The
Southeastern Tip of France:
NICE and its surroundings
As Ulla and I wheel our luggage across
the street from the Nice airport, we spot an oasis of palm trees,
grass, and shrubs. We perch on the low stone fence and break out the
juice packs and pretzels. For a minute we just bask in the sun.
France, here we come!
The bus runs a convenient route from
the airport to the City of Nice. Our
20-minute walk from there to the hotel takes us through town square
and a building remodel where the sidewalk turns into a man-made
tunnel.
We
discover fabulous bakeries (where we're to become loyal customers
over the next days) before reaching Hotel Comte de Nice on
the quiet Rue Dijon. There is a daily flower market a short walk away
at Avenue Malaussena and Place General de Gaulle.
The
hotel is, shall we say, quaint. Truth be known, we didn't pay for
luxury, so a crisp clean room and a bathroom with a shower satisfies
us.
After settling in, we
head for the beach, where we've made plans to meet up with the rest
of our party: Kim, Ed, and Kaitie will be joining us today, after their
stop in Paris. The day is warm and the salt-saturated water soothes
our traveling bones. Climbing out of the sea turns out to be a
strenuous attempt, though, as the waves insist we stay and the
pebbles (smooth as they may be to behold) sting the bottoms of our
feet. By pure willpower we scamper out, then stretch on our blankets
to soak up the Mediterranean sun.
Our
friends' faces pop out of the crowd and it's a joyous reunion. We
giggle like children and sunburn our backs searching for sea glass
and shells, and buy fruit drinks at the bar that's lapping-distance
from the water.
That
evening the lot of us feast on pizza (yes, feast!),
and Ed downs a heap of clams (not
me, thank you very much!). The street-side restaurant with checkered
tablecloths and wrought-iron chairs oozes charm, as do the
waiters who delight us with their English. Admittedly, I am a tad
disappointed they won't have any of my “fluent French”. Ha.
For
dessert we devour (yes, devour!)
ice cream. Creamy and fruity yumminess.
The
hassle of renting a car the next morning gives us a late start for
our day, but off we go eventually. I am SO relieved not to be behind
the wheel in this traffic! Fortunately, Ed “the Colonel” keeps it
together for all of us.
The
day soon promises to be idyllic and lovely, as we take in the
mountain views that lead to the small village of Plan-de-la-Tour. Lavender fields, dotted with farmhouses, scent the air. Vineyards
sprawl down the side of the road into the valley below and, as we ascend, we can catch glimpses of the villas and wine estates of the rich and famous.
The
Village on top certainly delivers in idyll and charm: Centuries-old
houses full of texture that hug the narrow streets; aged men in their
caps at a game of chess; people gathered in the shadow of ancient
oaks to play Petanque.
We
peek in the door of a church adorned with statues and murals and
icons in the dimly lit coolness , and imagine hymn-singing filling
the rafters in centuries past.
I
stop in the tiny post office to mail my postcards, thrilled at the
chance to speak my French with a village native.
We
wander around the streets and take in the quiet gentleness. Studying
the detail of a fountain basin and iron pump, we wish to linger.
But
it's time to say goodbye.
And
it's time to pile into the car for a drive-through of Cannes.
We
chuckle to our lowly selves as we gawk at the posh
hotels and the limos that spill out fancy folk who walk with “an
air”. Remember French
Kiss with
Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline? Parts of it were filmed right here.
Next
we're off to St. Tropez, a celebrity haven just a 90-minute drive
from Nice. The magazines show it: celebrities hanging out
in the surf, on their yachts, in the cafes and restaurants. (We recognize none, though). St.
Tropez offers a relaxed, breezy scene and (minus the tacky
tourist shops) it's a pleasant place. We walk out to the end of the
pier and lean back on a bench to daydream of life on one of the
docked yachts. We're soon joined by paparazzi who elbow each other
for the perfect spot. They're looking for somebody!
But our brush with
fame is not to be; the mysterious celebrity docks too far out of
reach and won't get off the yacht. (Rats). It'll be in the paper the
next day (which, incidentally, we forget to check).
Before
heading back to Nice we decide to take advantage of the sandy beach
of St. Tropez (as most of the Cote d'Azur is pebbly), so we take a
refreshing dip in the blue-green.
Back
at the hotel we fall into bed with our aching feet. We've skipped
dinner, but everyone is too tired to do a thing about it. It's been a
full day of loveliness -and a bit of glamor, to boot.
In
the morning we take a stroll to the patisserie
to enjoy the ritual of the chocolate croissant. Walking to places
-the bakery, the beach, the market- provides a chance to savor the
moment. Small dogs sit pretty under the sidewalk cafe tables as
their human counterparts have croissants and coffee.
We
spend the day walking from cathedral to square to flower market and
buying a few souvenirs and a few more postcards. We try to get a peek
at a park on top of a cliff (you go up by elevator), but it's closed
because an Opera performance is on. Note to self: come back and catch that
next time!
With
nightfall we make our way to the Night Farmers' Market, which
consists of never-ending rows of booths with souvenirs, hand-stitched
linen (I buy lavender fingertip towels for family), scarves, jewelry,
and flowers. The crepe stand outside a restaurant opposite the market
offers a welcome break from the treasure hunt. They have twenty choices for
fillings -a challenge, but we manage. We end up sharing bites
with each other and each mouthful is scrumptious.
It's a pretty great way to end another pretty full day.
XO
What would you want to do in Southern France?
Breathe in the lavender?
Browse the farmers' markets?
Take a dip in the Mediterranean Sea?
