Airbnb Experiences: Sailing in Antibes

Salt clung to my skin, almost starting to itch. I moved across the padded seat so that my toasted shoulders were hidden under the sunshade set up over the ship’s helm. Looking out across the eye-watering cerulean of the Mediterranean Sea, my gaze rested on sun-bleached rocks that rose from the water like a giant’s fists.

A group of three boys practiced flips off the side of these rocks, while a trio of girls walked cautiously to the edge before leaping out and into the water. 

I’d been up there myself, just thirty minutes prior, and had launched my own body down into the water as well (despite having promised myself NEVER again to jump from anything into water after my flop from a 30-foot bridge a few summers ago…). But ce la vie—it is what you do as a kook in the summer at Billionaire’s Bay, and I hadn’t been able to resist. 

Exploring Cap d’Antibes via Airbnb Experiences

Summary:

• The experience: We chose this one

• Length: 7 hours (10 am to 5 pm)

• Provided: Captain, Boat, Water Toys, Drinking Water, Pastries

• What to Bring: Lunch, Towels, Dramamine if You Get Seasick

• What to Know: You’ll sail along the coast of Antibes. The hosts are very knowledgeable and have lots of fun personal stories to share. You may or may not be able to sail (dependent on the wind).

• Price: $177 per guest

• Max no. of guests: 8

Arriving at the Société des Régates d’Antibes

We thanked our Uber driver, Merci Beaucoup!, who had driven us from Cannes to the marina in Antibes, and stepped out of the car in the parking lot of the Société des Régates d’Antibes. We’d been nervous about missing our boat, so had opted for a car on the way there. On the way back, we would take the train.

Antibes is near both Nice (30 minutes by train) and Cannes (20 minutes by train), and the train station is only a ten-minute walk from the Société des Régates d’Antibes.

We were dressed in matching sundresses and hats, inspired by the ICONIC (and endlessly kooky) ladies of Bravo’s Love Hotel. Looking trés fabulous (if we did so say ourselves), we scanned the dock and quickly spotted a woman in a blue polo shirt and a suntanned shirtless man, whom we immediately recognized as Cédric (our captain and the host for our Airbnb sailing adventure). 

Shoes off, picnic stored

We approached the boat and listened as the woman (who was Cédric’s wife, Nhatalie—and our second captain and host) instructed another guest to remove her shoes and place them in a little woven basket that was on the dock.

We followed suit, removing our own sandals before stepping onto a small wood-and-metal platform at the stern. Then we crossed the deck to the helm, where a U-shaped seating area was located. It encircled the large chrome steering wheel and faced the stairs down into the boat’s cabin.

Taking our seats, we watched as the final two guests arrived.

Cédric (who’d put on a white shirt as soon as we’d arrived) moved about the boat, checking on things inside and out. Nhatalie brought over our bags and the bag of shoes. With everyone on board, she officially greeted us and asked if there was anything we needed stored in the fridge. 

Boy, did we have things to store!

This was an all-day sailing adventure, and though the Airbnb Experience mentioned there’d be drinking water and snacks provided, it was recommended that we bring our own picnic lunch; we’d certainly taken those instructions seriously.

Our Airbnb in Cannes was located above a fromagerie, Le Fromager Gourmet, where we’d fallen completely in love with two men who had sliced us thick pieces of cheese and butter (and who’d laughed at our antics as we’d hummed and hawed over the right rosé and giggled gleefully over a package of mortadella).

We’d also spent the previous afternoon browsing through other little shops, finding flavored almonds and an olive spread for myself (because I don’t eat soft cheeses or mortadella or paté), all of which were our chosen pairings for the two baguettes that protruded from our canvas totes. We then wandered through the famous Cannes market (Marché Forville) for strawberries and olives.

We’d also brought extra water on account of our almost passing out from heat exhaustion during our walk from the train station to our Airbnb the previous day, and some Coca-Zeros (we’d become quite dependent on these lightly caffeinated sodas during the trip). Who has time for jet lag when the sun doesn’t seem to set, and les Français never seem to sleep?? 

I prioritized putting the cheese, mortadella, and paté into the small boat fridge along with one of our bottles of rosé, then hopped back up from the cabin to retake my seat and prepare for the day’s adventure. 

Coffee and pain au chocolat

Speaking in quick French to one another, Nhatalie took the wheel while Cédric flicked off the ropes that had tied us to the dock, moving around as we began to leave the berth, pulling up the fenders as we went.

