South of France: La Sieste Is Sacred

StaysTravelMediterraneanFranceFoodExplore

Aug 1

There’s a rhythm to life in the South of France — unhurried, unforced, with sound as a constant companion. Our team at The Bleu Edit set out from the quiet hills of the Luberon, aiming to live a day stretched out, a slow journey from sunrise espresso to evening rosé on the Riviera coast.

We settled in at Bastide du Mourre, a tranquil retreat near Oppède, where mornings arrive soft and shaded, the kind of quiet that isn’t for show — it just is. No rush. Our only plan was to have none.

With a cup of coffee in hand and a carefully packed bag, we rolled down the winding hills toward the coast. The day ahead was simple: an espresso or two, a swim if the mood struck, and a few stops we trusted to keep things honest. All the while, a playlist carried us — the heartbeat of our slow adventure.

Antibes, Late Morning

By 10:30, we slipped into Antibes, wandering the narrow side streets just ahead of the lunch crowd. The air was warm, filled with the scent of fresh bread and salty sea breeze.

We paused at Café Brun, a no-frills spot beloved by locals. A few early risers were already sipping pastis, but we stuck to café crème and a fig tart that was flaky, warm, and perfectly sweet.

Just around the corner, the Marché Provençal was in full swing — a sensory overload in the best way possible. Stalls were overflowing with vine-ripened tomatoes, wrinkled olives, honey in tall jars, and cut lavender bundled with twine.

We sampled slices of peach from a vendor who looked like he’d been there forever, and picked up a small wedge of goat cheese wrapped in fig leaves. The kind of thing you can’t find anywhere else.

Back for the Sieste

By early afternoon, the heat flattened everything. We returned to Bastide du Mourre and pulled the shutters closed against the sun. Time slowed until it almost stopped. No poolside distractions or forced “wellness hour” but rather cold drinks, the soft hum of cicadas, and the rare breeze weaving through the olive trees.

Apéro in Biot

Later in the afternoon, we drifted inland toward Biot — a hill town tucked between Antibes and Cagnes-sur-Mer, known for its glassmakers, shaded alleys, and quiet confidence.

The old village unfolds in winding, cobbled ruelles that stay mercifully cool even under the weight of high summer. We walked slowly, past stone archways and shuttered windows, until we reached the lower part of the village — where a small museum sits tucked into an old building, almost easy to miss. Inside, we found stories written in clay and glass: ancient amphorae, fragments of the region’s geology, and the roots of Biot’s long love affair with artisanal glasswork.

At Bistrot de la Place, we claimed a terrace table and let the late light settle in. A chilled Aperol Spritz. A bowl of salted almonds, some olives. Somewhere nearby, pétanque balls clinked against each other
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Last Stop: Hyères

On the way home, we made one last stop — up the winding road above the old town of Hyères, where Villa Noailles sits quietly, white and angular against the sky.

Built in the 1920s by Robert Mallet-Stevens, this modernist icon has long been a refuge for artists. Giacometti, Man Ray, Cocteau, Dalí — they’ve all passed through here. The place still holds their echo.

Inside, the air is calm and cool. Light spills across tiled floors. Rooms give way to unexpected corners — design, photography, strange objects that make you pause.