Le Var

Le Var

Le Var felt like slipping into a slower reel of life, the kind that makes you linger just a little longer over peaches at the market or tilt your head to catch the way the light lands on the sea. I made my home base in Toulon, tucked near Plage de la Mitre, where mornings began with beach walks and evenings ended with Aperol in hand. The city hums at its own quiet frequency, used book stalls, faded shutters, and the kind of local rhythm that makes you forget what day it is. I spent a day in Hyères, a hilltop medieval town where the villas drip with old money and the croissants are eaten slowly, on silver. I wandered through narrow streets, climbed what felt like a hundred winding paths, and watched the town unfold beneath me like a dream I was lucky to walk through.

But the true gem of this trip was Île de Porquerolles, a car-free island that, to my New Jersey ears, sounded suspiciously like pork roll. Misleading name aside, it might be one of the most magical places I’ve ever been. With no cars allowed, I rented a bike and rode along the coastline, where the water shimmered in surreal shades of blue-green, honestly, not even blue, more like the color of sea glass lit from within. I picnicked near the sand, swam in water that didn’t feel real, and biked all the way up to the Batterie des Mèdes, an eerie, ancient lookout with views so cinematic they felt made-up. There, alone on the hilltop, salty and sun-dazed, I had one of those rare moments where time sort of slips, and everything feels still.