This is a little town in between Cannes and Sainte-Maxime on the stunning coastal road. This area was great for campervans. There is a carpark on the right, just before the bridge leading to the main part of the town, that is an unofficial campervan spot. On one side is the start of a river, on the other side is a stunning golden beach with turquoise water. Clean toilet pods run along the length of the beach and the bins in the carpark are emptied regularly, by a very well dressed young man with a moustache and swagger not often found with this particular vocation. 


This was a great find, and we stayed here for two nights. There’s more security when you park next to a small gathering of motorhomes as everyone looks out for their neighbours in the true curtain twitching fashion of back home in old Blighty. One of our new neighbours was a solo German man, whose campervan wardrobe consisted of two pairs of pants. The routine was to wear one pair, then wash and hang out the other pair, and repeat. He was fat and hairy, and didn’t attempt to hide it. He would have struggled to hide it, being that he was only ever wearing just his underpants. Jolly old man though, and had some poodle/terrier mongrel type dog to keep him company.


There’s not a lot else to do in Frejus other than work on your golden tan and kick back into campervan life, and this was fine as we were still processing the great escape and the van being broken into on the previous day.

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