Fabulous French Riviera 

The last eight days are among the fastest we’ve ever experienced.  Famously famous for its beaches, clear aquamarine and indigo waters, its glamorous old school resorts and casinos, and pure sun romance, Stan and I were graced to be there with time to relax, get a little sun, eat good food, drink wine, and have our daughter, Shea, with us in the South of France, Cote d’Azur. This is a fabulously fabulous place; one that beach-lovers might say is near heaven, but when our bubbly Shea is around, the atmosphere is not only the best anyone might imagine, it’s almost slapstick fun. 

We started in the nearby resort town of Nice, in a spacious, airy, modern condo looking out on the marina. There was a pink and yellow sunrise every morning.  Our area was called Venissieux.  We sunned on the pebbly beach, laughed at young teens and a guy on an inner tube in the rough surf, ate great food, and drank wine in the evening on the long terrace where we danced, sang to old music, reminisced, and laughed some more.  Those guys we saw in the surf??  Sometimes the gang of them patiently waited, then, when a big wave came in, it sent them tumbling and rolling.  All we could hear were shrieks and arms and legs flailing about in the waves. We laughed and laughed, but I kept thinking what a rambunctious way to exfoliate.

On a rainy day, we left the beach. We drove to Nice to see it. This heavily populated beach town is dense with apartment and condominium buildings and shows signs of being one of Cote d’Azul’s first vacation and health spa communities. Still, who does not dream of spending a little time in Nice, France?

From Nice, we drove on winding roads along the rocky coast to Monte Carlo. Yachts and super yachts dotted the multi-shaded sea below.  It is easy to forget that. Monte Carlo is in its own separate country, Monaco, an independent microstate. The town of Monte Carlo is strictly for the rich and famous, and hordes of tourists. The elegant, eye-popping houses and resorts appear to be flung up the hillside, giving each million-dollar view of the Mediterranean. As we drove into the city, Stan reminded Shea and me that it was at the Casino de Monte Carlo which opened in 1863 and still is probably the most famous casino in the world. It was famous even before James Bond, the only 007 in my mind, sat, smooth and cool, nursing his martini, shaken, not stirred, and playing Baccarat and dazzling his fans on the film screen.  Almost shamefully, this grandiose casino is as strikingly beautiful and sophisticated as a palace or even a cathedral. 

We chose the best restaurant in town to have a lavish lunch on the plaza at Cafe de Paris.  Why not? Oooo-la-la! 

Near the end of our time together with Shea, we moved to a resort town outside Marseille. The community of Cannes was on the way. Although we planned to drive slowly through the town to get a good look, traffic was so heavy, there was no choice but to take it slowly. As we oohed and ahhed at the fabulous old and new hotels, and the beach promenade, we enjoyed imagining what might have been going on just two weeks ago when the dressed-to-impress screen stars and influencers were there walking the red carpet and posing for the cameras.

Had we known Marseille is such a magnificent place, we would have planned more time in the area. This city is the oldest and second-largest city in France; only Paris is larger.  Its claim to fame is multifaceted. Its port and marinas are magnificent and have been key to trade since before Christ, and some of the very best, sought-after bath soaps have been made here in Marseille for centuries. This amazing coastal metroplex blends exquisite old buildings and churches from ancient ages, perfectly with modern architecture and commerce.

Now, the flip side.  Driving into or out of Monte Carlo is a horrifying, terror-filled experience.  Many streets have been dug and created as tunnels under the buildings above, with tiny roundabouts with 5 or six exits, one next to the other.  French road signs are not so good, and no one drives slowly; they zoom.  Without going into detail, driving there is horrendous!  Unless a person is driving on the many wide and super modern tollways in France, driving on scenic country roads is gambling with your life!

To allow its million residents plus 16 million overnight visitors each year, much of Monte Carlo’s driving is done underground.  Still, it is easy to become tangled in those underground streets and tunnels with their many tiny roundabouts with five exits and unclear signs. The tiny streets above ground are equally bad, even when using Google Maps.  We can vouch for that. 

This has been a very, very special time for the three of us.  We have laughed; we have cried, had adventures, and met wonderful people. We also have been scared out of our wits driving in some cities and on the highway, too.  Huge kudos to Stan!  Stan the Man can do some serious as well as intricate driving, He proved that in Monte Carlo and again in Marseille especially as we were attempting to drive-by the Palace Longchamp.  The day was growing long; we were tired from walking the city. We were ready to drive home, but we felt we could not miss the palace.  Google Maps took us up and down a web os streets and finally down a narrow street with cars parked on both sides. There was barely room for our car to pass.  Shea and I had to hang our heads out of the car windows to make sure we were safely passing the parked cars and their mirrors.  At the end of the street, we realized the street went no further; there was no way out but to go back in reverse.  Talk about scary!  But Stan did it.  As we breathed heavily in relief, Shea and I agreed, had we been in charge of driving, we both would have been in tears. 

In our time together, our first place was so spectacular, we all agreed we could move into it and simply live there.  Then we arrived in our Marseille apartment, which we now call the Mystery House.  Following the owner’s instructions and pin on Google Maps, we arrived at a Mercedes-Benz dealership and heard,  “You have arrived.”  We remapped over and over, using several apps.  Google was not wrong; the house we rented was located behind a big, solid metal gate attached to a Mercedes dealership.  Weird!!!!!  Weird, yes, but the apartment was very large, very new, and super modern, with all the latest appliances, 5 air conditioners, and decorated in the style of a Hard Rock Cafe.  I mean??????    What???  When we first arrived, a man greeted us to give us keys and show us around.  Air conditioners in the two main downstairs bedrooms were not working.  That was bad news since it is hot here in the south of France.  The man kept talking on the phone, in French, of course, and saying to us that he had called an electrician.  “Uh, this is not going to work,” we thought.  A beautiful skylight over the kitchen island was stuck open, and the guy couldn’t find the remote to close it.  My panic state began to kick in.  What on earth should we do?? 

To the greeter-guy, Handyman Stan suggested using a broom handle to manually close the skylight—it worked; hey look at that!  Then he suggested checking breakers for the ACs.  Voila!!  Cool air! We were in business.   

By this time, after navigating the long drive from Nice (that’s my job) and finding our home for the next three days behind a car dealership, I was fried.  I mean, to have just left perfection, to find ourselves in a mind-boggling contradiction of a place, what’s next? Yes, the place looked brand new, had a lovely kitchen, three individually air-conditioned bedrooms decorated with a framed Paul Stanley guitar as well as one that belonged to Paul McCartney hanging on the walls. Sheesh! Yes, I was fried.  We all were; we set the air conditioners to 18c and went to bed.

Our bedrooms were so cold that night, we felt we had slept in igloos.

One last story . . . at a supermarket just yesterday, as Shea was getting out of the car, she suddenly saw an idiot driver with his wife and young child in tow, zoom in reverse out of his parking place and zoom even faster going forward.  You know the maneuver. I was standing near our car, waiting for Shea to join me, when I heard the car, then saw the car’s tire screech near my sandaled toe.  Shea screamed; I screamed.  It was pure horror. We looked at each other as if we were seeing each other for the very first time. He missed me by fractions of an inch.  

That moment may be the very closest I have ever been to dying, but I was not harmed.  I could not believe I was still alive. We have a silent travel partner who keeps us safe.

Thank you, God!  Thank you, God!  This horrible moment of possible death was not my time.