When travel plans go wrong, we could all learn from the French

April 15, 2026 — 5:00am

The mood among the 170-odd passengers is almost giddy with excitement as Club Med 2, the five-masted naval pride of French all-inclusive pioneer Club Med, glides out of Nice port on a Friday evening in October to the dramatic opening bars of Vangelis’ 1492: Conquest of Paradise.

One of a series of mini-cruises scheduled in the Mediterranean in the northern hemisphere shoulder season, the three-night itinerary we’re embarking on is short on time but big on glamour. We will wake on Saturday morning at anchor outside Santa Margherita Ligure on the Italian Riviera and spend Sunday shoulder to shoulder with superyachts in the Gulf of Saint-Tropez, before disembarking in Nice on Monday after one final lunch onboard.

There’s a lot to pack into the next 72 hours – and the energy among the majority French crowd onboard suggests everyone is ready to make the most of every minute of it.

Mother Nature, however, seems to have other ideas.

The sea is agitated in Italy, but the braver souls among us try their hand at kayaking and waterskiing from the ship’s watersports platform while the conditions are still manageable. The rest of us venture to Portofino, still postcard-perfect, even in autumn rain.

Murmurs of even rougher weather in Saint-Tropez are passed around with glasses of champagne during Saturday night’s pre-dinner cancan show. By Sunday morning hearsay has become fact: the captain announces over the tannoy that it’s too gusty for the tenders to operate and so we’re unable to leave the boat. The pretty, pastel-tinted buildings huddled around Saint-Tropez’s port are within touching distance – yet our current view of them is the closest we’ll get.

As an Australian who has lived in France for most of my adult life, I agree that many of the most-cited stereotypes about French people are true: they can be rude, are proud, and strike at the drop of the hat. Yet maybe it’s the unpredictability the latter triggers that means they understand even the best laid plans can go awry, and adapt accordingly. Add in a dusting of c’est la vie, and they seldom waste emotional energy on things outside their control.

So there’s no griping, no whinging and definitely no demands for compensation from the chef de village, or resort manager, who is looking so relaxed at the ship’s reception that it takes me a beat to realise he’s not sitting back with his feet up on the desk.

Amid the general good humour as we get on with our unexpected day confined to the ship, a couple of scenes make me fall a little bit more in love with my adopted country and its people: the groups who have decided that the corridors are the perfect width for a petanque court, and those who, once the wind drops by mid-afternoon, drag tables from the dining room onto the deck and cover them with white linen tablecloths, turning the buffet lunch into an afternoon-long, multi-course affair under the sun.

Yet another storm cloud is looming on the horizon, as we learn just before dinner. Today’s turbulent waters have whipped the anchor into a tangle, and the specialists who can unpick the knot won’t arrive until the morning. The ship’s not going anywhere – and certainly not taking us back to Nice. As we line up to put our name down for the bus transfers that will transport us instead the following morning, the mood still remains overwhelmingly nice – even if people are at risk of missing planes and trains.

A little over 12 hours later, we’re inching through Saint-Tropez’s notorious traffic on a quartet of buses that look like they’ve come straight from the school run. There’s still no moaning or grumbling, just smiles at memories of a glorious weekend on a glorious ship.

As for me, I’m leaving with a new appreciation for the French approach to life. Travels don’t always go according to plan. Yet, rather than getting worked up about what we might be owed or missed out on, we could all be a little more French – and just get on with it.