You can’t POSSIBLY visit the French Riviera without at least driving through Monaco to see what the fuss is all about, so after almost a week in Antibes we rented a car early in the day and made the 1-hour drive east to one of the richest little countries in the world.
It was easy enough to navigate to Monaco, and unlike our little unplanned detour to Italy we didn’t lose cell phone coverage so we were able to use our phones to find our way around. I guess Monaco is so small that Orange France gives a proverbial shrug when you enter the tiny country they give you service anyway.
It was easy enough to find the waterfront and Monte Carlo, and we parked the car and looked for a place to have lunch. Our original plans included a nice sit-down meal with a view of the water, but the boy was hungry and irritable so we decided against ruining other peoples’ meal and picked up some sandwiches pour emporter instead.
We ate on a bench by the waterfront right on Blvd Albert 1er and watched the world go by. In Ferraris. And Lamborghinis. And Bentleys. At one point a phalanx of no less than 6 quarter-million-dollar-plus vehicles went by while we munched our sandwiches.
After we ate we decided to walk the 200 feet up to La Roche, a high outcropping that juts out into the Mediterranean, to check out the sights. Prized for a few thousand years because of the defensive advantage it afforded, La Roche is now the site of the Palace of Monaco, shops, residences, and a very popular Oceanographic Museum.
We walked by the palace, watched the guard change (similar to the Beefeaters of Buckingham but without the super tall lids), and found the museum perched on a bluff overlooking Port de Fontvielle, a gorgeous little harbor overstuffed with megayachts.
The ground and upper floors of the museum were very museum-like: there were art exhibits, old dive suits, and a hall filled with displays of all kinds of sharks. Braeden wandered around the latter for at least 45 minutes, peering into glass jars and staring with wonder up at the full-sized replica of a whale shark “skeleton” hanging from the ceiling.
He was particularly interested in a 30-foot long interactive display of to-scale images of dozens of shark species. Even at 4 he’s able to name nearly 10 of them, and he moved slowly down the display, watching the sharks move, playing with the display, and asking “Daddy, what kind of shark is THAT?”
The bottom floors of the museum were reserved for an aquarium, about which we didn’t tell Braeden until we finished our tour of the upper floors. We took him down the stairs and were immediately faced with a huge tank filled with amazing reef fish and sharks. We sat in front of the tank for a good 15 minutes, silently watching them glide around.
The aquarium was small but just what we needed. We spent a some time looking at the exhibits (in particular a tank filled with some spectacular jellyfish we’d never seen before) and then we went back outside.
There was a “Little Train” right across the street from the museum and we decided that a ride on the train would be a perfect way to see some of Monaco without exhausting ourselves.
[There seems to be a “Little Train” in every town we’ve visited in France. They’re small cars mocked up like steam engines that pull several cars full of tourists around while playing a commentary about various parts of town. We’d always meant to take one in our other destinations but never got around to it.]
We bought our tickets and hopped on for the ride. The train took us back down “La Roche” (Still no sign of Sean Connery. Or Nic Cage. It’s not like either one of them are doing anything right now, WTF?), around the harbor on part of the Grand Prix course, up through Monte Carlo, past the famous casino, (omigod they shot Casino Royale there! HOLY SHIT IS THAT DANIEL CRAIG? Oh, no, it’s just some guy. Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to grab you like that. I just got excited.) and back up La Roche.
The train dropped us off back in front of the Oceanographic Museum and we walked back down from La Roche to the harbor.
On the way down we noticed a huge public pool right on the harbor, so we moseyed on over to see what was up. By this time we were hot and tired and a dip in a pool sounded refreshing, so we ponied up the small entrance fee, changed, and jumped in. It was around 4pm by the time we got in the pool and we stayed for an hour, splashing around and cooling off.
We marveled at the surreality (is that a word? F**k it, it should be) of our surroundings: from the pool we could see the hills of Monaco above us, encrusted with multimillion-dollar Beaux Arts and Art Deco homes, and right behind us were row upon row of glittering megayachts sparkling in the sun.
We could barely keep the stupid grins off our faces.
At around 5pm we climbed out of the pool, showered off and changed back into our street clothes, then headed to a row of outdoor pubs we saw lining the harbor on our way to the pool.
We found one that looked enticing and settled in at a communal table with some locals. The drinks were refreshing and the food was satisfying, and after we had our fill we headed back to the car, hopped in, and made the drive back to Antibes.
Picasso
Pablo Picasso spent quite a bit of time in Antibes, and the castle in which he had a studio is now a museum. We wanted to visit the museum on day three or four of our stay in Antibes, but we’ve learned that Braeden has to be in just the right mood for a museum (who can blame him? He’s four, and paintings aren’t as stimulating for a four-year-old as they are for a 40-year-old) so we made two aborted attempts to visit before we succeeded close to the end of our stay.
It was worth it. There were the requisite Picasso paintings, of course, and a huge collection of dishes he painted, well, just because he was interested in dishes for a few months. But what was really fascinating was a temporary photography exhibit the museum had in place.
