Hôtel La Ponche
La Ponche moves with the ease of a place that has nothing to prove.
The sea drifts just beyond the windows and the rooms, only twenty-one in total, still carry the names and stories of those who passed through. Bardot, Romy, Vian. Inside, there’s a quiet elegance to the details: worn rugs underfoot, walnut wood, soft light against whitewashed walls. Days slip easily from late breakfasts to long afternoons on the terrace, where the pace holds steady and the view never asks for attention. By night, the tables are set, the air shifts, and the bar picks up where it left off, with conversation humming just above the sound of the waves. Nothing here feels staged. It just is.
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