As we exited the marina, we passed massive yachts, some of the biggest in the world, and I couldn’t help but think of Below Deck as we made our way out into the ocean.

Nhatalie steered us to the right, and Cédric asked if anyone wanted coffee. I never say no to coffee. Oui, si vous plais. A moment later, a tray with three glass cups steaming with coffee was brought out from the cabin, followed by a tray of croissants and pain au chocolat.

I took a sip of the rich coffee. It was surprisingly delicious, almost chocolatey. How had Cédric made it in that tiny little French press in the boat’s cabin? My own daily French presses (back in the States) never tasted this good! Everything is just a little better when you’re on a sailboat coasting past sandy shorelines and crystalline water.

I alternated sips of coffee with bites of the delightfully flaky pain au chocolat, then sat back and listened to Nhatalie as she explained that the town we saw to our right, medievel yet charming in its appearance, was Old Town Antibes.

Old Town Antibes

From our position on the water, we could see the golden buildings rise from behind a stone wall along the shore. 

“It’s more French style, you see,” Nhatalie said, her hands on the wheel and her eyes gazing out over the bleached stone to where the Italian influences were balanced with French. 

Having become part of France during the annexation of Provence in 1481, Antibes has been a part of the country for many years, despite first being a Greek then a Roman town. 

There were centuries of war in the area, and Antibes was one of the southernmost areas of defense for France, so the architecture reflects this. Listen, I hate to admit that war-based architecture can be something beautiful, but the Fort Carré was designed to prioritize both defensive features, like the ramparts we could see from the boat, as well as the mathematical principles of architecture (ensuring it was also aesthetically pleasing).

It seems to me that in France, beauty is never left by the wayside, even when aesthetics are arguably less important than functionality.

I wished we’d had time to walk through Old Town Antibes and added it to my to-do list for my next visit (because I’d be back, of course!).

Cédric had retreated to the back of the boat, where a fishing pole was set up. He would occasionally remark on this or that while Nhatalie gave us informative insights about the area and anecdotes about living the life of a French sailing family.

Cédric is living his best life, we whispered to one another. It seemed quite French of him to be able to find a way to do what he loved (fishing) while still making a pretty good living.

Nhatalie seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to us while steering in the direction of the Cap d’Antibes. We chatted about the types of fish they usually caught (always eaten after), how they’d seen dolphins on one of their sailing tours the previous year, and how fun it was to meet guests from all over the world.

We spoke briefly about the haze that blanketed the view (it was difficult to see the Cannes islands and Italy, both of which are normally visible) due to hotter ocean temperatures…

It was a reminder that, despite feeling like I had escaped the troubling environmental issues of my own country (and France being the host of the Third UN Ocean Conference that month), there was work to be done here—and everywhere.

Fake money cove & private beaches

As we continued to make our way toward the Cap d’Antibes, we saw a trail where people were walking with backpacks along the coast.

“You can walk all the way to the beaches,” Nhatalie explained. 

We noticed a few areas along the shoreline where the beaches had been made private, closed off from others unless they could afford to pay to access the shore. This, although illegal, was something that happened when there was enough money involved.

We continued on, passing “Billionaire’s Bay,” where we’d later come back to anchor and play.

“It was once called Anse de l’Argent Faux,” Nhatalie said, “fake money.”

According to Google’s AI results, the bay was given this name because its waters sparkled like riches… If you want to believe that, you can, but I’m pretty sure it had more to do with the people who started to frequent it on their big boats back in the day. Nouveau riche is a French word, after all.

Sailing around the Cap d’Antibes

We rounded around the furthest outlet of land, the Cap d’Antibes, and Nhatalie pointed out one of her favorite beaches, lined with pine trees. 

“The only thing,” she explained, “is that there are no cars. This is good and makes it better, but you have to carry all of what you need with you if you want to go to these beaches.”

That sounded like my type of beach, too, and I thought about how last summer, two friends and I had canoed out to an island for a camping trip along the shoreline. It had felt wonderfully hidden and peaceful, away from any traffic sounds. Of course, this requires careful pack-in, pack-out dedication, but it’s so worth it for the feeling of being away from it all and limiting car pollution.