A few photographers had spent a great deal of time with Picasso in his later years, and there were two rooms full of photographs of the master in his studio, which turned out to be the room next door.
Braeden’s favorite was a photo of Picasso in the bathtub getting ready for an exhibition of his works.
“Look, Daddy, Picasso’s taking a tubby!”
Le Cap
Near the end of our stay we finally got organized and headed to Cap d’Antibes to see what the fuss was all about. We had heard that there was a walkway by the sea that ran for a few miles and that it was stunning, so we figured we should see it.
After a little research we hopped a bus and headed out to Cap d’Antibes. For those who don’t know anything about it, it’s a “Cape” (think Cape Cod or Cape May…yeah, I’m from the Northeast so this is geared to Northeasterners…quit grumbling and fire up Google Maps already) that sits between Antibes and Juan les Pins. It has a rocky, picturesque coastline, and because of the incredible vistas it affords it’s chock full of huge holy-shit-how-much-do-you-think-their-property-taxes-are mansions.
The bus ride was only about 15 minutes, and we bounded out onto the street in the hot sunshine. Juliann fired up her phone and navigated us to a narrow street that led down towards the ocean, and soon we stepped out onto a rocky promontory. The Mediterranean was her usual deep blue, waves crashed onto the stony shore, megayachts steamed back and forth in the distance, and the coast stretched out before us to the left and to the right.
We headed left, back towards Antibes, along a concrete pathway that wound its way through the rocks.
Our time in Europe taught us at least one important thing about our boy: he gets bored to death walking around cities, but the kid will hike for miles if the terrain is challenging. We let him take the lead and we hiked along Cap d’Antibes for about an hour, enjoying some of the most beautiful coastline we’ve ever seen.
A couple of miles later we reached our destination: Plage Joseph, one of the little beach clubs tucked into the crags of the Cap. We wiped the sweat from our brows, asked for a couple of chaises by the water, and stripped down to our suits. The water was clear and calm, the service was excellent, and the day was complete.
Oh, and I stepped on a sea urchin on our final swim, as many of you already know. I ended up with about nine spines in the bottom of my right foot but we took care of it and I ended up being no worse for wear.
Adieu, France!
After our usual two weeks it was time to say goodbye to Antibes. We packed up, dropped our keys in the mailbox, and climbed aboard the TGV for the 5 hour ride to Paris, where we would stay for the night at the Novotel at Gare de Lyon and catch our afternoon flight to Mauritius the next day.
We arrived in Paris a little before 5pm to find it cold and rainy. Because we were slowly moving southward throughout the summer and into September we didn’t have to deal with colder weather, so the fifty-ish temperatures in Paris caught us by surprise.
Our goals before we caught our flight were threefold:
- Have a nice French meal
- Get dessert at Berthillon
- Rest and relax as much as possible before our long journey to Mauritius
To be honest, I really didn’t care that much about (1). (3) was important but kind of lame.
(2) was the real goal, and we were dead serious about it.
We ditched our stuff at the Novotel, pocketed our umbrellas and took the Metro over to the Marais where Juliann had pinpointed a restaurant she wanted to try: Au Bourguignon du Marais. By the time we arrived we were chilled to the bone and grateful to get a seat inside the warm and inviting restaurant.
Our meals arrived shortly and Juliann’s Boeuf Bourguignon was the winner of the table. When we had eaten our fill we settled our tab, popped open our umbrellas, and marched out into the rainy night once again, this time in a quest for our last taste of Berthillion’s delicious ice cream.
It was too cold to get a cone to go and wander the streets, so we snagged a table in Berthillon’s Salon du The. Braeden and Juliann ordered their favorites, Raspberry and Creole (rum raisin), respectively. I asked for a scoop each of chocolate and hazelnut. Mine was good, really good, but didn’t hold a candle to the champion, the always delicious Creole. J’s choice won the table again.
We got into bed early, watched a little TV, and the next morning we had breakfast (after searching for nearly an hour for a restaurant recommended by the Novotel front desk staff that ended up being closed), packed up, and took a cab to the airport.
As we drove out of Paris we said all our usual goodbyes, but this time we were sad because we were saying them for good.
Goodbye Notre Dame.
Goodbye Eiffel Tower.
Goodbye Mont Blanc.
Goodbye Calanques.
Goodbye Aix.
And finally, Goodbye France.
Our 2 1/2 months in France were wonderful. It wasn’t a vacation – I don’t think anything over a few weeks can really be a vacation – and there were definitely rough spots and challenges. But being able to spend all of our time together in one of the most beautiful countries in the world was a huge gift for which we are still deeply grateful.
As we sat in the airport waiting to board our 12-hour flight to Mauritius, we reflected on our time in France and what we thought we were going to miss. Croissants. Delicious wine. Beautiful little towns.
We knew, intellectually, that Mauritius was going to be a culture shock and we took time to appreciate the things we loved about the places that had been our homes for the summer.
It turned out we had no idea how much of a culture shock our new island home was going to be.
A bientôt!
Definitely loving Antibes…don’t think I could have left.