Sweet Like Lemons
Rugby fan? Citrus fan? Or just fancy escaping the cold and enjoying some decent weather? Lebby Eyres has just the place - the lemon festival in beautiful Menton
Full confession before you read this: I have never been to the Fête du Citron in Menton but I loved the town so much on my first whistlestop visit that I dragged my family back there for Easter last year. That gives me the confidence to guarantee there will be no better way of banishing the winter blues than visiting this February – especially as this year marks the 90th anniversary of the very special festival.
The festival, or its precursor, was the brainchild of an ambitious hotelier who wanted to put his town on the map, and put on an exhibition of floral and citrus displays in the garden of the Hotel Riviera in 1928. The town council immediately saw its promise and followed up with a parade the next year. It was rebranded as the Fête du Citron in 1934.
Menton bursts with citrus colours all year round. It’s the last town on the Côte d’Azur before you reach Italy but was, unsurprisingly, once Italian. In the 14th Century it passed from the Counts of Ventimiglia, now just over the border, into the hands of the Grimaldis (of Monaco fame) before eventually becoming part of France in 1860.
It boasts the mildest winter evenings and warmest summer nights of all the resorts on the south coast of France, a microclimate that particularly lends itself to the growing of citrus fruit, especially lemons. There is also a number of botanical gardens but they aren’t open every day so you have to time your arrival right.
The first time I came to Menton was as part of a press trip to the Côte D’Azur. We arrived in the afternoon and stayed at a hotel a little way out of the historic centre opposite the beach. That evening, we went the opposite direction, taking a picnic and climbing into the hills behind the town, where we ate, slightly surreally, on the launching area for paragliders which overlooks Monaco rather than Menton.
We were due to depart early the next day, so I got up at crack of dawn to race into town to see what I could discover, passing first the Casino, then the covered food market, before arriving at a wonderful flea market at the base of the old town. Â
I then found my way to the grand staircase, which leads to the Basilique Saint-Michel, before heading deep into the 17th century town, whizzing around Menton’s twisting, turning streets at marathon pace. I was lucky enough to find a small museum open, La Casa dou Paigran, which gave an insight into how the houses would have looked orginally. The best thing about the old town it’s that it still feels real. Some of the houses are a little down at heel and there’s clearly a flourishing community of artists – like Jean Cocteau before them, fascinated by the light and colours of the town.
Like most tourists, I headed up to the top where the people with the best view live – those people being dead, naturally. The Vieux Chateau cemetery is all that’s left of the old castle that once occupied this site and its most famous resident is that most renowned of Englishmen, William Webb-Ellis.
It’s thought he came to Menton to recuperate from TB and then died here. During the recent World Cup, a trip to the town was top of the list for keen rugby fans wishing to make a pilgrimage to thank the great man for inventing the sport they love.
For me, there is a bigger draw even than Webb-Ellis and the charming old town (I always become obsessed with finding every last nook and cranny in places like this, which can be less than relaxing). For me, that is the grand old hotels which are scattered around the slopes of the town, where the Beau Monde once stayed to recover from illness, or gamble at the Casino.
Some of these hotels are now apartment blocks, hidden behind large gates while others have been taken over by chains and had awful plastic garden rooms attached to them. But most are still imposing, and as Arbitrix’s nostalgia-writer-in-chief, I can report I spent several happy hours imagining myself flirting with Europe’s finest aristocracy on a sun-drenched terrasse overlooking the Med.
But back to the Lemon Festival. There is a huge list of things to do but make sure you make a note of what’s free and what you need to buy a ticket for.
The Night-time Parades look fairly unmissable, as does the central attaction, the Golden Fruit Parade. Think Notting Hill Carnival, but with a lot of lemons. You can also see the floral and citrus sculptures for free in the Les Jardins Biovès, a promenade which runs through the centre of the town over the river, from the Casino to the railway station.
If I were you, I would definitely go on the tour of the Orangeraie gardens at 10am on February 22 or 29. Formerly the Grand Hotel of Venice during the Belle Epoque, it’s now an apartment block for some very lucky residents. This tour gives you the opportunity to go inside and check out the architecture, rather than peer in through the gate like I did.
A hike of the 10 most beautiful views of Menton also sounds intriguing, as do the walks to see the lemon orchards. But don’t forget of course that the main reason to go to Menton is simply to have a wander, sit and eat oysters with a cool glass of Chablis, and enoy being in France, with one foot in Italy as well.
Where to eat
If you are feeling flush and really want to splash out, then try Menton’s Michelin starred Mirazur. We didn’t eat there – but reports are naturally good!
Take advantage of being so close to Italy to get two holidays in one. There are lots of pizza joints all over town, but the best Italian we found (the chef is actually from Sicily rather than just over the border) was La Trattoria. High quality pasta and generous sharing plates.
Naturally, you will want to eat on the seafront but beware that here – and to a certain extent in the old part of town – is where the tourist traps lurk. Our hotel – the lowkey but lovely Hotel De Londres was a step away from the promenade – so we spent some time patrolling in search of restaurants with the best ambience, and decided on L’Ambata and the Paris Palace.
Both were perfectly fine, but the main attraction was inevitably the chance to sit in the sunshine drinking.
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