Sandy’s Grand Riviera Railway Journey Review – Toksvig’s wonder-filled travel tale is a book lover’s fantasy | television

‘toWell at that!! exclaimed a delighted Sandy Toksvig at the start of her exhilarating new journey, the Grand Riviera Railway Journey. “Marseille!” There’s no denying that the city of Marseille stands behind it, the starting point for a four-loop journey east along the southern French coast that will include picturesque fishing villages, luxury resorts and exotic corners.

Shows where we watch celebrities go on vacation come in many different stripes, but it all boils down to pressing our noses to the screen and wishing we were there while the famous friend is having a good time. The most honest thing to do for a famous person is to lean on them and be excited about them. Toksvig does this, constantly squirming and laughing with pleasure as she tells us how wonderful, wonderful, and beautiful the Riviera is. It seems as if she is right.

Her first stop is Sanary-sur-Mer, where she experiences the harbinger of a well-planned stay: the view from the hotel window – of a delightful harbor giving way to a gentle, gentle sea. It’s what I imagined and hoped it would be, but it was a bit more magical. Off you go, down to the waterside for the first of many meetings with interesting locals where language won’t be a barrier to familiarity.

“How nice that mityeuu is,” says Toksvig, veering into Inspector Clouzot’s vowels as she meets the man who claims Point pointLocal wooden boats are so called because they are pointed. Their subsequent conversation is bogged down a bit by his limited English and her poor French, but the azure waters are too beautiful for them or us.

Upon her return to Earth, Toksvig announces that she “feels a new novel coming” before laughing the first big laugh of the series: “Hey!” She’s screaming from the hotel balcony, speaking to no one in particular. “I’m a writer! Thank you!” We soon learn how Aldous Huxley, Bertolt Brecht, Thomas Mann and other writers found refuge here in the 1930s, after Germans fled Nazi persecution. Toksvig puzzles in amazement when she thinks of Brecht, perhaps sitting in the same place where she is now enjoying some café culture, playing a satirical song about Hitler to amuse her fellow coffee-drinkers.

When a subsequent visit to Hyères revolves around a visit to the chateau and gardens created between the wars by Edith Wharton, author of The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth, it becomes clear that Toksvig may have mis-sold her series to attract as many punters as possible: yes, she travels by train but this is actually Sandy Toksvig’s great literary journey to the Riviera, a sweet fantasy for book lovers. After I met and befriended American arts and travel writer Lani Goodman at the obligatory coffee shop sorcererthe prospect of reaching She Wharton triggers another explosion of at least half-sincere joy: “This is one of the best days of my life! Let’s take ice cream with us!”

And while one wonders whether Toksvig’s gorgeous old suitcase is secretly full of books — “I didn’t bring a lot of stuff, because I have a theory that France has shops” — her recitation of a Wharton poem concludes what, to the bookish traveler, seems like a perfect day that a large segment of viewers will long to emulate.

However, the theme of literary sophistication is a little worn, and does not extend to Toksvig’s novel, which is not immune to repetition and cliché. In the 1930s, Sanary-sur-Mer was “the beating heart of European intellectual life”, while a few decades later, Saint-Tropez became “the beating heart of bohemian life in the 1960s”. Meanwhile, Bouillabaisse is “the region’s most famous dish,” although if you decide to play the celebrity documentary drinking game where you take a shot every time the presenter drops the bomb, that’s your only child in the first episode.

Beyond Hyères is the famous Saint-Tropez, where an exclusive beach club graced the presence of Allen Ginsberg, Marlon Brando and Brigitte Bardot. Overall, however, the city causes the show to lose its artistic energy and slip into the kind of spectacle that any light-hearted travel story would pump out. A game of petanque with some very French-looking men never sparks any memorable thought or conversation, nor does Toksvig’s single sample of a Tropezian tarte with brioche and butter. When it seems that no one is willing or able to chat productively, the situation is saved by a Bradford couple on holiday who claim to be QI fans – Toksvig surprises them with a QI-worthy story about how Saint-Tropez was named after a headless horseman, and all is well again.

The first leg of the journey ends at a hilltop vineyard, where the owners don’t have much to say but the organic rosé, its flavor refreshed by the warm salt breeze, sounds wonderful. It’s something to write home about.