Monday. Dry, clear sky, cold wind.
Following advice received in r.t.e., we betook ourselves to the gare
routière to get the bus to Monaco. I had not thought, when asking for
ideas for our visit, to mention that I am somewhat acrophobic. The bus
route is indeed scenic, and Herself enjoyed it greatly. I settled for
a few quick glances, an accelerated pulse, and an intensive study of
the walls and buildings on the landward side. But on balance, the
views were well worth the psychological discomfort.
On arrival in Monaco, we headed first into the shopping area. It did
not seem greatly different from the wealthy quartier of a French city
except for the prominence given to Grand Prix souvenirs in a number of
shops.
As we strolled, there was an eruption of noise from a pizzeria, and a
teenage boy shot out the door, pushed and pursued by a very angry
woman. Had he attempted a robbery, or lit a cigarette in the espace
non-fumeur? Then we saw the reason for the disturbance: a policeman
was issuing a parking ticket for his moto, which was parked in a
pedestrian area, and it appeared that maman was not pleased with her
son. A parking ticket for a moto: no, this was not France.
Coffee at a waterfront bar on the terrasse in the bright sunlight, but
wearing coats as protection against the chill wind. Marvelling at the
boats, which made the fleet we had seen at Nice seem quite ordinary.
Not a boat was moving, and the only activity seemed to be that of crew
members polishing chrome. People who can afford boats costing many
millions can also afford to leave them unused, paying berthage that
would bankrupt most of us.
Next, we made our way up to the Casino Terrace and enjoyed the gardens
and the view. Just in front of the Casino a young striking looking
brunette strode past, talking into her mobile phone. Fade into
earshot: "... if I ever have sex with another man ..."; fade out of
earshot. I was tempted to turn and follow, to convert overhearing into
eavesdropping, but my normally-quiescent sense of honour prevailed,
and I was left intrigued.
To the other side of the harbour, and up the mount to take in the
gardens and see the mont.
The gardens have much to recommend them. There is a rich variety of
labelled plants for those who like that sort of thing (according to a
plaque, Lamarck was inspired to become a biologist by his visits there
-- is it any wonder that, inspired in such an odd place as Monte Carlo
is, he promulgated an incorrect theory of evolution?). There are
sculptures for those who prefer man's creations to those of nature
(including a fine bronze presented by QVC, not an organisation which I
immediately link with fine arts). One can also enjoy views of the
coast and the old harbour. All in all, a good place to pass an hour.
Then we made a quick visit to the not-very-impressive cathedral where
generations of Grimaldis are entombed. There seemed to be only two
remaining places, so we wondered about the long-term prospects for the
regime. We rambled a little in the narrow streets, looked at the
chateau, then went for a sandwich. Taking stock, we agreed that we
were glad to have visited Monaco. It's a strange place, prosperous on
the foot of tax avoidance or evasion, tourism, and gambling; an
independent state which is in many ways also part of France. It is not
high on the list for return visits.
We returned to Nice by bus in mid-afternoon.
Our feet were wrecked, so we decided on more sit-down tourism. The bus
trip to Nice had been so good (and cheap) that we decided to try
another excursion, and fixed on Antibes. Those who know the area are
probably crying "Oh no! Bad idea." Suffice it to say that the only
good things about the trip were the opportunity to rest our sore feet
and the coffee we had in Antibes. The rest was simply a passage
through bad French urban sprawl.
Back in Nice in time for dinner, we ventured again into the vieux
quartier. Resisting the blandishments of a Tunisian whose restaurant
was worryingly empty, we found a restaurant which met many of our
criteria: it looked lively; much of the clientele seemed local (always
a good sign); the menu appealed to us; the prices were modest; the
room seemed nice. There was a table available, and we settled in to
what proved to be a very enjoyable, fairly typically French, meal.
There was no option of cheese rather than dessert, but when I ordered
cheese, there was no extra charge -- a nice detail, I thought. You
want a good French meal for two with a reasonable wine for less than
€50: La Tapenade, rue Ste. Réparate.
And then we hobbled back to our hotel for a much-needed night's rest.
__________________
PB
The return address has been MUNGED