We drove from Italy back into France on April 1st and spent five days exploring the beautiful Cote d’Azur before heading north. The landscape in this part of France is dramatic. Driving along the coast the snow-covered Alps rise up on the right, the deep blue Mediterranean sits calmly on the left and in between picturesque towns and villages tumble down steep coastal hills. The terrain left us with no alternative but to stay on the motorway and we were once again stung by the high French road tolls – 35 Euros to travel less than 50 kilometres.
Our base on the French Riviera, or Cote d’Azur, was a campsite in the seaside resort town of Villeneuve-Loubet. This proved to be the ideal location to explore the region. We were close to the train station and bus stops and although the rolling train driver strikes had us juggling our plans we had wonderful day trips to Nice, Cannes and Monaco, as well as spending time around Villeneuve-Loubet.
It was beautifully sunny for our first day, perfect for catching up on washing. After a morning doing “housework” we biked along the promenade, past the marina filled with expensive boats and along the lovely beachfront made even more beautiful by the backdrop of snow-dusted mountains to the Cote d’Azur Racecourse. We’d seen posters advertising a show-jumping event there and thought we’d take a look. Biking into the racecourse we were blown away by the impressive line-up of horse trucks. There were hundreds of large, lavish transporters fitted out with living quarters that made our motorhome seem quite average, and with equally comfortable areas for the horses to travel in. The number plates were from all over Europe, including UK and Ireland. I suppose when you’re carting precious horseflesh across the continent you need to make sure they have the best. These equestrians had descended on this part of France for a 2-week festival of jumping, with 380,000 Euro in prize money up for grabs. That first day happened to be practice day but we stayed a while and admired some of the stunning horses and equally striking riders do their practise rounds. The next afternoon, after getting back from Nice, we went back and watched some of the competition rounds.
Nice is lovely at this time of the year. I had been before at the height of summer and it was crowded and overbearing, but on the shoulder of the season it was relaxed, and we could appreciate the elegance of this beautiful seaside city. Nice has been a magnet for the rich and influential since the 19th century and the many opulent old-world buildings transport you back to an era of extravagance. The city has many pedestrian-ways lined with high-end shops and eateries and the old town is filled with charming narrow lanes and brightly coloured buildings housing tourist shops and creperies. We walked along the wide seaside promenade, stopping to remember the awful terror attack that had taken place there less than two years ago, and then climbed the steps to Castle Hill for a beautiful view of the city, the Bay of Angels and of course, the bright blue water that gave the Cote d’Azur its name.
We had intended to go to Monaco the next day, but with the train strike still on we took the bus to Cannes instead. The home of the International Film Festival, Cannes is every bit a glamourous movie star. Like Nice, Cannes is filled with elegant 19th and early 20th century town houses, hotels and palaces in muted pastels and ivory. These grand old dames add glamour to this glitzy jewel of the French Riviera. We walked along La Croisette, the most famous boulevard in Cannes lined with plush hotels where the stars stay and ritzy cafes and bars. At the end of La Croisette is the Palais de Festivals where the International Film Festival is held every May. The red carpet is rolled out all year and a few Japanese tourists were imaging a pack of paparazzi and striking a pose. Right next door, beside the Old Port, the huge set for the TV series Ninja Warrior was standing. A few Ninjas were practicing swinging off the elaborate aluminium scaffolding. We wandered along the waterfront, stopping to admire the elegant Marie de Cannes – the town hall – and then through to the maze of charming cobbled lanes that make up Le Suquet, the old quarter. At the top of the hill a 14th century church and clock tower stand behind the Cannes golden letters. We walked up for the views back over the city and bay.
