On our last day in Southern France we did a surface scratching visit of the Azure Coast-otherwise known as the French Riviera.
CANNES
Home of the famous film festival, Cannes had its fair share of glitz and glimmer. It was also full of traffic, so we didn’t spend a lot of time there. We drove around Cannes the night before, enjoyed the edges of the town the next day and moved on. This was probably the wisest decision for two reasons. One, there were much better things to see as we drove west; and Two, too many renditions of “look at all this TRAFFIC…where are all these people GOING?" coming from one particular member of our traveling party can make one go crazy after a while.
Side Note: The worst part about driving in the french riviera isn’t the winding roads, sheer cliffs or even (gasp) the occasional bouts of traffic. The worst part are the kamikaze motorcyclists. Those guys are C.R.A.Z.Y. It seems as though traditional road rules to not apply if you are on two wheels instead of four in Southern France. It wasn’t uncommon for us to see them zip through red lights, cut off every other car on the road, and scatter pedestrians like you would a flock of pigeons.
The most memorable thing about Cannes? The yachts! Hundreds upon hundreds of them! And most of them parked no more than an inch from each other. It was a little insane.
The second most memorable thing about Cannes? I put my fingers in the Mediterranean for the first time in my life. (Don’t you just love brand new experiences?)
NICE
Nice (pronounced with a strong “ee" a la “geese" instead of “mice") is officially a favorite city of mine. The reasons for this are multifold. Here’s just a few:
First, the architecture. It has everything that is stereotypical of Provence and the French Riviera all wrapped up into one. The crooked windows, painted shutters, stucco, interesting curves and crooks that work because they don’t really belong. It is a city with old and new buildings that refuse to compete against each other. And OH, don’t get me started with all the colors!
Second, it had a vibrant culture. I mean, really, who can argue with a city who thinks giant disco balls count as christmas decorations? And what’s with the naked buddha zen guys?
I love to guess what people’s stories are (have I mentioned that I’m an unabashed people watcher?). Like this guy for instance:
You know this man is a pulitzer waiting to happen.
Third, you know a town has to be pretty awesome if people are willing to lay out on a bunch of rocks to get some sun instead of driving a few miles east or west to get the sand.
MONACO
Monaco. Our last city for the day. How to describe Monaco? In one word: opulent. It is probably the first place I’ve ever been where I truly felt like a minion. I’ve never seen so much overt wealth in one location. Luxury cars aren’t just the majority in Monaco, they are the norm. People walk around in high designer clothing like it’s no thang. We saw one private yacht that was bigger than a cruise liner. It was amazing!
Here’s a small sample of the cars we saw:
Not too shabby, eh?
This is where Princess Grace Kelly is buried.
And this is the Monte Carlo Casino.
Funny story about the casino:
I was really excited to see the Casino. Perhaps I allowed my imagination to take me a bit too far: I had envisioned myself gliding up the marble steps, receiving admiring glances from those around me who wished they had my poise and grace, and being ushered into the main room, a female James Bond, mysterious, on a mission. The reality? First we were stopped by two guards who wouldn’t allow us into the casino until 8pm. Undaunted, we waited. I took some photos of the pretty Christmas decorations. It wouldn’t matter that we didn’t quite look the part at the moment-windswept, in 3 day old clothes and a decidedly rumpled look. We carried ourselves gracefully and that would make up for the frumpiness. When the clock struck eight o’five we held our heads high and marched into the building- my James Bond visions gaining speed yet again, until- CRASH! (that was the sound of my visions shattering). In reality it sounded more like an audible “Whaaaaat?" as the group of us stopped in shock looking at the sign in front of us. 10 euro! They were going to charge us 10 euro just to get into the casino. Not to play, just to watch. All the sashaying in the world wouldn’t fool these guys- we were common folk, and you had to pay the price to breath air with the upper class. Preposterous!
Trying to hold on to our dignity we stood around in the lobby for a few minutes, tested out the bathrooms (ROTATING TOILET SEATS!), and high tailed it out of there. Pish Posh you snobbos- we don’t need your stinking casino! We’re going to Italy to have pizza! And so we did.
I had my revenge though. No camera’s were allowed inside the Casino building, but I took this one anyway. It’s horrible quality and not much of anything but its a photo and I took it and I don’t even feel bad.
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