You are honored this time with a special edition
of trip reports—you get two days for the price of one—partly because your
reading of and commenting on these reports is so gratifying to both of us, and
partly because the writer is totally exhausted from the pace of this trip and
was unable to report further until on a nice big, quiet airplane on the way
home. And as a result of your loyalty,
you may enjoy a celebratory plethora of photographs of our last two days in
this beautiful country.
Yesterday had been planned so carefully
on our little spreadsheet. We were
simply to spend the day relaxing on the beach, to recover from the 173 places
we had visited and the 2 million kilometers we had driven, much of that with a
six-speed manual transmission in hilly country with lots of stops. But at breakfast, one of our B&B hosts
graciously suggested a tour of the area, which would include two mountain
medieval villages, a beautiful drive through the countryside, a stop in Cannes
(even though the famous film festival was not in town), another stop in Antibes
to see the harbor and huge yachts, and then a stop on a beautiful beach. One of us expressed dismay at the prospect of
driving several more hours, but after reassurances from our host that we would
have a leisurely day, we took a vote, and that person lost. The male married readers of this journal will
have no trouble understanding how this happened.
French countryside from St. Paul
Street in St. Paul
In any case, by 10:30 or so we were
underway, driving a lovely road up to the ancient town of St. Paul de Vence,
where we strolled through this wonderful village, former hangout of Picasso,
Matisse, and Chagall (the latter of whom is buried here). The cobblestone narrow streets are lined with
art galleries, shops selling fine art, and around 346 souvenir shops. It was decided, hopefully for the last time
on this trip, that just a few more items would complete the shopping
necessities, and so we did a good bit more strolling than one member might have
wished.
Popular mailbox in St.Paul
Happy tourist in St. Paul de Vence
We did stroll by one really attractive
ice cream store; and although it was just before lunchtime, we took a chance on
a scoop of secculoos (a type of shortbread biscuit) and a scoop of nougat, one
of Tricia’s favorites. Apparently this
close to Italy, the ice cream is imported, and these scoops were delicious—so
much so that the strolling was able to be continued for quite a few more minutes.
Gourdon from below
It was then on the road up to Gourdon,
another medieval city, this one perched high atop a mountain, where we explored
a much less commercialized old stone village at our leisure. We also had a nice meal there, at a
restaurant adjoining an ice cream store.
For dessert, Tricia had a scoop of the carame beurre sale, and Charlie
had the verveine. Both flavors were exquisite. Next time you visit France, remember to wait
until you are near the border with Italy to try new flavors of ice cream.
Street in Gourdon
Mediterranean from Gourdon
The sights along the roadways were so
beautiful and so varied that the time got away from us, and soon we found
ourselves driving through Cannes along the seashore. Around 3:30 in the afternoon we stopped at
the yacht basin in Antibes to take a break.
Boats and small beach in Antibes
Small yacht in Antibes
We continued along the coast, but hit
what is known as the World’s Largest Traffic Fiasco, i.e., driving along the
coast of southern France during the tourist season. We found no time to lie on the beach, as it
took more than 3 hours to cover the 25 miles or so back to the hotel. Weary, we had a pizza and hit the sack by
midnight.
Rocky beach in Nice
This brings us to day 11, which brought us a quick
tour of the promenade and beach in Nice and parts of the old city, before heading to
the airport. We haven’t said much about this 5th largest city in France, where
we have spent the last three nights, and since you are anxious to learn a
little about it: Nice was first settled around 350 B.C. by Greeks who
had drifted down from Marseille. The
Romans took over in 154 B.C., and by the 10th century, the Counts of Provence
were in charge. The French didn’t get
around to making it part of their country until 1860. The Lonely Planet guidebook says the light
here is magical, quoting Henri Matisse.
But to a simple country boy, the light seems not much different from the
light in most other places. It is a beautiful
and historic city, perched along the Mediterranean. And the beach is populated by scantily clad
young beauties trying their best to develop skin cancer. But the beach is not even a beach—at least
not as we know beaches. Not a grain of
sand can be found here; it’s only rounded pebbles, like river rocks. Bring a couple of thick towels next time
you’re here, if you don’t want to feel the lumpy beach.
Nice from the east
We had separate routes to get back to
Jacksonville, Tricia flying direct to Atlanta and then Jacksonville, and
Charlie flying Air France to Paris, then to Atlanta, then to Jacksonville. This sometimes happens when you arrange to
fly for free, you know. Although we are
separated and cannot communicate, I can only hope Tricia made her flights. Charlie’s Delta flight from Paris is more
than 2.5 hours late, putting him in Atlanta just before the last flight to JAX
at 11:04 p.m. If you don’t see us for
the next few days, we will be quietly sleeping, recovering from the trip of a
lifetime—if you know what I mean.
Charlie and Tricia
©2014
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