The next day the trains were running again, and we were off to Monaco, the tiny independent city-state just up the coast from Nice. In under an hour we had arrived at what must be one of the nicest train stations we’ve ever experienced. It was more like an airport terminal. Monaco is built on a steep hillside and because of this the train station has multiple levels and exits. We took a few sets of escalators and found ourselves out on a street quite high up the hill. This was great as we were walking downhill to our first destination, the tourist information centre beside the famous Monte Carlo Casino. We have both been to Monaco before and both when on bus tours, where we were only given a couple of hours to see the main sights. This time we had all day. After we got a map and were given ideas and directions by a very friendly and enthusiastic staff member we headed to the casino. Monte Carlo Casino is very grand, like a palace with an ornately carved façade and immaculate gardens. The formal garden in front was filled with bright red tulips and framed by tall palm trees. We went into the wood lined foyer and posed for photos on the staged garden swing. The doors to the Opera House, the Salon Garnier, were unexpectedly open and we took the opportunity to peek inside. It is truly magnificent – opulent and indulgent, the epitome of 19th century excess. We were lucky we had jumped at the opportunity, the security guard kindly told us we weren’t supposed to be in there and shut the doors firmly behind us. It costs 12 Euros to get into the actual casino and as we had both been in before we decided not to go any further and walked back out into the sunshine. Outside some very nice top-end cars pulled up, their occupants welcomed warmly and shown in through the private entrance. Monaco is a magnet for high-rollers.
Along a path, past some luxury boutiques and down some steps, is the Fairmont Hairpin, one of the famous corners of the Monaco Grand Prix track. It was funny to see so many people taking photos of a corner in a road, many of them clearly displaying their love of motorsport on their caps and polo shirts. Andrew tried to hide his excitement but was mighty quick to pose for a photo when I suggested it. While we were standing there a hop-on-hop-off bus went by and we briefly toyed with the idea of getting onboard – it looked quite pleasant up there on the open top deck. We changed our minds when faced with the 24 Euro ticket price – 80 NZD for the two of us. Monaco is not that big, we were prepared to walk. We headed off on foot down Avenue J F Kennedy towards the marina. Preparations for the Monaco Formula One Grand Prix were well underway, and the temporary grandstands were already in place along the waterfront. The cold start to the day had evaporated and we sat in the warm sunshine and enjoyed a well-deserved gelato before climbing the hill through the old city walls and into the historic quarter, home to the soft apricot-coloured Royal Palace. This is where the Prince of Monaco and the Grimaldi family have resided since the 13th century, looking over their small dominion from atop the rocky outcrop. You can’t escape the royal family in Monaco, souvenir shops are brimming with royal memorabilia and most businesses have a photo of the reigning Prince Albert and his beautiful Princess Charlene, or his late father Prince Rainier III and his glamorous mother Grace Kelly. Monaco is still very much in love with Princess Grace – photos of her are everywhere.
The narrow lanes of the old town are popular with tourists and are filled with eateries and artisan boutiques, as well as the more garish souvenir shops selling everything Formula One including F1 onesies, for adults. Away from the throng, overlooking the Med, are the peaceful terraced gardens of Saint Martin with paths lined with exotic greenery wind along the cliffs. Moored below in Port du Fontvieille are an abundance of luxury yachts, the shore surrounded by plush apartments and condos. Monaco is money.
I stopped to Google something, it opened the page and then when I tried to go further it wouldn’t. A moment later I received a text from my mobile provider saying I had a zero balance. We thought it was a bit odd, there wasn’t much of a balance on there, but there was some. It wasn’t until were waiting for the train back at the station when it occurred to me, Monaco isn’t a full member of the European Union, so the “free roaming” we enjoy across EU countries doesn’t apply. That one Google search used up all my credit on data fees.
On the way home, not long after we left Monaco, the train was boarded by heavily armed police who searched every cupboard and locker and went through every carriage. They were very polite, smiled and said “bonjour”, but all the same is was a bit disconcerting.
Back in Villeneuve-Loubet we walked around the waterfront to find a cash machine, an hour later we were finally home. Mr Love was grumbling. Time for a cold beer. My Fitbit read 24,380 steps.
The next morning we were on the road again, starting our journey north to Paris.