We curved around the Cap d’Antibes and caught a glimpse of a longer shoreline dotted with white buildings, like the Golfe-Juan hotel. White buoys floated in the water, and other sailboats were anchored in this area. It gave us a full view of modern Antibes, and if we peered through the haze, we could almost see the islands off of Cannes.

When we’d had a moment to gaze out across the coast, Nhatalie turned the boat around to head back the way we’d come.

“We’ll anchor, picnic, swim, and then if the wind picks up, we can sail,” she said.

As we rocked forward, the up-down motion of the sailboat soothing to some of us, and not so soothing to others, Nhatalie told us about her and Cédric’s children. She was a proud mom, and her children knew how to sail, windsurf, and dive. They’d competed in water sports in the past, and as a family, had spent months living on their boat.

She asked us, curiously, about America’s time-off policy. 

“Is it true you only get two weeks?”

“For a lot of people,” we replied, “though some of us have more or ‘unlimited’, but we don’t often take advantage of it.”

“In France, it is a minimum of five weeks,” she said, thoughtfully. 

The sun glinted across the crests of mini waves that were created by the consistent churn of boats. We neared Billionaire’s Bay once more, and Cédric, who’d finished with his fishing and had been checking this and that in the cabin, suddenly popped up to ask if anyone was feeling sick.

When no one replied in the affirmative (despite one guest feeling a bit ill), he gave a short nod and explained that we could then go into Billionaire’s Bay and anchor to enjoy some leisure time. “If no one is sick, we can go in. It is rocky in there. But it is good if we can go in. It is our favorite place. Our playground.”

I would soon learn that he was not exaggerating and that once upon a time, he’d been quite the cliff-diving daredevil. Ah, Cédric, not surprised!

Billionaire’s Bay: Struggling to Stand-Up Paddleboard, Snorkel, and Santé 

We anchored in the cove out a ways from the semi-circular sandy beach where other visitors were lying out on towels and chairs. We were parallel to a medium-sized rock where a young boy in blue boardshorts was climbing. Larger cliffs rose behind it, and a pathway was visible running down toward the beach. It continued to more rocks, and a stairwell into the water.

Nhatalie and Cédric unhooked two stand-up paddleboards and a dinghy from the back of the boat and arranged them in the water, hooking a carabiner to each so that they wouldn’t float away. 

We were instructed to only jump from the back of the boat, never the sides, and we immediately launched ourselves into the water. 

Two of us hopped onto the blue stand-up paddleboard. I was eager to take it around nearer to the shore and to get some movement in my body. I’ve paddleboarded quite a few times in my life, so I had zero hesitation as I prepared to launch myself to my feet while my other friend stayed seated. 

“BUTT IN FACE,” she yelled as I realized that my balance was not quite as agile as I’d thought it was and I had to crouch to avoid tipping us over. 

Boats were constantly coming in and out of the bay, and this had created waves that were bigger than I had originally anticipated.

With shaky legs and more than a few almost tipsy-overs, we explored the watery landscapes. I did two laps around before returning and, upon seeing two other guests wearing snorkel masks, decided that that was my next activity.

Hooking the paddleboard back to the boat, I borrowed one of the masks and jumped back off into the water.

There were so many FISH! Right there! 

The ocean floor was covered in finger-shaped limu, and I tried to dive deep, reaching colder water, to take a closer look.

Later, on the boat, Nhatalie would pull out a fish identification chart, and we’d be able to read about the fish that swam around us (about the size of my fist and blue), but unfortunately, I can’t remember what they were called.

Surfacing from my swim, I saw (with intense jealousy) that my friends were already sipping on a glass of rosé each and spreading cheese on crackers. 

“Hey!” I shouted while treading water. 

Then I swam over quickly and hauled myself back on deck.

“We didn’t think your water adventures would be over so quickly,” they said.

That was a good assumption, I had to give them that, but “I can have some cheese and rosé and go back to my adventures after! Santé.”

Billionaire’s Bay: Jumping Off Rocks (Because How Could I Resist?)

The sound of shouting could be heard over the gentle lapping of water against the boat, and we watched as the boy in the blue boardshorts climbed up the rock once again. He was shouting down to his friends and a group of adults who were watching him from a boat anchored not far from the rock.

Four of the other children jumped out from that boat (as well as one of the grown-ups) and swam over to the rock to climb up with the boy.

It became clear that one of the girls was terrified of heights, and her mom called from the boat, “watch her!”

