night at Le Manoir, an 1830s hunting estate turned hotel in the 1920s. The style, Provençal meets colonial, is exquisite. And yes, a bell announces mealtimes at the equally fabulous restaurant overlooking the water.

Seated in the shade of the century-old palm trees of Le Manoir, I am reminded of the legend of these islands. It goes something like this: A certain Prince Olbianus had four impossibly beautiful daughters. While they were out swimming, pirates approached them. Their father begged for mercy, and the gods obliged, turning them into stone. They became the three islands (Porquerolles, Port-Cros, and Ile du Levant), and the fourth, her arms stretched out toward her father, the Giens peninsula.

Summer after summer, France’s seductive temptress, Porquerolles with its silent ‘s’, calls your name. And you know better than not to respond to the call of the wild.