I could hear her say in a lower voice, “I don’t know if I want her up there.” But, of course, it was too late, and with the urging of the other children (as well as who I assume was the father), the girl made it to the top. 

One by one, the children launched themselves from the cliff. The first girl, resurfacing after hitting the water, cried out, “that was the coolest thing ever!”

When it was finally the scared little girl’s turn, she stood trembling for a long time, unable to fully let go of the rock behind her. The rest of the kids shouted encouraging things while the dad sat on the rock and held her hand to steady her. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to jump. Her brother started to count down from ten, and she shouted, “STOP! THAT’S NOT HELPING.”

“Oh, come on, Lily. Just jump already!” Her little brother yelled from the water. 

It was such a sibling moment, and I had to chuckle to myself. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but finally she launched herself into the water below. When she surfaced, her reaction was unlike her friend’s before her: “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I will never do that again.”

I wondered if I’d have the guts to jump. 

I was feeling more frightened of climbing up to the jumping point than actually jumping.

“Will you jump?” Asked Nhatalie from beside me.

“I think so,” I replied, studying the rock.

“Many people do. In the peak of summer, there is so many people on that rock. A line of people waiting to jump. Some people jump from the high ones. They wear the special shoes so they can climb up to them and then jump. You know, Cédric used to jump from that one,” she pointed to what appeared to me as an epic tower of rock, “and do flips. Sometimes the sounds are not so good when they hit the water.”

Of course, Cédric used to flip off the highest rocks… he’s a true captain of adventure. Captain Kook! Impressed!

There’s something so iconically “summer” about jumping into a body of water. Why is that?

Maybe it’s because I spent so many childhood days shook to my core as I waited for my turn to plunge off the rock at Waimea Bay (25-30 feet high) only to have my bathing suit top fly off and my bathing suit bottoms go so far up my butt they basically didn’t exist anymore. Or the number of times I clambered along the broken lava rock wall to Doris Duke’s pool and attempted plunges into the water. That was the ultimate SABS (see and be seen) destination of pre-teen summers. You never knew which boys would be there, showing off how many flips they could do into the water below. 

Whatever the reason, the draw to this type of activity has yet to die in me, despite the catastrophic launch from a 30-foot bridge a few summers ago during a wakeboarding trip. I’d landed on my side, and thought, hmm, maybe I’m dead?

Still, as I stared across the glinting waves of the Mediterranean Sea, I was filled with the urge to try from this smaller rock as I watched tourists and locals climb and jump into the bay.

Making the leap

I swam over, and was careful to observe how the children climbed (they chose the left side vs the right). A couple that was climbing up before me struggled up the right side.

I pulled myself onto the first slippery portion before moving to the left and finding a handhold and a foothold, hauling myself up to the flat portion.

The woman jumped first, landing in the water below with a splash. Her husband did not move so quickly. 

“I have a thing about heights,” he said by way of explanation.

From above him, the boy in blue boardshorts (who’d graduated to a slightly higher part of the rock, which required him to launch himself out far enough to miss the gradient), told him, “it’s not scary. You just have to do it.”

From below, his father in a wonderful French accent called out, “there is nothing below. It’s deep. I have done this many times. It is better to just jump. Do not let yourself think.”

That felt like the motto of this entire trip, and I smiled. 

Don’t let yourself think!

The man asked if I wanted to jump first, and I said okay, since waiting can often lead me to second-guess myself.

I did what the man in the water had said. 

I did not give myself time to think.

I jumped.

It was the perfect height to fall from. 

Nothing hurt when I hit the water. There was enough time in the air for me to feel that falling sensation, but it was not so long that I was afraid.

FUN!

When I popped back up to the surface, I cheered as the man who’d been up there with me conquered his fear of heights and jumped as well.

Back on the boat, I stayed on the deck for a while, drying off on a towel and reading my book before grabbing a Coca-Zero from downstairs and eating some olives. 

The sun was hot, and I knew at some point I’d have to go under the sunshade, but for the time being, it felt good to be outside, the salt from the water drying on my body. Cédric came out of the cabin to explain that there was not enough wind to sail, so we would have more time to relax in the bay. Contentedly, I continued to read my silly Paris romance book and sipped my Coke.

This, I thought, is a good life. 

If you’re spending summer in the South of France, I highly recommend this Airbnb Experience. You get to swim, the hosts are locals and can tell you all about the town and surrounding areas, and you get to feel like a kid again (if just for one cliff jump).